You Think You Know Him

IamJoMarch: I'm taping dried flowers in my notebook

BassSoLow: awesome!

BassSoLow: I'm putting pieces of broken scissor handle in my mouth

BassSoLow: because I'm a baby, and everything goes in my mouth

Check the links. Check Count The Days In Shades plus the two new ones Kevin Costs and majestic catapult.

I know most of you won't read this, but for the two of you that do . . .
Moths

For, after all,
What is a moth
But a very mixed up butterfly?
Living in the night,
Seeking out the light,
But when the sun comes out
They hide.

What silly creatures.

I wonder which came first,
Their drab coats,
Or their fear of the sun?

The Only Reason I Feel Secure Is That I'm Validated By My Desk

I've been listening to Denison Witmer tonight. I finally was able to download more than one song. It's beautiful, but it makes me feel very hollow and lonely. I haven't even listened to the words yet, just the sound of the music mades me want to cry. I curl up on my floor, cuddled into one of my beloved pillows and listen to "Miles" and "Breath In This Life" and "Closer To The Sun" and just feel as if a part of me is missing. I feel like one of the sad little men I've been drawing in my notebook, very small and with a cloudy eyed look of alone-ness.

It's ridiculous that this music could make me feel this way. I've been having a great day, I should be happy and full of energy, doing my homework with gusto, looking forward to tomorrow when I'll start a new medium in art, when I'll discuss my home-grown philosophy with Joe, when I'll eat chinese food for lunch, when I'll get something accomplished in newspaper. I should be glad that we got a publisher and a few ads for our paper, that I get to have my first editor's meeting next week, that I've finally understood the crux of "Abolition Of Man" and am no longer getting lost in Debate, that I got a really nice letter from I girl I used to know who's been reading my weblog, that my mom made cupcakes, that Al has AIM again. But I'm not. I'm just sitting around, re-reading old story books, and wishing I had someone nice smelling to hug. All because of some music.

I rearranged my desk today. It's much more cozy, I think. I get a little swelling of joy when I look at it, because it just looks so very desk-like. Doesn't a well laid out desk make you feel well laid out? Like the suit salesmen say, "When your desk looks good, you look good." Or something like that. I feel ready to tackle a whole year's worth of AP and newspaper editing when I look at my desk. Even though the music is stealing my wind, I've turned it off now and soon I'll be able to get up the gusto to do my AFP homework.

I love my desk, just the actual desk. Its a lovely honey colored wood and it used to be a farm house kitchen table. My dad bought it somewhere several years ago, and it sat in an unused office in his church until I outgrew my old desk and asked for it. It's solid and sturdy, with two drawers in the front. For a while my dad said it was just on loan, but when we moved, he made a gift of it to me and said I could take it with me when I moved out. It has served me well so far, and I hope it will for many years to come.

I have snapshots of it. Yes, I take snapshots of my desk. I took pictures of lots of my favorite pieces of furniture. I take them for posterity, in case we ever have a fire, or a tornado, or a robbery, and I never see them again. I don't want to forget them.

In Debate, we're discussing facts versus values, sentimentality versus Reason. The arguement goes a lot deeper, and I've just grasped it today, thanks to Mr. B's, I mean Monroe's, (I'll explain later) infinite patience with me. After reading this entry, can you hazard a guess at which side of the debate I come down on?

The Rumors Prove True

Oh my. Julianna Theory is a big load of egotistical crap. I took about four pages worth of notes that will soon become a review, just on them. The main problem is the lead singer, Brett Something or other. He preened and strutted and attempted to seduce the audience, and succeeded. The people were clambering for his rock god wannabe antics and arena butt rock moves. He was so fake and phony, every action and emotion was totally contrived. Every song and move was formulated to bring in the bucks. JT is taking the part of the rock star and loving it. People ate it up. The only thing bigger than his ego is how big he probably believes is own "guitar" is. And for those of you that I pointed out the flyer's resemblance to something else, after seeing them play and the way they handled thier guitars, I guarantee it was no accident.

I'm tired as all get out, but I'm givin a shout out to my girl Ashley for putting up with me leavin her a couple times, and to my boys Kevin and Chris for coming out to hang wit me, though they probably had better things to do. oh oh! And Karen has it tough right now. She's hurt and other stuff sucks, so lets all send her good vibes in our own fashions.

Rockstar Shmockstar

Tonight is the Julianna Theory show. I was very excited about it, until I found out that Coheed and Cambria had broken up and were no longer playing it. I was really looking forward to seeing them. JT was just a side benefit. And also, now hardly any of my friends are coming. It's just not worth $12 without CandC. But I'm still gonna go.

I've been listening to "Emotion Is Dead" and you know what? I am not getting a huge buzz from it. I used to like it pretty well, especially "If I Told You This Was Killing Me, Would You Stop?" and "To The Tune of 10,000 Screaming Children". But lots of little things got on my nerves, but I was willing to overlook them. Little things like "On Top Of The World" or whatever it was called. And the trite-ness of a lot of the lyrics. Now all those little annoyances are coming to the surface and I'm getting tired of the JT.

I've heard a lot of bad stuff about JT's live show and press. I've heard they act so very "rockstar" and prima donna and take themselves too seriously. I don't really know. I've never been to their website, though I suppose I should, and I've never seen them live. I can sort of see what people who say they're rockstars mean in the music, slightly. Some of it's just cheesy, but so's a lot of "emo" these days, but the band's character is never questioned. I've heard nothing but bad things about the members of JT. Go to fine print mag and read this scathing review of their new album, Love, and you'll see what I mean. Supposedly they're just trying too hard.

But I'm eager to see for myself. I've never read an interview, never read a feature on JT, never seen them live, like I said. I am going to go with an open mind, hopefully. I assume it's their concerts that have given people this idea of JT "selling out" as it were. I'm wondering what could spark the level of hatred I've seen towards JT. Smoke machines and a light show? The silly crying motion that Noise Ratchet did and made me want to hurl? Perhaps flashily dressed dancers? I don't know what to expect.

I am going to review it though, good or bad.

I love JT's older stuff. "August In Bethany" is an amazing song, and "Closest Thing" ranks in my top 20 favorite songs, my number one favorite love song.

Yes, Mom

Because I've recently been informed of the fact, "good geez woman, 3 entries today!" I will refrain from doing another one. Tomorrow maybe.

What'dya Know

Well, gang, it turns out that I may not hate Avril Lavinge all that much. I never actually hated her, just found her annoying and immature. I maintain that her lyrics are childish and simplistic, her words have no depth or style, she is very non-conformist 101. And "Complicated" is the most annoying song I've ever heard. Not to mention "Sk8er Boi" is abysmally stupid. BUT

I just watched an MTV Diary for her, and you know what? If I knew her, I'd be her friend. I know a lot of girls who dress like her and have that same elementary punk rebel attitude, shop at Hot Topic and wear too much eye makeup. But usually, those girls are catty, prissy, elitist and snobbish. Very few of them seem as fun loving, goofy, and laid back as Avril seemed in this diary. She jokes with her band and guy friends like I do with my guys. She's very real, and very down to earth. I can understand her. She comes from "my" culture. She is me, about 4 years ago, with a record deal. I wrote like that four years ago, I thought it was actually poetry. The way she dresses, yeah its within the punk trend, but it's also her own as well. I even like some of how she dresses. I'm wearing shorts like hers right now. (Though these in particular were inspired by the merch girl for Anti-Flag) She's like any middle school or some high school kid who finds themselves not able to be within the mainstream, she just happens to be very pretty and have a good voice. She has lots of potential, though I don't know that she'll achieve it if she has to mature in the spotlight like this. If she can maintain her own life, have influences from friends and other music and media, perhaps someday she'll be turning out quality records. If she follows the predicted track for punk kids, she'll either get "real" punk and start being political, get hardcore and be angsty, or get indie and produce art. Or she'll be stunted by fame and never grow up. Then I'll hate her.

I'd like to know what she listens to. New Found Glory? Mest? I'd just bet.

Psycic Bottlecaps

My last two Jones caps have said, "You are the center of attention," and "Get excited over nothing." Quick, name two things I already am or do!

I should not be trusted with the care of another life. My fish's water level is really low, not to mention slightly dirty. I forgot to feed him this morning. One of my plants is drooping and turning yellow. I'm on a major guilt trip here. I am so irresponsible. I can't believe my siblings have ever let me babysit. I'm going to get my ovaries cut out because I should not be trusted with a child. Poor plant (nameless, suprisingly) and Poseidon!

I was telling Chris the other day how clutzy I am. I really am. I have a cut on my knee from getting startled by my phone and jumping, thus hitting my knee on the edge of Mr. B's shelves. I have a million bruises and cuts from I don't know what, just bumping into things. There's a scrape on my knee, several small cuts on my hands. Everytime I wash my hands I find more little incisions that just show up there. Actually, I'm sure they come from whacking my hands into things, or at the moment from working with wire in art. On any given day I will run into people, walls, doors, about 5 or more times. I counted today. Pole once, door twice. people twice, doorframe twice. I fall down a lot. I hit my knees on stuff under tables. At dinner tonight I banged my knee against some support thingy under our dinner table. I don't know how many times a day an "Ow" will ring out in my classroom and everyone will turn to see me rubbing my knee/elbow/head in pain. I am the epitome of the clutz.

I'm going to make a shirt tonight, since I did all my homework in Mr. B's room after school. I'm also really tired, so I dont think I'd do any real writing any justice. Maybe later.

Jan-had!

Tell me, if you saw me walking down the street wearing a khaki shorts, long and baggy like a guy's, a black tank top, blue old school reeboks, with my hair parted to the side, would you think I A) looked femenine B) was crying C) ought to be wearing a sundress D) looked pretty or E) none of the above. Those were all comments I got today, A-D. I don't understand or agree with any of them. If anything, I feel like Avril Lavinge because of the clothes, hardcore because of the shoes, and when I looked at my reflection in my car this afternoon, I thought for a moment that I looked like Chris because my hair was parted on the side and falling in my face. Very wierd.

Let's see, anything interesting so far today? I finished my wire sculpture today. It was supposed to be a house, and started out that way, but it soon became a corral, which I was told I had to put something in by my teacher, and Allison suggested an envelope. So it's now a piece of art titled, "Caging Correspondence" and it's symbolizing how society shirks handwritten letters and how the government raises postage and impedes it's progression. Its a bucking envelope in a poorly contructed wire cage/corral. Woo.

I got a happy email today. It made me happy.

I also got to sleep in later, and talk to my mom before I went to school. I'm too tired and hungry right now, but later I'll tell you the little mini-epiphany I had that led from that discussion.

Do your brain, heart, and soul a favor and read Jen's weblog.

The Climax Of My Genius
or
Techno-nology

Wow, today I actually feel like laying down the law and telling you folks about my day. But backwards!

Right now I'm sitting at my desk eating couscous and drinking Jones Soda. Soon I'll go take a shower, since I have time, since I finished all my homework earlier, and I don't have to get up as early, so I can actually take a decent shower tonight. (That was a terrible sentence.) Then I'll read weblogs, then read, then sleep.

Tonight I went to The Loft for Aaron Johnson's Back To School Bash, or something like that. AAC was playin, plus this wonderful band, A Tomorrow To Remember, who was supposed to have broken up but played their "last show, again" tonight. They're what the people like to call "melodic hardcore" which in laymen's terms mean hardcore that doesnt suck, much. I really enjoy them, and tonight they covered "Everlong" by The Foo Fighters. Good stuff. AAC was great, as always. Kevin played the wrong piano part for one song, but it was funny because he didn't realize what he was doing. Fun times with my friends who I don't school with. (Yes, I used school as a verb. Deal with it.) I feel bad, because I ran out at 9:58 since Cinderella is supposed to be home at 10. I didn't say goodbye to anyone, beyond a yelled over the shoulder, "See ya!" as I ran to my car. So if you wondered what that was about, it was about curfew.

Ashley and Karen and I went to dinner before that at St. Louis Bread where Karen works and I thought I saw Mr. B's wife Linda, but it wasn't her. Before that I went to Satellite and attempted to refrain from punching my editor in the face. I hate Satellite these days. First of all, we're in this lecture hall kind of place, with all of us facing front as Barbara stands at a podium. It used to be a conference room and we sat in a circle and everyone could see everyone and we got to know eachother and it was more like a meeting and less like a class. All these new kids are either taking over or just taking up space. Work with the old ones, people! And they're all middle class, Student Council attending, Old Navy wearing, radio listening, youth group attending good little teenage girls. Seriously, I think we got two new guys and about 20 new girls. I counted 7 guys tops in the past several meetings out of 35 or so people. Last year it was fairly balanced, but the guys either stopped coming or graduated, and then the influx of these new kids/girls. It's just very annoying. Plus, Barbara plays favorites like a violin. She never pays attention to anyone who doesn't sit and talk gossip with her. I can do nothing to earn her respect or esteem. I can turn in stellar reviews, great columns, in-depth features, and all I get is a "Alright, thanks." Most of the latest things I've turned in or thought of have been "too obscure". Her face is obscure!

After school I went with Joe to Barnes and Noble to do our homework, since I knew I'd be going out tonight. I had a rasberry Italian soda, and I feel the need to mention that simply because I love Italian Sodas. I read the first chapter of "Abolition of Man", read some stuff about terrorism for AFP, wrote some dumb journal junk to placate Mrs. Williams.

Debate was mad fun today! We had all really loosened up, and Mr. B was laughing along with us, letting us take the lessons off on tangents, letting us bicker and debate all we wanted. We cracked a lot of wierd and stupid jokes, and people actually laughed at what I said too. Its always a badge of comedic pride to get Mr. B to really laugh, and I did! Yippie! And he had me read part of this essay I wrote last week to illustrate one of his points. I felt so appreciated. Who cares if stupid old favorites playing Barbara Allen likes my writing, Mr. B thinks I'm good enough. We started on "Abolition Of Man" and talked about some current events. It was good stuff. Oh, and we decided what kind of coffee equipment we'd have in the room this year. Very important descion.

JOURNALISM. Grrr. Mrs. Williams gave us some crap about what she thinks good writing is. I could smack her. Let me share some of her points with you. Oh, wait, my notebook is in the car and I don't want to go down and get it. I'll paraphrase. She wants us to write "modestly" and not have our work "draw attention to itself." Dude! Whats the point of writing if you're not drawing attention to the article! No one wants to read something boring that just presents the facts! Then she said to "write simply" and not to use any kind of "jargon" or vocabulary anyone might not understand. Now, while it's true that most newspapers are written on a 4th grade reading level, our audience is a school of college prep students. Good writing consists of things that some people may not quite get, but those who do understand the brilliance of the statement. If someone doesn't try hard enough to figure it out, then thats their problem, not ours. Get a dictionary, ask someone, jeez people! We don't need to talk down to our readers and nor do we need to simplify or have humble articles. We should write truthfully, dynamically, and brilliantly. I do not like Mrs. Williams.

Also, when we, and by "we" I mean the students, who's newspaper this is, began to talk about our fundraising projects first thing, she butts in and says, "I think we should do what I planned for today." Alright, lady, don't get your pants in an uproar. We'll have time for your time-wasting, ill-advised writing tutorial too, give us a moment to actually run our newspaper.

In Sculpture we started to actually work with wire, which reminds me that I need to bring wire cutters and plyers to finish the house I'm making. Also during that class, Jill was running around with one of my mom's walkie talkies while I had the other one and we talked back and forth. Good stuff.

AFP and computers, nothing monumental. OH! But at lunch Mr. B and the two new young women teachers, one for Italian and one for Spanish, who I think are friends with Linda, ate lunch together, PLUS some hot mystery guy who looked something like our friend Brad Muck. He was wearing, ehem, a black shirt and black tie, ehem, Chris, as well as brown pin-striped pants. And the eye of every girl in the room was on him. I think he's the Spanish teacher's boyfriend or husband. It was kind of bizarre, having those four behind us eating lunch in the same room. They are only maybe 6 or maybe 7 years, at most, older than us. They're hip and intelligent, so are we, and yet we aren't all friends. We had our cliche and they had thiers, back to back, and we could have all been talking together. I know we all would have common interests and ideas. It's just so wierd how the label of "teacher" or "adult" draws that line between them and us, the "students". I have friends Mr. B's age and older. I have friends who've dated guys that age or older. It's just so bizarre.

First hour Con Law was fun. Hehe, Megan and I took over the arguementation again. At one point, we'd digressed from human rights to relativistic ethics to world religions to the ultimate truth and meaning of life, when out of the corner of my ear (yes, the corner of my ear) I heard someone say, "I don't understand what they're talking about." Yeah, we stopped at that point. We didn't even mean to go there. I'm now out of that class, so they'll have some peace. And I get to sleep in until 9! WOO! My first class isn't until 9:25 now. Yee.

Alright kids, it's time to go wash the dirt of several days off of my skin and hair. If anyone has come home from the show by then, hello to you. I leave you with Five Iron.

"And all of our slogans designed to take away the pain
Meant nothing to the son of God that night in Bethlehem."
-Reese Roper, "Spartan"

It's Raining in Love
By Richard Brautigan

I don't know what it is,
but I distrust myself
when I start to like a girl
a lot.

It makes me nervous.
I don't say the right things
or perhaps I start
to examine,
evaluate,
compute
what I am saying.

If I say, "Do you think it's going to rain?"
and she says, "I don't know,"
I start thinking : Does she really like me?

In other words
I get a little creepy.

A friend of mine once said,
"It's twenty times better to be friends
with someone
than it is to be in love with them."

I think he's right and besides,
it's raining somewhere, programming flowers
and keeping snails happy.
That's all taken care of.

BUT

if a girl likes me a lot
and starts getting real nervous
and suddenly begins asking me funny questions
and looks sad if I give the wrong answers
and she says things like,
"Do you think it's going to rain?"
and I say, "It beats me,"
and she says, "Oh,"
and looks a little sad
at the clear blue California sky,
I think : Thank God, it's you, baby, this time
instead of me.

It's Raining In Love: Revised
By Jennifer Hoppa

Brautigan agreed
when someone said,
"It's twenty times better to be friends
with someone than it is to be in love with them."
Not trying to pick a fight,
but I think it's twenty times better than that
to be in love with a friend.

What Are Away Messages For?

I was going to type some insipid drivel here so as to entertain myself, but Chris just signed on, so we'll see if he's entertaining.

hmm, he's not. Sorry, Chris.
Here's a poem I wrote today:

Here we go again,
I just can't stay away.
I'm a child with no memory.
Everytime I touch the stove
I get burned.
But now I'm scared,
Because every burn hurts less,
And every blister heals faster.
Pretty soon my hand will be a mass of forgotten scars.

Most people say,
"If you can't stand the heat
Get out of the kitchen."
But when the world is one big kitchen,
You've gotta stand it
Or you'll get burned.

I wrote this a while ago:

I am a moptop.
Plaid boxers,
Old shirt,
Toothbrush in the mouth,
And I'm still the coolest girl you know.

that one's just blatantly dumb and egotistical, but thats me so hey it's representative.

Gimme feedback people. Guestbook it!

Sleepy, So Sleepy

I went looking today for "Abolition of Man" for Debate, but I found a wealth of other stuff. "Mattimeo" a Brian Jacques Redwall book, "Dark Journey" a guilty pleasure Star Wars book, "Wyrms" another Orson Scott Card book that's hailed as "a wise tale hidden within a heroic story" and a "wonderful, textured novel, and a book of scientific essays. Those ones are just kinda cool. The next three are treasures! "Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee" by Dee Brown, which is recommended by Reese Roper and is about the Indian history of the American West and how the Indians were treated. Then "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad, which I've wanted to read for a very long time. THEN I got "Children of the Mind" by Orson Scott Card and the final book of the Ender Quartet!!! Oh man, I've been seeking this one for a looooong time. I've read parts of it at the "real" book store but never had the money for it. I'm so glad to have all four books now. And all these, except Heart of Darkness, were bought in trade so they cost me nothing! Slammin!

I wrote a little poem, driving around today.

A Used Book Store Kind Of Day
Maybe it's just the advent of school
But today the air smacks of autumn.
The combination of mid-sized rain showers
And badly dubbed punk music
Makes me apathetic to the road
And inattentive to the three car pile-up on my left,
As my mind slips back to a day last September,
Colder than this,
When an attic brought us together
And we looked at the stars
And I didn't know if I cared or not.

Does This Annoy You?

Songs appropriate for rockin' the Geo and having folks in other cars look at you funny while you dance while driving.

-"Burn Baby Burn" by Ash
-"Close To Me" by The Cure
-"Deleriously Cold" by Furthermore
-"My Favourite Game" by The Cardigans
-"Radio Free Gainsville" by Hot Water Music

I can tell school's back in session by the fact that I'm drinking too much coffee, am living off of carrots, ranch dressing and fruit and oatmeal bars, and my willpower when it comes to personal hygiene is shrinking. I've had lets see, a double latte and four cups of coffee today. All I've eaten was a couple of crackers with cheese, carrots and dressing and then just some straight cheese. And I've dranken about a gallon of water. Oh and I had an Orange Julius. Is that a food or a drink? And I laid down in Craig's dirty old truck bed and had my hair in a big mess of dirt, and I don't even care. I've said a couple of times that I used to be such a gutter punk, sleeping in my clothes and washing my hair once a week. I thought it was Jen and Jill's influence that has made me develop my cleanliness senses, but I think it's just boredom thats cultivated an interest in hair washing and clean clothes wearing. I now have much more important things to do, plus most TSAS kids just roll out of bed, lots wear the same thing for weeks on end and never wash thier hair, so no one will judge me if my appearance is less than elegant. My brain is on other things now, priorities shift. School is first, then friends, music and writing are on about the same level, then physical appearence.

Tonight proved to indeed be crunk, living up to all my expectations of crunktisity. And Ashley's gonna make me a shirt with a picture from here. Ashley, Al, Kern and I ran around for a bit, then we met up with "the guys" aka Chris, Kevin and Craig aka At All Costs and ran around with them. Was it fun? Yes sir it was.

My back hurts. I need a massage in the worst way. (standing up, in a hammock) (haha)

Today Megan and I decided to be contrary to every expected answer in Con Law. Funny thing was that we could defend our opposing for the sake of opposing answers. The question was posed, "Who has the right to govern over others?" and the John Locke-inspired answer was supposed to be, "No one." But Megan and I said, "Whoever is the strongest mentally and physically." We were just being annoyingly materialistic. Like we had a hypothetical situation of what if all TSAS students were transported to an island with no leaders or any organization, what would the government be like? Some kids were like, "Well, we'd set up a council and we'd make descisions and if you didn't like it, you could leave the island." Megan and I respond, "Well we don't want to, and we have guns, so we win." Someone says, "What about natural rights?" "The only natural rights you have are the ones you can defend. If I say do something, and you don't, and then I shoot you, where are your rights then?" Woo! Answer that one! I did a dance when no one refuted us. Jeez, we debaters sure are bastards.

Megan may believe that BS we were spouting, sometimes I think she might but usually I know she's BSing too. I know I was just entertaining myself by making points no one else in the class had the knowlege to refute. I could refute myself, and I started to, but quit because it would ruin the illusion. I think I'm gonna get out of that class. I already passed the final, which is what that pre-test jazz was all about. And our textbook was the AP US history class's winter assignment. We had to read that book cover to cover and write a paper on like 3 of the chapters, so I already know that stuff. Plus I had that textbook in middle school. But I may stay in there simply to entertain myself.

No, that'd be cruel. No one would learn anything if I was constantly disrupting them with my silly innane arguement that I don't even believe. Actually, they might learn more. But I'm gonna get out of it, and then I can sleep in.

I officially became editor of our still yet unnamed newspaper today. Yee! In Sculpture we're gonna start working with wire soon, so we have to draw pictures without lifting our pencil from the page to get a feel for what we can do with the medium. Everyone around me is drawing cityscapes and faces and intricate designs with their single line and I'm just like, "uuuuh, Apple! Stick man! Tree of the trunk and squiggle variety!" I am so gonna be an artist someday.

The lightining outside is really pretty and is reminding me of the Ivy League CD Release Party. Ooooh, wow. Awesome one just now.

Tomorrow I get to go play with walkie talkies with my mom. More on that as the story unfolds.

Blogger Envy

Kevin got a weblog too! Dude, its a freaking movement! As Blogger says, "The revolution will be bloggerized." (Blogger.com is so cool. They also say, "Push-button publishing for the people," and "Yay, us!") I'm tempted to switch to Kevin's server thingy, because he's got a guestbook and comment thingy and eProps. But his template isn't as cool as mine, while mine isnt as cool as Jen's. Chris's and Karen's are also cool, but they're in a different level of competition since they made thier own. And I could never leave Blogger, they're good people. Besides, I'd be pampered there and get too lazy. By the way, I hope everyone has been checking on all my other weblogs on the little link thingy. Karen (silent gun) updates frequently, Jen (enamored) does too and the entry up now is just wonderful. And Ashley (elfin writings) is beginning to do a lot too. Chris (Count The Days In Shades) doesn't update that frequently (disapproving face) but the entry thats up now made me laugh, even though he doesn't read mine anymore since he's a big fancy college student. Al's will be up and running as soon as she gets a computer at OSU, I assume.

I am drinking a Pepsi. "Ewwwwww!" said the people. I know, I know. But I slept freom 5-8PM and I needed something with a bit of caffiene before I could get on with my cognizant life.

In Con Law today, the very first thing Mr. Walton said was, "Well, I tallied the scores from our pre-test, (ed. note-the one that does not count) and you remember I said the person with the highest score gets a prize? Jamie Pierson, come get your prize!" Woo. Thanks a boatload, Mr. Walton. Though I appreciate the gesture, I don't need all my classmates hating me because I already knew the material on the first day. And I certainly don't need a notebook that says, "I scored the highest on Mr. Walton's pre-test!" and has a little dancing beagle with a top hat on it. (My prize) Of course, Jamie-big-ego likes the compliment, and likes everyone to know how brilliant she is. But I'd like them to discover my intelligence on their own, not told I knew test answers by the teacher. Plus, like I told you yesterday, the kid that hates me is in there. I'm sure he likes and respects me now that I've shown up his test scores! (sar-freaking-casm)

Typing is difficult because I have a huge bandage on my finger. I cut it while giving Joe a haircut. Did I mention that yesterday?

My computer teacher is great. We're going to have "typing boot-camp" for the kids who don't know how to type, so she hung camo and that camo netting up all over the room and put an Army recruitment poster on the door. Today though, we talked about how the internet works, and I was so lost I thought I was back in Algebra. Yeah, I'm gonna need some help on that one. I actually may not stay in there because A thinks we should do an independent study for Latin II that hour and I think that's a great idea.

Lunch was calmer today.

Newspaper! Hmm. I need to have a talk with Mrs. Williams. First of all, she needs a nickname. Mrs. Williams, thats four syllables! I have trouble with Mr. B. Most of the time I just call him B face to face. I'll mumble something M-like so it's mmermB, all one mangled sound. If we're going to work together, her name needs to become more efficient.

Second, she seems to have no confidence in us. She says she thinks we could maybe get out 3 issues a year, because we have a small budget and a green staff. WELL, my sophmore year we had NO budget, a green staff, a new teacher, and the administration against us. We had 5 dedicated staffers and one dedicated teacher as our only resources. And we got 5 papers out, one for each month we were in class, (Jan-May) PLUS a senior issue. And all our revenue came from ad copy. Thats the thing Mrs W isn't quite getting. We have to sell ads to survive as a paper. The Sentinel was entirely ad supported, so can our paper be. (horrid sentence)
Also! Mrs W does not have a good handle on the character of the school and what the student body is like. She's kind of an Ivory Tower, political intellectual kinda person, which is cool, but she needs to understand that while she may not know what the other kids want out of a paper, we do.

Debate is going to be really cool. Mr. B has got some really good stuff lined up for us. We're gonna read "The Abolition Of Man" by CS Lewis and Plato's "Republic", because while we've all widely studied philosophies, Mr B thinks we haven't studied any in depth enough, so we're becoming jaded and relativistic. (He's so our dad) We're also gonna keep up with national and international news because we're starting a new event called Extemporaneous Speaking, or Extemp for short. In that event, you're given a current event topic and five minutes to write a speech on it, then you get up and deliver it. You can have magazines and other sources with you, but you've got to know your stuff and be able to think on your feet. There's Foreign Extemp (FEX) and Domestic Extemp (DEX) for international and national affairs. It's gonna be great stuff.

I've got more to say, but my finger is givin me trouble, my tummy is empty since I slept through dinner, and I got another AFP paper to write.

"Much unhappiness has come into the world because of things left unsaid." -Dostoevsky

Green Sofas and Good Teachers

I barely slept last night. I slept, but fitfully, waking up every few hours, checking the clock as the hours till school counted down. Finally, my alarm went off at 6:47 (which is, yes, when I set it for) and I leapt out of bed. I went decidedly to my closet and put on my green cut-off shorts, DaVinci t-shirt, green cactus cowboy shirt, green and blue striped belt, plaid chucks and tied a blue scarf around my head. I was suprisingly not giddy. I was just happy, content to be going. The excitement was in the anticipation, this morning and last night I had come into full awareness that I was going back to school and I was just very glad. As I got ready, I didn't squeal with joy, but sighed with pleasure.

It all felt very natural, getting ready for school, slinging my satchel over my shoulder and walking downstairs to have coffee and toast with my parents. I think they were a little suprised at my calmness, but to me this (almost) felt like an ordinary day. Things were as they should be.

As I was about to walk out the door, I felt almost afraid. What if everyone had changed over the summer and no one liked me now? What if the teaching seminars the teachers went to this summer had turned them into average textbook toting morons? What if things were so disorganized that I couldn't enjoy it? What if something had gone wrong and all the policies were changed to be strict and confining? What if what if what if what if. And then the moment passed. It's a standard feeling, when you long for and anticipate something for so long, to have doubts. Mine all came in a rush, then passed like a breeze. I gathered up my back-to-school presents to Mrs. Lee (a history book Jill and I bought her in CO and a bottle of "Smart Water") and hopped in my car, driving away as my parents waved, my mom shedding a tear for her last child, her "baby" going off to her senior year. (My mother has been sending kids off to school for the past 29 years, my dad longer.)

When I got to school I pulled up next to Mrs. Butler and baby Sophia who'd just dropped off Mr. B. Yay! What a lovely start to the first day. I talked to Linda for a moment and then went inside. It was the wonderfully controlled chaos that is TSAS. First thing I see is Jill being swept along in a crowd of confused and eager freshmen. And into the fray of TSASers I dove, greeting every other person I saw. I could describe it all to you and attempt to have it not sound like Zach Siller from "She's All That"'s entrance into their school in the beginning of the movie, but I'd fail and I'd be lying too. I'm not that cool or popular. I'll instead describe a sidenote of something I don't think I've ever explained about my senior class.

About half the senior class is very close. They go camping together, hang out at eachother's houses, know eachother's life stories and personal iteneraries. Jill and I have never quite been accepted into this little circle. They like us, and we're all friendly and indeed friends, but they don't call us, they don't hang out with us. These kids, though a lot of them came from different schools, were all sorta popular at their schools. Not popular popular, but popular enough. And it was the good kind of popular. Jill and I were "known" at Memorial. She was the pink/black cutesy/goth chick, I was the mysterious European chick. Plus everyone thought we were dating. But these kids were not that _______ chick/guy. They were known by name! And they're all, by result, slightly superior. They are not, like my friends and I, nice to everyone. They're extremely nice to their own people, but they laugh behind kid's backs and make jokes and give the kids they don't like mean nicknames. Some of them are also very jaded with school and life in general, and by result are either apathetic or over-acheiving (to get out of school sooner) in turns. But these kids are really cool, besides the slight superiority complex and existentialist streak. They're all smart, funny, opinionated, individuals. They read books, listen to good music, appreciate art and philosophy. So my take on these kids has always been, "Hey, if they decide to extend goodwill to me, thats fine. But I'm not going to make any special effort to be their friend. If that gets me an unkind nickname, then so be it."

But today, as Jill and I stood waiting to go to class, we found ourselves in the middle of this group. How this happened, I don't know. I just looked around, and found myself surrounded by a Perry and a Raleigh and a Lauren and an Emily and a Braxton etc. And they were more than their average friendly to me all day. They looked at me in class to see if I got their jokes, they said side comments to me. And I'm glad, because it'll be nice to be a unified senior class, not thier little group, me and Jill's little group and the people inbetween. Perhaps we can meld our groups, and squeeze in the people in between.

OK! SO! First hour. Actually, first I had to sit in our councelor, Mr. Womack's office to figure out my final schedule changes for a few minutes while I had to listen to joyful shouts of reunion ringing outside the door. But THEN I went to my first hour, Constitutional Law with Mr. Walton.

Mr. Walton is known as a pushover, plain and simple. He's a really sweet man, and funny too, but his classes are the farthest thing from hard. And he gives extra credit points out the wazoo. But you can get a lot out of the material if you want to. I had him for a history elective, 1960s history, last year and I learned a lot and got an easy A. So I'm happy with the situation. I've got Jill and A and Megan in that class, plus lots of other kids I know and respect and like. Oh, and halfway through the class my old nemesis, Jeff Kopp, walks through the door, late of course. As Jeff enters, every kid who was in AP US history last year (which was several, since Con Law is a prerequisite to AP Government) snaps his head towards me to see my reaction. Last year, Jeff used to say the stupidest, most ignorant, and most racist things in our history class. He was a real idiot, and pretty much everyone let him know. Once, he was assigned to research the invention of anesthesia and he researched Anastasia Romanov. And this was in AMERICAN history. But the reason he's my nemesis in particular is that I once saw him building a horribly racist website on the school's server. I won't repeat anything I saw on it, besides the Confederate flag was there, because it was all slurs and cursing. But, anyway, I reported it to Mrs. Lee and somehow he found out it was me. All the rest of the year he threw rocks, quarters, pens at me from across the room. He also didn't like me because once he fell asleep in class sitting up, and everyone told me to toss a pen cap at his nose. Someone else put a tissue over his face, but my pen cap knocked it off and he didn't know I wasn't the only one. So, the boy hates me. As he walked in today I gave him a friendly smile and a nod, he have me a curt, gentleman's enemy kind of nod. Fun stuff, oh yeah.

Second hour is Basic computers. There's a couple of the GWH (my name for the other group of seniors, long story) in there, so I look forward to seeing if this friendship thing will last in there. The teacher for Computers is about the coolest lady ever! Her name's Mrs. Brett, but we call her Kathy. She told us her abbreviated life story, and basically she was a big business lady, realized it was all hollow and meaningless, went back to Columbia University to get her masters in Economics and is now teaching Basic Computers and Economics at TSAS and feels much more fufilled. We went over the dress code and she listened to everything we had to say. On the two points that we had problems with (No hat rule, no pajama rule) she said she would face the fire for us and come out swinging to get the policies changed. I get the feeling from Kathy that she genuinely wants to get to know every single one of us. She took an interest in all of our past educational experiences and our names and our current computer abilities. She seems very ready to be our friend as well as our teacher.

As for the class itself, though I already can type over 65 wpm and know Word pretty well, I know nothing about Excel and Powerpoint, the other programs she's going to teach us, so I figure I'll stick it out. Plus, this way I have a class I can skip out on without missing a lot. Megan and Nathan have AP Bio that hour and Mr. B said I could sit in on the class as long as I didn't talk. I miss having a science class, so that'll be cool.

Then it's third hour and time for the class I'm most excited about, American Foreign Policy. (hitherto to be referred to as AFP) Jan O'Connor is the teacher, and another one of the coolest ladies I've ever met. Jan used to teach at a boarding school, has been to Switzerland, backpacked across Ireland this summer, plays the bagpipes, is fluent in German and I believe French, and wants desperately to be a CIA spy. And all of this after self-confessedly wasting all of her years in the education system. I hope my life can be half as interesting as Jan's.

I've got Megan in AFP as well as my friend Jayme (pronounced just like mine. We're known as Pierson and Odom to most folks) and Austin. Actually, I like and respect everyone in that class profusely. They're all intelligent, thoughtful and participatory kids. We're going to start the year exploring the psyce of a terrorist and studying exactly why they hate us. We'll be not just studying our foreign policies and how they're implemented and what the effects are, but creating our own policies and hypothesiying what the results of them may be. Today we assigned people to roles of the US government to get us "thinking like diplomats." I am the National Security Advisor. Jayme's a CIA agent (to Jan's immense envy) and Megan is The President of the United States. (The first woman, and the first African American president, as she was quick to point out) We got into a good discussion of the impending possible war with Iraq and how economics dictate most government policies. Austin, Jayme, this girl named Rebecca who used to live in Guam, and I dominated most of today's discussion, but I know the other's will join in soon.

Then lunch. Something I'd forgotten about the joys of eating lunch in Mr. B's room is that we seem to draw annoying kids like rancid meat draws flies. I don't know how this happened, but last year as we ate in Mr. B's room everyday, all the most obnoxious, stupid and annoying kids in the school came in there too, joining in conversations about things they knew nothing about, picking at our food, messing with our stuff, changing the music without asking, and generally ruining the quiet mood of intelligence and sophistication and destroying the chill vibes that drew us to that room in the first place. Somedays they were gone, other days the turned out in full force, making the room unbearable. Today it was nearly unbearable. Luckily, the "Parlor" as Mr. B calls the little nook of sofa, chairs and bookshelves he created in the corner of the room, is rather cut off from the rest of the room, and right next to his desk so we and he can talk without too much disturbance. And I imagine it will get better once his AP courses pick up and the kids will be coming in there to study with him at lunch. He'll demand quiet, and the annoying kids will leave.

After lunch is Sculpture. Yes, I just enrolled in this today because Advanced Debate got moved to an afterschool sixth hour class. So I have an art class, which is cool. I have Mrs. Kelly for a teacher, which is not. She's the most rude, non-impartial, arrogant teacher I've ever had. She plays favorites like a pinball machine. But, sadly, she is a capable art teacher. She and I have had our run ins. I'll leave that for another day. One quick example of why I don't like her. I left a poem in her room once, and my friend Alex tipped me off that she was going to put it in this horrid art/poetry book she was putting out. (which no one submitted to since she's so incompetent outside a sketchbook) I went to her room and asked to have it back. At first she pretended like she didn't know what I was talking about, then I started reciting the poem and she gave it back. As I was leaving, she says, "I can see why you wouldn't want it published."

But, hey its art. And sculpture is probably something I can do. Sculpture doesnt have to be exact or pretty. I can just do cool geometric design stuff and soak up other people's genius. A lot of the AP studio art kids are in that class so as to be exposed to different mediums, so I imagine I'll be able to see some good stuff.

Fifth hour is JOURNALISM! Yippie! This is another class I've got with Jayme Odom and I'm excited to have her there. She's very responsible and passionate, things you need in volenteer reporters. Pretty much everyone else in that class is either apathetic, unfocused, irresponsible or too shy to say anything, or leaving the class. This is both good and bad. It's good, because this means that I won't have to worry about having to put up with stupid people questioning everything I try to do, and I'll get to go ahead with my ideas, and undeniably be Editor in Chief. But Jayme and I can't do the paper all by ourselves. Without a competent and excited staff we'll never be able to get out a decent paper. Hopefully these kids will wake up, and/or we can recruit from the rest of the school. But as for today, it was the Jamie show. It started when Mrs. Williams, the sponsor, chose out of all the empty seats in the room, the one right next to me. Don't get me wrong, I love Mrs. Williams. She's intelligent, opinionated, informed and very literary and I'm glad to have her respect and trust. But it was a sign that I was going to be carrying the day. She tried to stimulate discussion, but hardly anyone had anything relevant to say. I answered her questions, she asked more, no one responded so I went forward into the breach, rinse lather and repeat. Finally, Mrs. Williams ran out of things to say, and I just launched into a monologue of what ideas and vision I had for the paper. This got Jayme talking, and got nods of approval (but no ideas and comments of their own) from the others. I'm really excited abou the paper, but I've got to get some more kids in there. They must be responsible and vocal. Writing skills don't matter, everyone at TSAS can write a decent article, a great one with the right training. Every class is so essay heavy that you would have flunked out long ago if you couldn't write a good paper.

Last today I had advanced debate. Today was not indicative of the class whatsoever since we just threw the class together last week and most people weren't able to attend because being a 6th hour, it's technically after school. Jen and I were there, Megan came in halfway through, and these two other guys Jeff and Joel, who were in beginning debate and just wanted to sit in on Advanced debate. We pretty much just talked about our summers, what we'd done, what we'd read, what ideas had been rolling around in our heads, what theories. Mr. B's brain had a productive summer, I'll tell you about his latest theories and topics to explore when we've talked about them more and I understand them fully. I told him about the weblog, and how I spent most of my summer right here, writing insipid drivel, going to lame shows for bands I've seen a million times (and that doesnt apply to you, AAC), and re-reading books I know by heart because I didn't have the energy for anything new after the first month or so. I forgot to mention the reviews I wrote and the roadtrips I've taken, but I've got the whole year to tell him about those. Perhaps I'll give him the link to this sucker, though I'm ashamed for him to see most of it. No, I dont think I will.

Good gravy, I certainly wasted my summer when I think of how productive and interesting I am during the school year. I am so ashamed.

After school, which for me doesn't end until nearly 4, (3:55 to be exact) I came home and found my mom had baked me cookies. (Aww, I love my mommy!) I told her about my day, but then she had to go off to church. So I've spent my afternoon organizing my notebooks, portfolios and papers, looking over my supply list, for which it turns out I only needed one or two things, I had the rest already, and drawing a fun picture for the cover of my journalism notebook.

Now I have updated you completely and fully, and I shall go write an AFP essay, take me a shower and head off to bed to be well rested for the first day of the rest of my life.

At Last!

Tomorrow. It's tomorrow. My ecstatic excitement has settled into a quiet joy. My lunch is packed, my outfit laid out. Twothirtyeight waits in my car stereo. Tomorrow is the first day of my senior year at TSAS. I go now to dream a dream of education.

Eagerly Awaiting Wednesday

Wouldn't that make a good band name?

My fingers are hurting like an arthritic person's on the day before it snows. I slammed one hand against a light switch while dancing in my mother's bathroom and I think I hit a nerve or something because it's swollen and still hurts. And the other, I was leap frogging over the counter and my hand just kinda collapsed under me and all my weight came down on it. And, I was painting all day.

I painted my mom's workroom and am gonna get paid some big bucks for it. It was a hassle and a half, because there are a billion little cabinets in there, plus a huge freezer and fridge to move. But it was worth it for the dough. I also got the guy to come fix our washing machine, so I'm now wearing clean clothes, which I washed today. Go me and my productive-ness. And I watched a bit of "Vanilla Sky" too.

Oh oh! And I forgot to mention this last night that I made a swing! Yes, I made a swing for our backyard. I cut the wood, drilled the holes, tied the ropes and everything all by myself. (Actually, Sarah had to hold the ladder but other than that, all by myself) It's so slammin and mad fun to swing on. Everyone come over and see the new ugly white paint job in my mom's room and my freakin awesome swing.

Why is it adults always have to have things "done right"? Things have to be done the way they've always seen it done, so that it looks just like everything else. It's called "being uptight" in my world. My dad had a hissy fit over the fact that I put tape around the electical sockets instead of unscrewing the plates. Why? Because "if you're gonna do something, you gotta do it right." It's silly! I would have gotten the same results either way, but with a little less effort my way. And it's not just about getting the same results. My parents and most adults I know are obsessed with making sure things look "right". My principal made us move around tables at school until all the fake wood surfaces of the tables matched in all the rooms. It took so much effort, and it was really pointless. All the tables were the same size and shape, it was just the surfaces that were different. And my parents worry about all those little things, like my mom and I spent an entire morning putting fake ivy on top of her cabinets. No one is going to come into her kitchen and say, "Hey, Delia, nice ivy!" nor would they have said, if she didn't put it up, "Hey, Delia, where's your ivy?" Its so much wasted effort on something that does not matter. Getting fussy over appearences, its just ridiculous.

Who else has noticed this counter-culture rise into the mainstream? It's not just music, though thats where it started. Dashboard and Jimmy Eat World broke the barrier into MTV without losing most of their fanbase and lots of other bands are following fast. Get Up Kids, Saves The Day, Finch, Glassjaw, Badly Drawn Boy, Desaparecidos, all mentioned on MTV and/or Rolling Stone and/or Spin. Look at the MTV Road Rules Soundtrack. It's basically a sampler of hot indie and underground bands. I have most of the bands on that CD's albums, and have heard of all of them. But like I said, it goes beyond music. Look at fashion. Those "bowling" shoes have been a counter-culture kinda thing for a while. All the stores are selling them now, and they're actually modeled after European styles. Mr. B has a pair and he got his in Italy, I think. We've also got the old school kinda shoes becoming popular, and you can't go to the mall without seeing 25 kids wearing Chucks. Fashion has gone towards the vintage, punk and, to use the dreaded label "emo" styles. I actually don't know what to call it, but the way most of my friends and I dress. I find clothes I would actually wear at normal stores now. Even Wal-mart has gotten on the cool train. It's just amazing. The crowning jewel of the underground rising: Seventeen's "How To Be Emo" article.

Now here's my theory on how it happened. I think it was a manufactured revolution. Now think back, think back to the days when you could wear a band t-shirt without some mall groupie gushing about how they love the crappy single they play on the radio. To the days when you never watched MTV since there was nothing good on. And then, there was MTV2. It was the first and biggest step towards Underground Rising. Then there was Real World New York. For those of you who didn't watch it (and I'm not ashamed to say I did) there was a girl on there who liked emo and indie and new school punk. She wore Midtown and Dashboard shirts and went to shows all the time and hung out with New Found Glory. MTV execs selected her out of hundreds of others. Why? To be a counter culture representative. Then they made sure Dashboard and Jimmy made it into the TRL countdown. (if you still think they don't pick that line-up, poor niave little you.) And now we have the Road Rules soundtrack and there's an "emo" girl on Road Rules now. MTV is responsible for this revolution. All the signs are there. Oh, and The Osbornes! Yeah, they're kooky and spoiled, but they're also cool. The kids listen to good music and have their own style. Jack is pretty smart, though a brat. He reads books like "Lord of The Rings". The fashion industry keeps an eye on MTV, it knows the cultures and how they shift. The masses are gaining a handle on cool, and mostly by the influence of MTV.

And I haven't decided if thats a good thing or not.

My Feet Stink

My mom is paying me loads of money to paint her workroom, our washing machine is broken and I have no clean clothes, I did a one-girl conga line around our kitchen for 10 minutes singing "I start school in two days", tomorrow we go to buy food for my lunches at school, I found an old tape with Switchfoot on it and I really wish I had that CD back because they were a great band, I wish I could make everything ok for all of my friends, I read part of "Prince Caspian" tonight and I still get shivers of longing when I think of Narnia, Jen updated her weblog and it looks so cool, Cherry Jones Soda is so good, I need to get out my old ska CDs and work on my rap skills, if I wrote for Twist Magazine I think I'd kill myself, Chris and Al start school tomorrow, I want to sing in a band, has anyone smocked or heard Sleater-Kinney, big descisions are scary, and I love everything.

I Had A Subject Line For This

Why do I always forget my cool subject lines? I always come up with them while driving so I can't write them down. Darn non-memory,

I'm going to have to start going to bed earlier. I wonder when I'll post. Maybe I'll still post at 1 AM later on, once I get in my sleep through the afternoon/stay up late groove. But I think just after school will be the posting time soon. I've always been told you should set aside a time everyday to write, so that it becomes a habit. You're brain is used to being brilliant at that time, and you're more likely to produce something worthwhile. I've found that advice to be true so far. I nearly always post late at night, when all the phrases and stories of the day have risen to the top of my brain.

Dude, there will be such the longest entry this Wednesday. First day of school, and you'll be hearing all about it. Wednesday afternoon, just get you a nice glass of lemonade and kick back, for I'll have a story to tell.
Or maybe I'll be too tired. ha!

Nobody comments on my entries. Nobody emails me. I long for feedback. I crave it. Please, poeple, feed my ego!

I'm burning some CDs for Jen and myself, and I'm going through this stack of CD-Rs, when I take one off the stack, and the one beneath it is orange! Dude! All the others were blue! And then further down the stack, they're red! I was so excited about the multi color CDs. They're so cool, I want to eat them. They look like candies, or glasses. And they'll have good music on them, too. I'm copying Kings of Convenience, Death Cab For Cutie, Bright Eyes, and I Am The World Trade Center for Jen, Kings of Convenience and The Billions for myself. But the computer is stuck on the 10th track of KofC and I'm gonna murder it.

This entry is so mundane. I'm sorry. I'm having a conversation with Chris that is also mundane. I went for coffee with Al (she came home to get some stuff) and our conversation was rather mundane as well. Jeez, my life has been rather without depth the past several days. And my writer's block broke. I suppose I must exchange one for the other. I may be a shallow poet, or a deep philosopher. What a terrible price to pay.

Lots of things seem to be in a balance. Like that passage from "Ender's Shadow" I posted a while ago. (I'd link to it, but I'm lazy) Like left brain/right brain people. It's an exchange of skills. Like I have a talent for literary and creative things, but I've sacrificed most of my common sense and all my mathematical skills for those talents. I'm super right brained, so I can't think left brained-ish. I have a friend who's smack dab in the middle. She's not overly logical, not overly creative. She's totally middle brained. It all goes in a balance, you see. This is all phycologically proven, but I'll bet it applies to other stuff. Like the philosopher/poet thing. And I have another friend who's musically brilliant. He can play and write like a whirlwind, but he has a little trouble with other human beings. Its an exchange.

I once read in a novel about this made up religion, where everything is in balance. I know lots of religions think this way, but let me explain. The people who practiced this religion believed that when they were happy, that meant someone else had to be sad. Anytime they had something, someone else had to have something of equal value taken away. There was only so much good in the world, and it had to be balanced. Extreme believers in it lived the most simplistic lives with no joy. It wasn't a very well thought out religion, because why didn't it's most devout followers just kill themselves? And what about holidays? More people are happy on Christmas than are sad.

The past several days have been so boring! Give me school!

Look Closer

"I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me... but it's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... and then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life..." Lester Burnham, from American Beauty

"And me I'm in my bedroom/drawing in my notebook/because my hand thinks I'm an artist/but my heart knows I'm a poet." -Bright Eyes

Uno! Dos! Tres!

Ho ho ho oh my. Did we ever have a night. It was quite amazing. I have four amazingly cool girlfriends who will all be going into their senior year this year, along with me. Christiane, Little Allison, Jen, and Jill. And they all came over tonight. We shall do great things, this year. Watch for us, keep your eyes peeled for five cool girls making the scene for we shall be brilliant, I tell you. We shall be brilliant.

It felt a bit like the babysitters club, to be honest. Five girls, all the same age, all of similar interests. I have never hung out with a group like that. Always mixed sexes, mixed ages, mixed interests. But it was really great, and it makes me very happy to see my friends coming together and getting along. We had the best time. I could tell you how cool everyone is, and how funny our evening was, but you of course wouldn't understand. You had to be there, blah blah blah. But if anyone knows where I could get sheet music for the soundtrack of "The Bodyguard" I'd appreciate it.

I love having my friends like eachother. It's part of why I'm so happy to have the guestbook now. I like that my friends will be able to see (sorta) my other friends. Get a face to the name, so to speak. Or an entry to the name. or an email address or website to the name. It's a big network of people and they'd all get along if they just knew eachother. I'm the link between them, and we could all be such good friends. I've never brought some groups of friends together, or been in a group of friends thats been brought together with another, and not had it work out. I can think of one or two people of my friends who wouldn't get along. I can see maybe Joe and Chris not getting along, or at least not hitting it off. The extreme male manifestation of school and the extreme male manifestion of shows. Perhaps. But they're both friendly guys, so maybe. Someday we'll have to see.

I'm gonna go take a shower now. [Imagine groovy elevator music during the interlude]

Does anyone remember that show on Nickelodeon, the one where they brought the kids who'd done something cool on, and had celebrities from Nick guess what it was? And the host was called Summer or something like that? What was that show called?
I just thought of it while I was showering, because once they had this girl on who invented the shower shave step. It was a little step thing you stuck in the corner of your shower and you could put your foot up for shaving your legs. She invented it when she was a little kid, like 8, because she really wanted to shave like her mom and sister. Like, she thought shaving your legs was really cool. Wow. I remember wierd things.

Anyway, A and I went to Hybrid on 15th and Cheap Thrills and Groovy Threads on 11th and drooled over the clothes we were dying to have. Groovy Threads is the worst, they just have cool vintage stuff hanging everywhere, it's overwhelming. I just wanted to sit down in the middle of it and sob because I have no money. And it's not like its anymore than normal clothes cost, in fact it's a bit cheaper. But still, it's more than $4 tops for a shirt. Hybrid is having a sale, lots of stuff is fifty percent off. I would have gotten some stuff but I only had $6 with me. I found a neat sweater for two dollars on the super clearance rack! Its the color of peanut butter. And later we went to Vintage Stock and I found a Bright Eyes CD for 3 dollars. Dude, think about that. Normal people spend at least $25 on a sweater, usually more. Usually around $35. And CDs are $16 on average. $51 compressed into $6. I love being counter culture!

My hands are stained with ink. I found the cure for my writer's block. My quill pens. I have one actual quill pen, its a big black feather and a brass pen nib on the end. And I have another normal one, no feather. But they both require dipping into an ink well and holding the pen a certain way, you know the kind of pen I mean. I always write with a fountain pen, but its not like these ones. These are the old fashioned kind. My normal one is refillable and looks like a normal pen. As much more characther as it has then a ballpoint, these have than it. They get ink on my fingers, big time, but they inspire me. I have always written my best stuff with them. I had to get out the big guns with this writer's block lately, had to pull out the pens. They're the ultimate cure. You'll know I'm writing a lot of poetry if my hands are inky.

In "Little Women", Jo's friend and later husband, Professor Freidrich Bhaer says he knew at first sight that she was a writer. How? By the ink stains on her fingers.

Shout out to Christiane for telling me about The Kings Of Convenience. I'm in love. Great band, or great two guys, rather. Low, soft vocals. Gentle guitars interacting with one another forming the backbone of the music. Violins stream on one song, a muted trumpet plays on another. Some songs are jazzy, some are classical, some could be soft rock. All are beautiful.

a jumble of digits
sounds so unromantic
some poetic code words
for what I want from you

I Love You Guinevere I Love You Guinevere I Love You

First item: Everybody do a happy dance for the page is lookin' TIZIGHT! ("Have you ever noticed that the word 'bizarre' is just a ghettofied version of 'bar'?"-Craig) I got me some cool new template-age, plus I got links down there, plus, if you'll look to your left, you'll see an email link and, miracle of miracles, a GUESTBOOK! Yes, a guestbook! It may not be a cool comment thingy like what some other weblogs have, but it's mine and I'm proud of it. Feel free to sign as often as you'd like and/or use as a message board. I'm very very satisfied with how it looks. So Chris, you don't have to make me a new one unless you really want to.

Second item: Al has moved into her dorms at OSU. Ho hum. Karen, Craig and I helped her move in, plus her parents and boyfriend too. But it was very symbolic to me that it was Craig, Karen and I who helped. Those three have been my friends for so long. Craig my entire life, literally. I've known Karen since childhood, Al since later childhood, been good friends with them since seventh grade. We've had our fights, and we had "The Great Schism" as I call it, last year, but it means a lot to me that we're all friends again. And now Al's in college. Jeez, life comes full circle. At one point of my life, I thought I'd never see her again. At one point, Al in college was the furthest thing from my mind. Craig and Karen dating, theres another thing that would have never occured to me two years ago, but I can't see it any other way now.

It's just so amazing the way things worked out with these people. I know that these three are true friends, because we've all been through the fire and came out as close or closer than ever. It was all for the best, I think. If we hadn't parted ways for a bit, and parted with the other people and things we were attatched to, we would not be the people we are. We would not be half as well adjusted or mature or cool. We would have stuck together, but probably drowned ourselves because you can't swim clinging to dead weights. But now things have come together, just as God meant them to. We're in it for the long haul now.

Woo!
I have taken great leaps in html-ing! I changed TEMPLATES! Check it out, Chris and Karen! I even managed to change the stuff in the bottom red box! I continue to amaze myself with my coolness. Everyone be sure to check the red box at the bottom and please enjoy Weblog Shmeblog's new look.

A Subject Line Less Dumb

How great does it feel to have someone who understands? It feels very great.
I've been so blessed to have had several friends in my life who felt as I felt. There is nothing greater than the feeling of saying something and not only not being considered stupid but to have someone say, "Dude! Me too! Totally!" or something to that effect. C.S. Lewis has a quote. "Friendship begins when one person says to another, 'You too? I thought that of no one but myself!'"

I'm currently grooving on a lovely session of "Dude, me too!"' conversation with Christiane. I ran into her at Barnes and Noble and the poor thing had had the worst day ever. I felt so bad for her, but I could totally understand how she was feeling. She and I are so similar in temperment. I really "get" her, I think. And I like to think she "gets" me. We think alike. So do/did A and I. It remains to be seen if our like-minded-ness has held over.

I keep getting sidetracked. I wanted to talk about the joy of understanding. And not just understanding, but agreeing. For many years I longed for someone who would say, "Dude, me too!" and never got it. Thats what middle school was all about, feeling lonely because no one could understand me. I know that sounds cliche, but its more true with me than your average teenager. I'd finish that egotistical sounding thought, but it's a whole other issue. But anyway, it's a feeling of completeness now, to have it. I cant describe it, because if you've felt it, you know, and if you haven't, you don't. Kindred spirits, as I first heard them called in "Anne Of Green Gables", are quite dear to my heart. Even after several years of having kindred spirit friends, I still get really excited when I find someone with something in common, or who "gets" it and I'm always on the lookout for them.

Its really great not only to be understood but to understand. Like tonight when Ace came in all sad, I was talking to Joe. She spilled out her story to us, but then Joe had to go back to work. He made sympathetic sounds as Ace had told her story and he made some more as he had to walk away to go back to work. Ace was very confused as to what he was trying to say, and because Joe is often at a loss for words, and I understand him, I was able to translate his actions into, "Joe is very very upset that you had a bad day, Christiane. He wishes there was something he could do for you, and is extremely pained that he cannot make it all go away." Joe says, "What she said, exactly," and has to go back to work. That made me happy for two reasons, Joe's sympathy made Ace feel better, and I was glad that I understood Joe that well. Yay for knowing people really well. I wonder, can any of my "Dude, me too!" friends translate my thoughts that well? I always like to have myself "analyzed" by a friend to see how right they are.

I wonder if there are people out there who don't feel that longing for someone who understands. I have one "Dude, me too!" friend who's actually more of a "Me too," friend. I get really excited when we see eye to eye on something, but it doesn't seem that important to them. Can it be that they never longed for that "other half"? Did they never need someone to understand them? I don't know if that's admirable or sad.

I was going to go to Modest Mouse and The Anniversary tomorrow night. But I just looked closely at the flyer, and it's $18 at the door! I do not have that kind of money. I'll just hang out in Stillwater with Al instead. Thats cool with me.

My back hurts a lot. Someone fix that, please.

Why do people never say anything to me about the stuff in my weblog besides the complaints? I only get responses if I'm whining. And the whining is what I least want responses about! If I'm whining, I don't want my whining acknowleged! I feel like I'm fishing for compliments or sympathy. I just write whats in my head, and if sadness or angry is there, then it's there. I'd much rather spark discussion or comment with the intelligent, not whining things I say. And I know now that people are gonna start commenting about the other stuff, because I've complained about it now. It's a vicious cycle. ("It's a vicious cycle that never ends. So we must stop it before it begins." -Calibretto 13. sorry, had to stick that in) Maybe if I had a guestbook or comments thing. That reminds me, I have to write an email to someone about something.

"No one understood a word they said/ Hailed them all as kings, up upon a pedestal/ Their names, scribbled on a parchment piece/ Would sink like any ship/ Listing fast from ruptured hulls" -Reese Roper, Five Iron Frenzy, "Eulogy"

My Thoughts Like Toothpaste Squeeze Out On This Toothbrush Of A Computer Screen

Here are some things that have been rolling around in my head as I lounge on my sofa, enjoying the rain, drinking hot tea and orange juice and trying not to get sicker.

The Revolutionary War was the turning point for the world. It not only revolutionized American and British relations, it revolutionized politics, economics, and the military for every country on earth. Nothing else has had such an enormous effect.

Politically, The Revolution began the first true democracy in the history of the world. Ideas of great philosophers were being put into practice, ideas that are now standard for the world. It was the same as when Karl Marx's ideas were put into practice and the Russians overthrew the Romanovs, except that it worked. The Revolution had the more immediate effect of changing the way monarchies delt with their colonies. They had to be fair to them, or else they'd follow our example. No more ruling with an iron fist, the people discovered their power. Proof? French Revolution, and the Cuban revolution. Two revolts sparked directly by the American's actions.

Economically, kingdoms had to completely overhaul their taxation and trade policies. With colonies no longer allowing themselves to be walked on, kingdoms could not rely so heavily upon the taxation and sale of the goods coming out of those colonies.

Militarily, we brought an end to war as it was previously known. As soon as the Minutemen began to fire on Lexington Green, the British Regular's way of life was over. Just like Ender (for those of you that may have read the best book ever "Ender's Game") the colonists refused to fight in formations. They challenged the "gentleman's war" with guerilla tactics. They changed the face of war, they made it ugly.

It is a very different feeling to be in a home with no one else living there. When you know that no one is coming home, everything feels different. It becomes your home. You are in control of this place, no one will challenge whatever you may want to do in it. If you leave, you can come back and nothing will have changed. And if you change something, no one will change it back. No one can suprise you. I feel stronger, more powerful having the house to myself for a couple of days. The test of my maturity is how I use that power.

I wonder if Craisins are bad for me.

Both my email and screenname are named after literary characters. Whyender@hotmail.com and IamJoMarch. Ender's Game and Little Women. And for both of them, the password is the character's most beloved person. If I've given you the passwords to my accounts just now, I don't care because that means you've read my favorite books and interpreted them the way I did. More power to you.

I have spent the past two evenings sitting in competing Mexican food resturants eating green salsa and queso with Jen. Mmm, tomatillo.

Criticism As Definition

Where has my brilliance gone? I'm not a poet, I'm not a philosopher. What am I? I'm not a journalist, I don't like to write news stories and interview people, besides music people. I tried to explain the other night exactly how I'm a writer. I've never written a story of any kind, my poetry is laughable. I have bouts of philosophy that attack me at times. I write music journalism, and thats what I want to do. But I also write stuff like this. I know this is just journaling, but I like this. I like making observations on the world and expressing them. If there was a term for someone who just wrote opinion columns and essays, thats what I'd be. I'm an essayist? And I'm a music journalist.

I've been reading some stuff lately that has been addressing the question "Is criticism an art form? Are art and music critics artists?" I found this at Fine Print Mag and in a book about Lester Bangs. I never questioned it. Of course it's an art form. I find an eloquent phrase beautiful, and that's what art's about.

I gave a speech earlier in the year about art, defining it. I got a bit of . . . I can't remember the word I'm looking for. I got a negative response.

I'm so tired, I'm forgetting things I did two minutes ago. Forgetting basic words like that. I'm getting sick, indeed.

I actually accomplished two of the four things on my list of things to do today. I cleaned my room and I organized my cds. I was also supposed to read something worthwhile and write two reviews. Tomorrow.

A Solution To The Problem

It seems I've hit another wall
And I wouldn't know where to begin
To tell you what kind, how hard and why
Because the crash has broken my pen.

Once I could fly. I wrote for miles.
My heels were aflame with greatness.
I was the unstoppable juggernaut of the line.
You'd have to hold me down to break this.

But, boy, that was nothing. I see that now.
Big fish, small pond. No contest.
My inadequacies drive me to distraction.
Perhaps I'll just give it a rest.

I'd go back to square one if I knew where it was.
And I don't know who'll ever read this
But in spite of what I may have said before
I'm telling you now: I am no Genius.

Well, that's something. But one poem does not a wrecking ball make.

and here's a link to some cute pictures. The first is my neice Megan and I, the second is my cousin Ethan from Colorado. Awww.

If I Could, I'd Snap You Up Just Like Meah

Oh this has been the laziest day. I slept nearly all day. I was still wearing pajama pants at 5:30 this afternoon. Isn't that pathetic? I'm feeling so motivated an un-motivated at the same time. I have three letters to write, to my cousin, to my friend and to Orson Scott Card, and I haven't done any of them. I have pictures to send to Karen and pictures to get from Jen. I've even been feeling some poetic movings within my soul, but I haven't taken the mental effort to follow them through.

Even tonight, when Jen and I went out, we didn't actually do anything. We just changed scenery and talked. We started at Barnes and Noble, went to Taco Cabana, went to Woodward Park, went to a parking lot so Jen could practice driving, then we tailed some cops and got really scared when we found them, went back to her house. It was actually a really cool night, because we talked so much. But it was also a lazy night.

I found out tonight that this one guy that I used to think was sorta dumb, is actually really quite brilliant. He read us some of his poetry, and it is some of the best I've ever read. I honestly rank Jeff with Death Cab For Cutie or Jets To Brazil. Not Pedro, but he's really good. He writes with structure, very very good structure. He pulls it all together, his poems make sense but still have that "figure me out" poetic quality. They have great rhythm and meter. I felt my writer's block shift a bit as I listened to him read, it was chaffing under Jeff's brilliance. Just like evil shies from light, writer's block shies from genius.

I am getting sick. Whenever I get sick, I become defiant. I become defiant of my body. I challenge it. I say, "If you wanna do this, then lets do it. Let's get it on. We'll see who gives in first!" If I'm getting a cold, I stand in drafts. If I'm feeling lethargic, I go out and run around. And if I have a sore throat, I sing at the top of my lungs. Honestly, it's the worst with sore throats. Last time I had one, it was the night before a tournament so I was even more furious at my voice. I went to a party and then ran around with some people and I did it in the cold, with no coat, and I was yelling over crowds all night. It was horrible, and by the end of the night I could barely whisper. I croaked out my speech the next day and still won. Ha. But today I got out my most singable CDs and played them at top volume, belting out as much as I could. My throat is killing me. I don't understand myself at times.

For all concerned parties, my fish is getting better. We thought he had fin rot, and I went to Pets Mart to get some medicine, but they were closed. Why do we have emergency rooms for people, 24 hour Walmart and Walgreens in case we run out of food or medicine, but nothing like that for our pets? It's unfair to animals. But Posiedon is doing much better, no more of his fins have disappeared today and he's being much more active. I did the aquarium salt thing and gave his bowl a good cleaning. I hope it helps.

Jen and I really did have a great evening. I made it sound worse at the first part of the entry because I realized I didn't really want to do the things I knew I needed to do. I was just bitter for that moment. I take it back, today was very productive. Jen and I had some quality time. Plus, we found genius in a place we never would have expected it. We talked to another really amazing person that I'd like to get to know better. We learned that Atomic Burrito will always be better than Taco Cabana. We drove the back streets of her neighborhood and aclimated her with the world of self-transportation. At the park we swung on swings and I sang songs from "The Sound Of Music" while she danced around the swing set and then lost her shoes. We roved the dark and scary trees. We bought her "Leaves Of Grass" and I remembered another poet I like, Dylan Thomas. It was not wasted. Tonight was a night. I made a mark on the ticker tape of life today. It may not have had a distinguishable shape, but it was something. And who knows, the night isn't over yet.

Dashboard Confessional is my musical security blanket. It doesn't get me excited with it's brilliance or with it's cause. But it's pretty and good music, and it is comfortable.

Reflections From The Geo

I hate this. I hate this people leaving crap. What is that all about, huh? And what is this leaving messages like "Hey, this is ____. I'm leaving next week and I just wanted to know if I could have my BOOK back." Not, "Hey lets hang out one last time." Not, "I'll really miss you." Just "I want my book back." That hurts. And it hurts when people leave without saying goodbye. And it hurts when they actually tell you that they're not going to miss you.

I was much more bummed about the issue of people leaving earlier tonight. But I've talked to a couple people who're feeling the same way I am, and that always takes some of the weight of it off. Why is that? Misery loves company, and it helps.

I went to school today to help move stuff. Ah, what a feeling of power! I . . AM . . . A . . . SENIOR! I am feeling the effects. Actually, what I felt today had nothing to do with me being a senior. I was trusted with a lot of jobs, not just menial tasks or even difficult tasks, but I was put in charge of people and areas. I was delegating jobs and organizing the moving. Not only other students, but parents were listening to what I said. I got to help make descisions about things! But all of this didn't really have to do with me being a senior. It had to do with the fact that I am a responsible person who the teachers can trust, and I'm a half decent leader type figure.

But it was very very nice to be admired again. I'm such an egotist, I really am. But when I see the new kids literally looking at me with a sense of wonder that I could say those things and do those things, that I know such and such and actually get excited about new textbooks and discuss cirriculum (and spelling) with the teachers, it's hard not to feel a swell of pride. And I saw my friend Sterling, yes Sterling as in silver, and even though he's my friend, he does that too, in a way. He "shows me off" to the other kids. "Jamie, tell them about that one time when you . . . " "Jamie, show them that one thing you do . . . " It's so much fun, and I love every minute of it. Dillion once said that we should change the name of TSAS to Tulsa School of Being the Center of Attention.

This year is going to be wonderful. Mr. B has a sofa in his room now. There will be a cornocopia of jokes made about it, for it is a pull-out sleeper sofa. I'm sure you thought of about three jokes right there, and at least one of them was dirty. And Mrs. Lee said we could switch Advanced Debate to a sixth hour class, if we can convince Mr. B to go for it. If we can get him on board it would be the coolest thing. It'd be hanging out after school and discussing music and art and politics and religion and philosophy and getting credit for it. And it could be more people than just us normal debate kids. Since it's after school, essentially, all the fun cool people could come. I'm sure we can sell him on it. And if we can't, we'll all just go to his room after school anyway. ha!

Last night I hung out with Allison, Ross and Christiane. Hello, old times! I was beaming most of the night, basking in the glow of Ross and Christiane's debate over the artistic integrity of studio musicians, then basking in the glow of Ross apologizing when he attacked me on a point before I'd even finished. THAT wasn't from old times, but I was glad to see it. A and I talked and goofed like the selves we were last summer. I didn't get to talk to Ace as much as I'd wanted, but she needed time with Ross. They used to be bestfriends too. Tonight Ace and I walked around downtown and had just an amazing conversation. She and I are so totally cool now. Her leaving town helped her be able to chill and take time for herself. She even looks more relaxed now. I have my friends back. The wind and the sun have returned.

I've lost my train of thought because I made the mistake of not putting my away message up. IMs from friends are great, but they have no place when I ought to be writing. Ok, next topic.

I have a terrible case of writer's block. I am having all these important events and none of them are translating into verse. It's the most frustrating thing in the world. None of my feelings will be properly recorded, these events won't really stick in my mind. Everytime I think I may have a line, it ends up being the cheesiest thing in the world and I can't go anywhere with it. Man, I am reminding myself of the At All Costs song as I think of how I'll describe this writers block thing to you. Go listen to "Running On Empty" and you'll get it. (Also, the AAC song "Reflections From The Highway" has been going through my head because of everyone leaving. My subject line is from that. Go read them both.)

Last time I had writer's block this bad, I broke it and wrote some of the best stuff I've ever done. I still have my work pages from that period up on my wall to inspire me. I have pages where I just write down lines that could fit in or be expanded and I usually keep them. I'm also hyper organized and I list all the lines I come up with and then put what the topic of the poem is next to it in parentheses. The page from the day I broke my writer's block has nine poem ideas, six of which were fully expanded. And at the bottom of the page, I wrote the piece of advice to myself that helped me break it. "Sometimes it helps to wrap your head in a blanket and quit trying." But to get to the point where that advice will be of any use, I'll have to get so frustrated with my lack of eloquence that I'll be like that scene in "Dead Poet's Society where Prof. Keating is trying to get the shy kid to open up and is yelling at him "I sound my barbaric YAWP! Barbaric YAWP!" or something like that. Ah, Whitman. Perhaps I should go read some Whitman or watch that movie again.

Know what i honestly think it is? I honestly think this block is created by too much philosophy and not enough human conflict. I'm having personal conflict, but I'm not clashing with enough people to balance out the philosophy. I just need school. School is the cure fore everything.

"Inspiration is fleeting. I've gone in every direction, penned words at every intersection. This road is leading to nowhere." -Chris Skillern of AAC, "Running On Empty"

Jamie, Conquerer Of The Law

Once again, my utter awesomeness has been confirmed! I have escaped the long arm of the law once again! I have escaped ticketing for moving violations many times, but never one this blatant. Craig, his brother Stephen and I were trying to get back to the Mustard Tree tonight after eating and I was looking for my turn and I just rolled straight through a red light. Go me and my phat driving skills. And we'd just driven past a cop, we'd said, "Look, a cop." Real smooth. So he pulls me over, and I tell him the truth. We're from Tulsa, we were looking for our turn, we were trying to get back to the Mustard Tree. He's totally not giving me a ticket! He gives me directions back to the Tree. He's utterly friendly, doesn't even look at my license and registration! Booyah!

But then, he walks back to his car and he sees my license plate is expired. Busted Craig and Stephen think. But not I. I did not lose faith in my abilities of persuation and amazing luck with cops. I have been pulled over maybe 8 or 9 times, 10 now, and I've only gotten a ticket once. Twice if you count the wreck I had last year. I talk my way out of speeding, reckless driving, broken lights, and now running red lights. I knew I could get outta this expired plate thing too.

And I did! BooYAH! Everybody do a dance! Yeah, yeah, go Jamie, go Jamie! I got outta this sucker with a WARNING! A WAR-NING! And those puppies mean nada. I am so cool.

Speaking of puppies. The Mustard Tree has a puppy now. And it is the darned cutest thing I have ever seen. Oh wait, the puppy combined with Aaron Johnson playing with it was cuter. Hehe, tough hardcore guy getting down on the ground and rolling around with this tiny puppy with a pink rinestone collar, growling at the puppy and being all around silly, that was great. I wished I could have played with it, but I'm so very allergic to dogs.

Tonight was fun. I got to be the only girl with a bunch of cool nice guys. Only girl besides the puppy. (Named Sarah, renamed Bottlecap.) There were four other girls I knew there, but one is pure evil, one I don't like a huge amount, and two were "hardcore girls" who aren't really concerned with me outside of saying hello. And I think I'm friends with their boyfriends, but since I don't really know who's dating who in the hardcore scene, I have no clue if I am or not. So I just had fun with my guys. Franklin and I played Scrabble and we all went to Subway and I irritated Stephen by just running in circles on the basketball video game. Fun stuff.

Tomorrow I get to hang out with A and Ace!!! I'm so excited! Ross'll be there too, I suppose. It'll be just like old times. I'm so happy. If only we could get Chet to come and not bring his posse. Not that I dislike his posse, but his posse A) contains Josh and B) is not part of "the old times". But A and Ace are good enough. Oh and Terah. If we had Terah and Chet and then that dirty liar Josh Adsit, we'd have last summer again. But A and Ace are my favorite people ever, so tomorrow will be magnificent!

My Fish, The Aquatic Latte

I do not feel obligated to write much tonight, since I've written like 8 pages today. But I will say that I watched Magnolia and I have not yet decided if I like it or not. I will also say that Reasors has more Jones Soda than you can shake a stick at. More flavors than I've ever encountered. And my friend Leo is cool and I wonder if he's gay or straight. And Jen rented me Spy Kids because she's a sweetie. And Al updated and so did Jen. And I found another cut on my foot that I didn't notice before. And I got really cute new shoes for school.

I go now to watch Spy Kids and drink Berry Lemonade and M.F. Grape Jones Soda.

Battle School

I've just been re-reading "Ender's Shadow" by Orson Scott Card. That man is brilliant, he has the best grasp of dialouge I've ever seen. His characters are realistic, and their thoughts and conversations are genuine. Card inserts these glorious little truths into his books, truths like "Intelligence and education apparently didn't make any important difference in human nature." Or, " . . . all obediance was volentary and ultimately depended on the free choice of the person recieving the orders."

I was reading a passage where two characters are discussing religeon, but secretly discussing a hypothesis of the human genome. (They're not supposed to be talking about genes, it's classified.) But as I read it, not only is the phrasing and the dialogue brilliant, the ideas themselves are brilliant as well. I must relate this dialogue to everyone.

Let me set it up. There's a character, Bean, who's unbelievably intelligent but extremely small. Carlotta is trying to find out how he is possible and where he came from, since he's an abandoned orphan. She is speaking with Anton, a scientist who's work has been classifed at this point, about the limits of human genetics. He's just told her about how savants and autistic people have brilliance in one area, but are practically retarded in most others. He's saying hyperintelligent people are always mentally handicaped in some other way. But then he goes on to say this.

---

"It is not a bleak existence, Carlotta. For I can celebrate God's great compromise in making human beings as we are."
"Compromise?"
"Our bodies could live forever, you know. We don't have to wear out. Our cells are all alive; they can maintain and repair themselves, or be replaced by frshe ones. There are even mechanisms to keep replenishing our bones. Menopause need not stop a woman from bearing children. Our brains need not decay, shedding memories or failing to absorb new ones. But God made us with death inside.”
“You are beginning to sound serious about God.”
“God made us with death inside, and also with intelligence. We have our seventy years or so—perhaps ninety, with care—in the mountains of Georgia, a hundred and thirty is not unheard of, though I personally believe they are all liars. They would claim to be immortal if they though they could get away with it. We could live forever, if we were willing to be stupid the whole time.”
“Surely you’re not saying that God had to chose between long life and intelligence for human beings!”
“It’s there in your own Bible, Carlotta. Two trees—knowledge and life. You eat of the tree of knowledge, and you will surely die. You eat of the tree of life, and you remain a child in the garden forever, undying.”
“You speak in theological terms, and yet I thought you were an unbeliever.”
“Theology is a joke to me. Amusing! I laugh at it. . . . .Genesis tells of men who lived to be more than nine hundred years old. What it does not tell you is how very stupid these men all were.”
Sister Carlotta laughed aloud.
“That’s why God had to destroy humanity with his little Flood,” Anton went on. “Get rid of those stupid people and replace them with quicker ones. Quick quick quick, their minds moved, their metabolism. Rushing onward into the grave.”
“From Methuselah at nearly a millennium of life to Moses with his hundred and twenty years, and now to us. But our lives are getting longer.”
“I rest my case.”
“Are we stupider now?”
“So stupid that we would rather have long life for our children than see them become too much like God, knowing . . . good and evil . . . knowing . . . everything.” He clutched at his chest, gasping. “Ah, God! God in heaven!” [Anton had an implant that kept him from talking about this idea, he was getting too close and the implant kicked in]

[Later, Carlotta figures out what Anton meant] So that was the secret. The genome that allowed a human being to have extraordinary intelligence acted by speeding up many bodily processes. The mind worked faster. The child developed faster. Bean was indeed the product of an experiment in unlocking the savant gene. He had been give the fruit of the tree of knowledge. But there was a price. He would not be able to taste the tree of life. Whatever he did with his life, he would have to do it young, because he would not live to be old.
Anton had not done the experiment. He had not played God, bringing forth human being show would live in an explosion of intelligence, sudden fireworks instead of single, long-burning candles. [My favorite metaphor] But he had found the key God had hidden in the human genome. Someone else, some follower, some insatiably curious soul, some would-be visionary longing to take human beings to the next stage of evolution or some other such mad, arrogant cause—this someone had taken the bold step of turning that key, opening that door, putting the killing, brilliant fruit into the hand of Eve. And it was because of that act—that serpentine, slithering crime—it was Bean who had been expelled from the garden. Bean who would now, surely, die—but die like a god, knowing good and evil.

---

Isn’t that amazing? Wow! And both parts of it are true, the theology and the science. See how it all comes together? See how once you’ve figured out one truth, everything else falls into place?

Orson Scott Card, I know, is one of the enlightened.

How The Other Half Writes

Ok, so I didn't wake up during the night and write. I woke up and transferred from my sofa to my bed, but thats about the only nocturnal activity I participated in. But I'm awake now.

Neither of my sisters came and said goodbye to me before they left. I told them to wake me up before they went to bed or this morning when they left and say goodbye. They didn't. That's a bit lame, if you ask me, but I'll survive.

I wrote yesterday and didn't really stress the funness of the lake. It really was a blast. I'd never swum with my neice and nephews. There's a certain thrill of being "the big kid" in a swimming area. I finally was able to dunk them. Ah, what a feeling of power! But since I'm also their aunt, I also taught them how to dunk bigger kids; dive underwater and grab their knees. So that was fun. And David and Becky and I were throwing them across the water. David was able to get them high enough for them to backflip. Man, I wish I was still a little kid.

But the jet ski, that was the best part. It really is the closest I'll ever get to a motorcycle. Cutting over waves, doing turns, going as fast as I could, it was just great. I went out on my own once, and I took my nephew Josh out once. Josh tried to be a crazy driver, like my brother on his jet ski, but he didn't quite make it. He did lots of tight turns and rings, but he did them at really low speeds. At least he was trying. At one point he'd stopped to look at something floating in the water, a can, and when he started the engine again, he had the handlebars turned to the side, as well as his body leaning over the water, and the moment he hit the gas, the jet ski flipped right over and both of us flew off. Good job, kiddo.

But today I'm very sore from throwing and swimming and jet skiing. I was gonna go up to TSAS and help them move stuff, but I'm just too darn worn out to be much good. I'll go tomorrow.

My family. Let's see. I'm not going to pretend I don't know that I can get in trouble for whatever I may write here. I know I'm being censored. But my truthful spirit is chaffing under the reigns of censorship, and I havent' been able to talk about my family beyond relating the basic events for a couple of weeks. Well, screw it. I'm writing whatever I want.

Cheryl is nice, I love her. She's really energetic and fun to be around. She always has something to do. And best of all, she has a very deep longing to help people. She's been a social worker for many years, now she runs a shelter for abused children as well as helps to investigate the incidents.
But this desire to help sometimes overreaches itself. She is constantly making judgements on people. We're sitting in Taco Bueno and every third person who walks by, Cheryl has a comment about their clothing, their job, their physical appearence. She once, while drunk, actually told a woman of the street what she thought of how she was parenting her kids. It's a wonder she wasn't beat up. This was a large woman. But this could be seen as a kooky little quirk for the most part, if it wasn't for what she said at the dinner table her first night here.

My cousin Kelly is married to a really neat guy named Chris. Chris is from Chicago, rides a motorcycle, reads Tolkien and Card and lots of other great stuff, has a huge library that he's very generous about lending from, is a great cook, runs his own web design company as well as is a consultant for other companies, has practically adopted Kelly's kids from her previous marriage. He's a wonderful husband to Kelly, father to Evan and Addy and friend to me. He is one of my favorite people, and he would fit in perfectly with my friends if he was our age. He's a wonderfully huge geek.
But Chris can also get a little huffy and opinionated at times, a sin I can't blame him for. I take it in stride as just Chris, and when he becomes so miffed really easily, I just ignore it and go on and it goes away. It ain't no thing if you just deal with it and move on. But apparently, I just found this out, several months ago he wrote a letter to my dad critisizing him and how he preached, or something like that. This did not suprise me, I've known CAKE (Chris Kelly Evan and Addy, get it?) have been unhappy with my dad's church for a while now. They dont find another church for the same reason I didn't for a long time. It's the family church, its where we all go. If they left, they'd in a way be leaving the family. But he wrote this letter to my father, which I havent' seen so I don't know if it was inappropriatly rude or not, and everyone else in the family knew about it but me. I guess it was an issue for a while, then my dad and Chris worked it out and it's all fine now. I can understand that, my dad and I have fought plenty of times. Chris and I have. It's nothing.

But at the dinner table, Cheryl began critisizing, making fun of and being flat out horribly rude to Chris and he wasn't even there. She accused him of being gay, in front of her six year old. She made fun of his job. She made the assumption that the only reason he's nice to my grandmother is for inheritance. (Chris and Kelly go to my half-crazy grandma's house every Sunday afternoon, just to be nice and make her feel loved) I could not believe she could say this about A) As nice a guy as Chris B) A member of her own family and C) ANYONE! To be that unkind, and to make those kind of assumptions on Chris's honesty and motives, I was furious. My mom didn't stop her, my dad didn't stop her. And as I was collecting myself to calmly say something in Chris's defense, Sarah launches into it at Cheryl. I've never been so happy to hear Sarah spout off.

Cheryl is also a bit of a snob. She lives and has always lived in the nicest neighborhood she can. She sends Joseph to private day care and snooty summer camps. At Taco Bueno several mechanics from a nearby car dealership walked by us on their way out and Cheryl says, "What kind of life can people like that lead?" Jeez, I did a double take when she said that. Becky and I gently say things like, "I'm sure they love to work on cars. I've known people who love the feel of the engine and to solve problems in the works of the car," or "Even if they only fix cars for a living, there's more to life than your job. I'm sure they have friends and family and hobbies and things they do on the weekends." I'm afraid that she may have meant "What kind of life can people like that lead with such a small salary?" I said before, her husband is a CEO of some company and Cheryl's pretty used to "the finer things in life."

But I did enjoy having her here. Despite what she said, I enjoy her company. And she's my sister. I don't see her very much and I never lived under the same roof with her, she was long moved out when I was born. Jill was the oldest in the house when I was born.

Another fun thing of the past couple weeks, spending time with the kids. I normally am elbowed out by the child master, Sarah. Sarah has a wierd natural ability to attract children to her. In CO, some kid just randomly came up to her and started talking to her. "Do I have it written on my forehead?" she said at the time. She really must have something like that, because it's like bees to honey with Sarah and kids. She worked at a day care this summer, and that's probably what she'll end up doing after she's worked in the advertising side of music for a while. She'll do that, then get married, work for a while longer, have some kids, go part time, quit when she's had her second or third, and by the time they're old enough to take care of themselves she'll run a day care out of her house.

But the past several times I"ve seen the kids, they've actually gravitated a bit towards me! Yay! I love these kiddos. Let me tell you about them.

Josh is the oldest and first born grandchild. My goodness, when he was born there was the hugest todo you've ever seen. From the moment he could walk, he was in love with sports. He could throw a ball as straight as could be before he could even walk. He's played every sport, as much as he could, and been good at all of them. He's very protective of his little brother, Justin. For the most part, he's just your all around average kid. He's funny and smart. He's actually very very good with math and numbers and learned to write sooner than most kids. He likes to read, something bred into him by me and his father. Jeff is a big reader, and also a CPA and a stockbroker, Jill's a CPA, so that's where the math comes from. He's skinny as a rail, just like his mom (Jill). His shoulders though, are actually quite broad for an 8 year old, which I assume comes from the sports. He holds himself very upright, very strong and noble. He is a good kid, but I see a potential for him to become a big jerk of a jock when he gets to high school. But I think that his little brother will help to keep him grounded.

Justin is everyone's favorite. He's the littlest thing you've ever seen. He's a full foot shorter than Joseph and they were born within a week of eachother. He's the only grandchild with brown hair, all the others are blonde. Justin will never be a great athelete like his brother, and he doesn't care. He's tried to do a few sports, mostly at the urging of his dad, but he mostly sits on the sidelines and looks at bugs. He likes to play pretend and cuddle up in your lap and talk. He can play with one toy in a corner, absorbed for hours. He's full of personality, very goofy and funny. He has one liners and zingers that sound straight off a sitcom. He loves to be loved, he comes to mommy or gramma for cuddles and reassurances all the time. He's made of rubber, he takes more hits than the others without a tear. A good skill since he'll be so small for most of his life, most likely. He reminds me of Bean from "Ender's Game" but without the cold, calculation. Replace that with affection and personality, and you've got Justin. Guts, humor, intelligence. He'll grow up to be one of us, I know it. He'll be a class clown, but the good kind. He'll shop at thrift stores and hang out in bookstores, but still be popular. He'll be a ladies man too. He may be an actor.

Jay, now Jay is crazy. He started out as a rather large child, but he's grown into himself and now he's downright handsome. He has the best laugh I've ever heard. It's positively infectious. Jay has had some behavior problems in the past, but his parents went to some couselors with him, and it's amazing the change in him. He still goes in extremes, screaming one second, perfectly happy the next, but his obediance and crankyness are on a level with normal kids. He used to have tantrums, hitting people and being insulting and rude. Now incidents of "attitude" as his parents call it, are few and far between. Jay likes to make up songs. He'll keep you sitting and listening to him for hours if he could. He'll sing about anything. He does stories too. A big figure in his stories for a while was a bridge he was going to build. Oh my, how we heard about that bridge. It's gonna be five hundred feet long, no ten hundred, no a BILLION! And it'll be as high as the house, no as high as a skyscraper, no as high as THE SKY! I saw "The Rules" of his house, and the basic punishment for any offense is, be still my heart, having a book taken away. The only punishment that gets through to him, his mom says, is having his nighttime reading priveleges taken away. He shall be a writer. I know it. The intense emotions, the bibliophilia, the creativity. I can see the signs, I know a writer when I see one.

Megan, ah the only girl. She is, in all senses of the word, a Princess. She is freaking spoiled rotten. Or at least she was. The family is beginning to lose the novelty of a girl and just treat her like another kid. She's also currently the youngest. (Though I do not comply to the myth that the baby of the family is always spoiled) She's got big brown eyes and curly blonde hair. She is a-freaking-dorable. Sarah likes to coddle her, dress her up and do girly things with her. Megan is never so happy as when she's found a new pretty dress in our dress up closet. She likes pink, and Disney movies and ballet. In front of the camera, she's the biggest flirt you've ever seen. She'll cock her head to one side, make a little pouty face, clasp her hands. Awww. But she's not as prissy as she'd like us to think. I taught her how to spit and she plays war with the boys like a veteran. Once, I tried to get her to teach me the stuff she learned in ballet class, and it turned into The Monster Dance, and The Bear Dance, and The Ghost Dance. (no historical reference intended) She's also a reader, like her brother. Yesterday when we were at her house, she was making a book about a friendly ghost that saved everyone from a spiky monkey hand. Go figure.

Joseph, I don't know much about him. I used to think he was a really smart, outgoing kid. But he hasn't done a lot of that lately. He really likes Star Wars, so that's a major plus. When I heard that he'd gotten really into it, I had high hopes. But he's been really uninteresting this whole trip. He hardly listens to his mother, and is almost rude to the other boys. I've noticed them trying to be friendly but he's not really returned the feeling. His mom coddles him some, and in return he's more disobediant than Jay ever was. He's a little whiny too. But this could all be just from being in a strange place. I just don't know him well enough, I guess.

---

I want to be back in school so much it hurts. I've already got outfits planned for the first week, I'll start making my lunches soon. I day dream about classes. The first day, so close and yet so far. Exactly two weeks from today. Someone put me to sleep and I'll wake up the eve of the 20th, stay up that whole night getting ready and pumped up, then head off to school. Last year I always picked Jill up, now she has a car. I remember the drive to school on the first day so clearly. I listened to The Dingees because I was so pumped and feeling so counter culture and rebellious. I may do Rancid this year. Hmm, no. Let's see TWOTHIRTYEIGHT! That's it. But I remember every detail of the first day. Driving down the curves of 61st between Harvard and Lewis, picking up Jill and the two of us screaming because TSAS was a reality. Standing on a chair in the commons, directing everyone to move on through, having Kitty randomly come up and introduce herself to me. Hearing the GWH (Guys With the Hair) suggest The Flying Winkerbeans for our school mascot. Lunch in Mr. B's room, that day and every day after that. This year is going to be even better!!! I'm dying! I gotta get to school!

My Foot Hurts

We went to the lake and I am freaking exhausted. I'm worn out from swimming and playing with our kids. My hands have blisters from the wave runner handles, and I cut my foot really badly on a rock. But it was so much fun. I love swimming and diving, and my brother's wave runner is about the closest thing I've got to a motorcycle. And on the way up there, Becky and I had a really good talk about the future and college and living on my own.

But I am very very tired. I'd like to write, but I truly have not the energy. I'm gonna go lay on my sofa and nap. Maybe I'll wake up later tonight and feel like writing. But if you're reading this, maybe IM me and leave me a message or better yet, email me. I haven't had any new mail for several days. Oh yeah, and the Plato thing was not forthcoming yesterday because I got sidetracked by philosophy with Franklin.

The Piersons Go To Las Vegas

My family is here, en mass. This morning we took family photos, all 16 of us. That was no small amount of chaos. We had an outfit color scheme: khaki, navy blue, dark green and mauve. When the pictures get all done and finished I"ll post them so that everyone can see who all these people I"m talking about are. I had a good time getting my five nephews and niece to smile for their little group shot. It was the last picture, they were tired and hungry. Halfway through, Justin started praying. He literally dropped his little baseball bat prop, got down on his knees, bowed his head, folded his hands, and prayed. We're not real sure what that was about. But for the last couple shots, they were all antsy and whiny, so I stood by the photographer and started to dance. That got a couple smiles, but not all of them. So I pulled out my ace. Butt wiggling. Seeing an "adult" shaking thier booty always gets a laugh out of kids. Woohoo, Aunt Jamie, bustin' a move!

Tomorrow we're all going to the lake. I haven't been to the lake since I was in elementary school. This is gonna be interesting.

Movies members of my family hate: Pleasantville, Fight Club, Royal Tenenbaums, and American Beauty.

I'll be back later to discuss Plato. I really will. I will post more tonight, because I get to sleep in tomorrow. But here's something for you folks to look at during the midnight online rush.

Plato On My Mind, DaVinci On My T-Shirt

I love the way my faucet creaks when I turn it off. It makes me think I'm in an old New York brownstone and not a brand new Tulsa suburban home less than a year old.

Becky's here! I've only been able to talk with her a bit. She got here late and headed to bed pretty quickly. Tomorrow we're doing the family picture thing.

Yesterday's entry was rife with errors. My nephew Jay is 6, not 7. I was not three when our last family portrait was taken, I was eleven months old. And I said that our DNA and monkey DNA is four code letters off. I was incorrect, or I may be correct but I was saying it wrong. What I meant was that out of 30 million little bits of code that make up a living thing, only 1% of it is different for monkeys and humans. And that's probably about the same as four letters. Maybe smaller.

I got to see Mr. B today! That's how I know about that last error. He was at Barnes and Noble with his wife and daughter and she's so cute! The daughter, not the wife. She's got teeth! But it was really great to see and talk to him again. And Jill saw Mrs. Lee. It's a sign. A sign of something coming. It's a sign . . . that schools gonna start soon.

Chris updated his weblog. He's a very good writer, I'm happy to see. Usually his entries are fun rambles, but this one is stunningly well written. If you see him, give him a little pat on the head.

When I was writing for Memorial's newspaper, that was the closest I've ever been to what a real writing job would be like. The Satelitte is a joke. But as I was writing for the Sentinel, I came to understand that writing is the most underappreciated art form. The only people who appreciate the struggling, starving writer are writers themselves. You'll often find young upstart scribblers in novels, seldom in plays or movies. Painters are celebrated, actors, filmmakers. A writer is never billed as a "character". You'll never find a sitcom with a variety of characters have a writer on the show. People don't think writers are artists. People don't realize writing is an art, that it takes skill and talent and inborn ability. If someone can't write, then they can't. You can teach them the proper forms and grammer, and they can make themselves understood, but without the heart of a writer, they'll never have anything more than a technical manual. When we did The Sentinel, no one ever said "That's an awesome article" or "Good column." They just assumed that since they were writing essays left and right (or write, haha) for their classes, it was just the same kind of thing. They didn't get that we were doing something more. As a mass population, people do not appreciate writers.

I keep a picture of my friends Annie, Lacey and me sitting at the computers in the staff room of The Sentinel, working on something, over my desk. It's in a frame my mother gave me that has a typewriter on it and "WORDS" written on it. I never knew what to put in that frame, what would be appropriate? But that picture, the essence of our paper, that was appropriate. And it inspires me.

Speaking of inspiration, Al says my room inspires her. That's very cool.

Urg, I really wanna write about Plato's Allegory of the Cave, but I can't get my mind to settle down. It just wants to ramble on about whatever comes into it. My brain is a hyperactive three year old. My brain is in China.

Hit Me With A Rainbow

I'm going to write as long as I can tonight. I'm going to have the will to not respond to people's IMs, to keep my away message up, and WRITE.

Last night Joe, Jen, Jill, and Nathan came over and we ordered chinese food and watched anime. It was just like old times. Old times being 5 months ago. But still. It was like being back in school. I've not seen Nathan hardly all summer. He lives with his mom during the summer and she's in Missouri. But he was in town this week so we got it all together. Well, not all. The missing fixtures from the normal population of our parties were John, Kitty, Ben, and the atmosphere of the school year. But John's become a youth group kid. Kitty has just drifted away, and Ben has become so entrenched in his routine of false evil and deadbeatness that none of us really wanna hang out with him anymore. But it was practically the same. I've seen Joe and Jen and Jill all plenty, but I don't think all together much, and definitally not with Nathan. Nathan is an important feature to us. He's a certain catalyst, him with his anti-social behavior and genius. He and I with our philosophy and religion and Orson Scott Card talk. His wonderfully quotable phrases ("The words are eating my face!" "Damnation has split ends!"). He makes the whole thing come together.

It was really nice to be back in that setting, of my school people. My summer and concert friends are great! I love you guys! But you aren't TSAS people. It's totally different, completely different mood. TSAS kids, we're the rudest, wierdest, most random people you'll ever be around. Insults are stinkin flyin through the air, no one looks at me funny for talking about philosophy or for presenting random hypothesises. And we can follow the strangest lines of word association to have the best jokes. If I tried to explain most of what we find funny, no one else would understand, let alone think it was funny. We barely understand it, that's part of why it's so funny. Oh man, I miss my school. It's a higher level of existence, it really is. I am on a much higher plane of thought at school and with a group of school kids. Everything is more drastic, more important. Everyone is loud, except Nathan of course, and we're yelling at eachother and being excited and crazy. We're being brilliant and funny. It's a bit like the crazy trip Jen and Jill and I were on the other day. I feel so at home in that atmosphere. At school, I run everywhere. I leapfrog over chairs and flying kick open the doors. I sit upside down in chairs or dance on the table. I sing walking through the hall (hall, singular. We have one hall) and I write so much! I'm always writing at school. I am so comfortable with this extremist existence.

Outside of this, I am so much more mellow. If you think I'm frantic at shows, you don't know the half of it. At least I think so. I may just be spouting off BS. But I feel like I'm not totally the same with a lot of my other friends as I am with TSAS people. I guess its because, I feel like they wont get it, or wont like it. The last "outsider" I really let into that world, he left me as soon as he got a glimpse. I scare away a lot of people with my passion, and the people I have, I like. I don't want to run them off with craziness that they may not understand. I'd love to be able to have all my friends share that world, TSAS students or not. I'd love to be able to be on the higher plane of thought with everyone. But I honestly don't think some people will get it.

---

My sister Cheryl is here. I'd tell you what I think about that, but I'm being censored. Cheryl is my oldest sister, her husband is Jerry, their son is Joseph, age six. They've lived in CO, AZ, UT, and now they're moving to Vancouver, Canada. Jerry's a CEO of some company. Next down from her is my brother David. David lives in Broken Arrow and his wife is Sharon. Their kids are Jay, age 7 and Megan, age 5. Then there's Jill, (not the best friend Jill, this is sister Jill) and her husband Jeff and their two kids Josh, age 8 and Justin, also six. They live out in Owasso. I've probably got the kid's ages wrong, I know I have Joseph and Justin's right, because Cheryl told Joseph that a six year old should know better than to not eat his veggies, and he and Justin are about a week apart.

Becky is coming in a couple of days, yay! She's the next down from Jill, then it's Sarah, to finish out the roll call. While we're all here, all 16 of us are gonna do family portraits. We haven't had pictures with all of my immediate family done since I was three. If you're ever at my house, you may ask to see that picture. I've got curly, naturally blonde hair and big blue eyes. I'm wearing a big frilly dress and my brother is holding me. I'm smiling like a crazy person, I think Dave must've been tickling me or something. Big silly kid grin. I was adorable.

Becky reads my weblog, that makes me happy. She knows a lot about me now, and she likes me more! Or at least, I think she does. She says she skips over the music parts. Do I talk about music that much? She likes my spiritual rambles. She's a minister too, if I haven't mentioned that. Becky is good people. I love me some Becky. She called me the other day because she was afraid she and I wouldn't have time to talk while she was here and she really wanted to get in some convo with me.

---

A lot of people just don't get me, in general. Cheryl laughs at me. I've got lots of friends that I don't like as much that I act really nuts around, and they just kinda shake thier heads at me because I'm so off center. I do say a lot of things around my non-TSAS friends that earn me some blank looks. I say things that people don't know how to respond to. I wish they could. I wish that everytime I throw something out that may not make total sense, people didn't just laugh at me or seem frustrated or act like I'm a child who's too stupid to understand how I ought to be talking. I thought I'd gotten away from having to be "normal" but lately, I feel like the burden of normality is seeking to set itself on my shoulders. But I don't wanna be normal! I wanna be able to talk about ice cream makers and philosophers and anime and biology and have people talk back to me, without someone scorning it or laughing at it.

Why can't we all just let it go? We can't we just let our minds and ideas flow and not worry about the consequences? Why waste our energy on being "normal" when it's so much more fun to expend our mental and emotional capacities in creation! I haven't known a single person that once they're fully exposed to what they once thought was "wierd" the didn't like it or appreciate it. At least, not a single good person.

---

My mind has been wrapping itself around the Nature versus Nurture arguement lately. That may not be the correct philosophical term for it, that's just what we called it in debate. Nature versus Nurture is the arguement of where do our personalities come from? Do we have inborn characteristics of who we are? Or does that come completely from our surroundings? If two people were raised exactly the same, would they be the same person in temperment, likes and dislikes, personality? But we don't know this yet, because no two people can be raised exactly the same, not even within the same family. Psycologists put so much emphasis on birth order; middle child, oldest, youngest. It makes a huge difference, they say.

The consequences of the answer to this question are huge! If our personalities are entirely based on our situation, then where is our individuality? What does that mean to who we are, if we're solely a product of our environment? It takes the blame off of us for our failings, but it also takes the pride of individuality. We're simply pawns, to be altered by our surroundings as someone in control wishes. If none of our temperment is intrinsic, we have no individual souls. The only things that seperate us from animals is our power of speech and higher reasoning.

But if we do have intrinsic personalities, how did they get there? Personality is not scientific. Animals have personalities, though not as complex as ours of course. We cannot map a personality on a schematic. Psycologists have tried, but very little has really been proven as far as I know. If anyone here has taken a psyc course, please enlighten me, for that is one branch of study I haven't reached into yet.

I'm gonna switch gears here, but everyone's assignment is to spend at least 10 minutes this week thinking about Nature versus Nurture and trying to figure out this problem that has been debated throughout the ages. Perhaps you'll solve it!

ok, I said above that if Nurture wins out and we have no individual souls, the only thing standing between us and the animals is the power of speech. Nature versus nurture can be applied here too. What if we raised a chimpanzee exactly like a human baby? Kept it the hospital at birth, dressed it in clothes from infancy, spoke to it, fed it, taught it like a human child, would it act like one? And would it eventually begin to speak, to walk as like a human as it's body allowed? Are chimps only chimps because they're treated like chimps? People lose their power of speech if they're treated like animals, why not the other way around?

Or is human speech and higher thought something intrinsic as well? Well, yes. Most people will agree that an animal will never be able to write a poem or drive in traffic no matter how hard you try to teach it to be human. But where did speech come from? Did it evolve? We still don't have a link from Neanderthal to Cro Magnom man. (both of which I'm sure I'm spelling wrong)
Evolution has two forms, macro and micro. Macroevolution is the evolution of one species to an entirely different species. Like a monkey turning into a human, or a dinosaur into a bird. Macroevolution is not proven. This is different, somehow, from convergent evolution, which would be like man and monkey coming from the same animal. I believe convergent evolution is widely accepted because of the similarities between so many species. (i.e. Human embreyos have gills in the womb) Micro evolution is seen constantly and it's existence is proven. It's evolution within a species to create variants. Like if you put the same kind of fish in two different ponds where the environments are different, different prey, different predators, their eating and other habits will change. They adapt. That's how we breed certain kinds of dogs or horses, why we have so many variants of the same animal. At least that's how it began. And this here ties in with the nature versus nurture and the difference between humans and animals a bit. Look how close humans are to animals. We have variants on our species, Asian, African, Caucasian, and those came out of exposure to different climates and environments. That's nurture. That's animalistic. That's so close to us sounding like products of evolution, we're just another animal. But are our personalities linked to our biology? Is our species' biological behavior proof that we're equal to animals? Perhaps. Perhaps we're just the highest level of evolution so far, the next up the rung. Perhaps apes will catch up someday. The missing link will not stay missing, we will find the leap from the higher apes to Cro Magnon.

But did you know that there are only four differences between chimpanzee DNA and ours? DNA is written like binary code, except with four options instead of just two. Human and chimp DNA is only four little digits off. What is contained in those four digits? The wisdom of the ages. The Sistine Chapel, the internet, the Bible, World Wars, Napolean, The Mona Lisa, and Pedro the Lion. All the great and terrible things that human kind has accomplished, all in a difference of four letters of genetic code. FOUR. F-O-U-R! All of our genius and hatred, love and beauty, you and me. All things dreamt in our philosphy, all rely upon that tiny pinhead of a difference. Are we sure there's not something more?

Here's what I think. I think that convergent evolution is pretty true, and macro maybe even. Perhaps all life on earth did come from a big pile of ooze. I've studied enough science to know that animals have too many similarities to not have some common ancestors. And a lot of it is proven, so that's cool. I'm obviously not a creationist. To be biblical, I think the Genesis account is very mythlike in how it's written, and is slightly more true than most of the myths we study in school. To save myself from eternal damnation in the eyes of the literalists, I'm not saying that God couldn't have done it in seven days, I just don't think he did. Besides, there are two accounts in Genesis anyway. They're two versions of the same myth. But all myths have a grain of truth in them, and the grain in creation is God's hand in it. You can sit the livelong day and prove to me exactly how the world was created over 8 billion years, but I will say that God was behind it all the way. You say Big Bang, I say that God initiated the Big Bang. He set it in motion, he guided it. In Genesis, God goes through a process of creating the earth and it's creatures, and the same goes for the scientific explaination. It's even the same sequence. The seas were first, then land and plants. Then animals. It's simplistic, but you see that science is reflected in it. It makes sense, as much sense as the Mesopotamians thinking that the ocean was really a river that went around thier lands. There is truth in it, simplified.

So animals evolved, under the watchful eye and guiding hand of The Lord. Cool. I like to think of it as God playing with clay. He made one animal, set it down and let it run around for a while, then maybe picked it up, fixed it's tail a bit, altered it's head, set it back down and let it run. Or maybe he picked it up and crumpled it up completely and started over with a whole new animal. (i.e. Dinosaurs did not evolve into mammals. God took up the dino clay and turned it into us furry beasts)

But humans, that's another story. There is a missing link, no evolutionary leap from Neanderthal, a higher ape, to Cro-Magnon who was fairly close to we humans now. Neanderthal, that was God's first try at us, maybe. He was doing a test run. Or maybe it was just plain evolution from ape to Neanderthal. Or MAYBE he was letting apes evolve to see if they could get to what he was planning on doing with us humans, and the closest it got was Neanderthal. So he wiped out the Neanderthals because it'd get confusing with something that looked so much like the intelligent creatures he was planning, but weren't half as bright. Cro Magnon is Adam and Eve. They are God's direct creation. They were formed of the dust and set on earth in his Image. An image of creativity and intelligence and most importantly, free will and individual souls.

Individual souls, that's my favorite feature of this model. A couple years ago, I went through the worst period of faith doubt I've ever had. If God loved everyone equally and unconditionally, I thought, then what makes me so special? I struggled with this for a long time, because I didn't want to be loved by someone who didn't love me for me. Then, one night it hit me. God created me, me particularly me. He made me exactly like he wanted. How could he not love me for me? Just like I love all my writings because I made them just how I wanted them, I wouldn't release them unless I was satisfied with them, he wouldn't send out something he wasn't proud to have created.

Because of this factor, I have all the more weight on my firm stance of Nature in this arguement. If no individual soul, then Jamie doesn't wanna be loved.

Oh my goodness, I wanna write about Plato's allegory of the cave, and the good and evil nature of man. But my arm is cramping, my shoulder is tighter than Britney Spears' clothes, and I gotta pee. I'm gonna post this, all 2954 words of it, and finish the rest later.

Take A Stand, Only $4.97!

As I was walking upstairs to my room after getting my evening bottle of water, I was thinking about what I'd write in the weblog. This is what I composed. "I don't feel like writing tonight. I feel like eating watermelon rolls and making mix tapes." and I was going to have a very short entry. But I just thought of something to write about.

Random sincere affirmations are about the coolest things in the world. I've known lots of youth directors and people like that who will come up to you and say something like "Hey, you're a cool kid. I just felt like you need to know." And they don't really know, and they have nothing to base that off of. They're just saying it because they think it'll make you feel good to hear positive words connected with your name. But if they're not saying it because of something you did, if they're not doing it for some specific recognition, then it's pretty empty.

But real ones, those are the greatest things. Like when someone recognizes something about you that you've always hoped would be noticed and says so, it's the best. When someone just responds to or agrees with something you've said about yourself, yeah that's nice but it's not the same. I mean, if you say "I really love the poem I just wrote" they're not gonna say "well I don't". Like the other night, I said something to Kevin and ended it with the affectionate term, "My dear." He thought that was really cool and told me so. That made me happy. And tonight, Jen and I were talking about over protective parents, and I told her that if I was her parents I would give her more priveleges and trust her more because she's a good kid and an obediant and respectful daughter. That made Jen happy. And these are kinda atypical compliments too, because they're genuine.

I won't compliment the person who made me start thinkin about this, because then it wouldn't be as cool and happiness inducing. I'll wait for the right moment and spring a compliment on him/her. Though I will say, I have noticed all that he/she does. And I'm sorry for never saying so aloud.

"Memories are spilling. Actualize, suprise, it's unfufilling. Trust me on this. No crime is as bad as meaninglessness." Furthermore, Letter to Myself

"Beauty Dies In The Fire"

Jamie is listeing to : Dieradiodie, Jets To Brazil, The Long Winters, Pedro The Lion, RX Bandits, Unwed Sailor, Hey Mercedes, Appleseed Cast, At All Costs, and Brave Saint Saturn. Now if that was all you knew about me, wouldn't you want to know me? "We are defined by what we like." -J.P. ("I have better things to do than sit here all day listening to you quote yourself." -John Adams to Benjamin Franklin)

I went to Target today and got some Targe brand "Watermelon Fruit Rolls", and I'm here to tell you they are the stinking wierdest fruit snack I have ever eaten. First of all, when you open the little package, out falls a lump of green shiny stuff. It is the roll, but there's no paper or anything like a Fruit by the Foot. It's just rolled up on itself and it's really sticky and yet slippery at the same time. And very shiny and round-ish. I cannot think what to compare it's appearance and texture to. Words like rubber, cellophane, licorice, and scotch tape come to mind. I bought two boxes of these things, since they were on sale. I can see why. Any elementary school kid would probably scream when they opened one of these. Oh, and did I mention that it's ribbed? It has lines going along it. They don't really taste bad. They have a slight, very slight, rubber tinge, but they're still good and watermelony.

Can someone tell me what is with kids cereals and theft? Lucky Charms, the kids try to steal from the leprechan. Trix, the rabbit tries to steal from the kids. Coco and Fruity Pebbles, Barney from Fred. Cookie Crisp, I don't know if this is still the mascot, but it used to be a burgler and his dog. What is that about? We're encouraging kids to steal just so they'll buy our product? Well, Mr. Ad Agency, when some kid jacks your car stereo, having grown up being taught the criminal ways by Lucky and The Trix Rabbit, your creations, then you'll be sorry! And on top of that, the kids in Cinnimon Toast Crunch commercials are really brats. They're just so know-it-all and smart-aleck. "Well, I know why kids like them." My goodness, show some respect for your elders, TV kid!

Have you ever noticed how clerks in stores like Circuit City or in department stores look at you when you ask where to find something. They look like you just asked them to give you a shoeshine. "How dare you!" their look says. "You mean you don't come here often enough to have memorized the floorplan!? You plebian pariah!" They're actually offended that you don't already know. Isn't that what they're there for? Gee whiz. Either that, or they look superior. "Oh, you don't know? Ha, well I do. Ha ha ha." They roll their eyes and kinda point with their thumb at you, "Get aloadda this crazy chick," they say to their friend, lounging behind the counter, "She doesn't know where the cable adapters are!" They're the kids who used to be in Cinnimon Toast Cruch ads.

I am breeding an addiction here people. It started because of three roadtrips within one summer. Something like that could make anyone an addict. It's not my fault. But I am dangerously close to not being able to live without . . . bite-sized candy bars. You know, the ones in the bottom bins at Quik Trip? The ones for ten cents? Oh my goodness, I love those! On all my roadtrips, I've gotten a bag of the stuff from those bins. And it's not just the little two bite candy bars (well, three if you're dainty), oh no. It's the Laffy Taffy and Reeses Cups and Tootsie Rolls and even the lollipops! All of them! They all call out to me, "Jamie, buy us! We're only a couple cents, please? If you don't buy us, we'll just rot and get covered in dirt, since we're way down here at the bottom. No one sees us, no one cares about us. No one but you, Jamie!" They're depressed! Then need me to eat them! Or maybe not. All I know is that I can't go into Quik Trip anymore without coming out with at least three little Butterfingers or Crunch Bars.

I can't bring myself to eat another watermelon thing.

I think I had a revelation about Tulsa's scene tonight. I had it late, so I didn't really have time to investigate. But tomorrow night, that'll be huge and I'll have lots of time to test my theory. If I'm right, I'll unveil it. If not, just chalk one more line up on Jamie's Stupid Ideas Scoreboard.

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Coming soon! Jamie revives a lost art!