And by the way, 'Nanda, I screwed up your yearbook inscription pretty fairly--I meant to write carmetári a lindaletári, and the literal translatior is actually "queen of art and music"--couldn't find "master", that's right, and went with what I could.
'Course, the a for "and" might actually be o or ar, probably depending on context...and I still know little...so most likely it still isn't perfect. ::smiles, shrugs::
-Laurel
5.31.2002
5.30.2002
E-gad. Searching simply for a few Quenya phrases that the translator linked to above could not render, I ended up tapping a throbbing jugular vein of...of--here, I'll make up a term for it--Tolkienic linguity. I cannot...actually, I take that back. I can well believe how obsessive some of these Quenya pages are, 'cause it's fascinating. Tolkien made, like, all these languages, and Quenya (I don't know if the adjective's Quenyan, but I'm sticking to the noun in case it's not) is the most developed...and there's this huge, complex instructional to learning it on this one guy's site. I wish I had the time and computer paper to make this a hobby--I'm a bit of a language freak, you guys know that--but I don't think I can. But, wishing to learn how to form a few coherent Quenya sentences (I don't know why I like it better than Sindarin; maybe because "Aníron", which started all this anyway, is Quenya), I may come back to the page to look over the mechanics bit. In the meantime, for all and any interested, here's the link:
Ardalambion
Gotta go work on creative writing. And listen to my LOTR soundtrack now. That's the other reason I don't like Sindarin as much, come to think of it: the lament for Gandalf on the track "Lothlorien" is partially in Sindarin, and I can't make head or tail of it. It's like they cram three words into one note.
-Laurel
Ardalambion
Gotta go work on creative writing. And listen to my LOTR soundtrack now. That's the other reason I don't like Sindarin as much, come to think of it: the lament for Gandalf on the track "Lothlorien" is partially in Sindarin, and I can't make head or tail of it. It's like they cram three words into one note.
-Laurel
5.29.2002
Updated my link of the week (seems to be rather a Thursday thing), and, as I've had "Aníron" (the LOTR movie's theme for Aragorn and Arwen) stuck in my head all day, I figured I'd provide everyone with a little LOTR-related fun. I'm beginning to frighten myself. M*A*S*H and Lord of the Rings. I've never had two obsessions at once. I may just explode.
...Or just write extremely mediocre crossover fics. *g*
But, seriously, it sort of scared me how much of that song I can not only sing in Quenya, but write in Quenya. I can write out the whole first verse (okay, it's three lines, not so gasp-worthy, I suppose).
Awards-thing tonight, watch for Ananda's rant, if she posts it. I'll try to provide a decent link if she does.
But I'd like to state for the record that I probably won't agree with her opinion, well-said though it will probably be.
Tenn' enomentielva,
-Laurel
...Or just write extremely mediocre crossover fics. *g*
But, seriously, it sort of scared me how much of that song I can not only sing in Quenya, but write in Quenya. I can write out the whole first verse (okay, it's three lines, not so gasp-worthy, I suppose).
Awards-thing tonight, watch for Ananda's rant, if she posts it. I'll try to provide a decent link if she does.
But I'd like to state for the record that I probably won't agree with her opinion, well-said though it will probably be.
Tenn' enomentielva,
-Laurel
5.27.2002
Memorial Day, 2002, and there's little to say that the newspapers haven't already said. As they said, we're all going to truly honor the military more than we have for years--and, yes, this year, and maybe for years to come, Memorial Day will also be connected, mentally and emotionally, with September 11th. The city newspaper interviewed veterans today and talked about how few soldiers from World War II are left now--a couple of whom were interviewed, and one of whom voiced his dislike for war in general.
And I thought that was interesting. I mean, he was actually a chaplain, and didn't fight, but I've never been sure exactly what to do on Memorial Day. Mourn for the fallen, yes, but in a happy way--they served their country, brought honor on themselves, gave us freedom--or sad--what makes two countries decide to do this to themselves, and send so many young, spirited people to death and/or emotional disturbance--? I'm guessing now that it's a bit of both.
Though some stores are better about it in September's wake, much of the corporate world, of course, handles the holiday with their usual smack-your-head tact: Buy today, it's the American way, etc. Even TV has done this, in a way. As much as my family likes (and I love) the show M*A*S*H, I was surprised to see the marathon yesterday on FX in honor of Memorial Day weekend, with that channel proclaming in their commercials that war was...well, in the words of Radar, h-e-double-toothpicks. I mean, the show is, at heart, anti-war. I was trying to figure out whether that, broadcast in honor of Memorial Day weekend, was being unintentionally insulting (like the city this year that ran a sale on fried chicken in honor of Black History month), or just trying to follow in the spirit of M*A*S*H or something. I don't know; ask the soldiers whether they're offended, I guess, 'cause theirs are the opinions that matter.
I'm surprised that the show itself hasn't made me more anti-war. I used to be, when I was younger--but then, we didn't have a reason to fight one--and now I don't know. What M*A*S*H has done has been to give me an incredible respect for soldiers and the medical profession. In my eyes, it used to be that the military was for people who couldn't get anywhere else. There was a time when I would have mourned for people like my friend Pete, who's thinking about becoming a soldier, as wasting all sorts of potential and setting themselves up for all sorts of awful things. Now I think of it as I look him over--pale and bespectacled, strong but skinny--and only smile wryly, thinking that this boy who hates gym class is going to be in for it. It's not that he hates activity--he loves archery and weight-lifting. Just...he has to want it, if he's going to work so hard and endure the things they do. But I think he wants this.
And I look at my friend Megan, who wants to be a nurse, and who has gone through a bit of a crisis of conscience lately because a boy's hand went through a window when she was in chorus, and she was too scared to do anything. "I want to be a nurse," she told Bethie and me. "And I was disgusted and scared. I can't do that. How am I supposed to be a nurse if injury scares me?" But that's the thing about being in medicine--I know Megan, and I know she'll get over it. That's the first time she's had to see something serious, and she couldn't have done anything even if she'd wanted to: almost as soon as the boy's hand went through, teachers were over there and someone was calling the nurse's office, just down the next hall. Megan will get over it because she wants to help people, just like soldiers get over everything because it's what they have to do.
If there's anything I've learned this year, it's about doing what scares you. I've done a lot of commiserating and grieving for a year I've felt as essentially lost, but it's followed the same lines. From the beginning of this year on, all my friends and I have had to do, over and over, some very frightening things. Driving scared me. Semi-going-out with Bryan scared me. It scared me to know that there are children who are hungry and abused and unloved--and that some of them would rather fall on their own than seek help--and that some of them will play for sympathy and not for friendship. It scared me to know that four planes could kill thousands of people. It scared me to deliberately set myself in the path of difficulty. And this year, all of that's happened. That's partly why I've loved Lord of the Rings, that's partly why I've loved M*A*S*H. Because now I can relate to them. Scary things happen, and you have to go with them, imperfect though you wish desperately that you weren't. Innocence does get lost, and theirs does, and so did mine.
Much as I wish I could, I can't be Pippin anymore--if, indeed, I ever was; I'm not sure how many people see as much resemblance as I do. Or if I am, it has to be, like I mentioned before, third-book Pippin, Return of the King Pippin, soldier-Pippin. Not because I'm almost done with eleventh grade, but because things are happening to me that you can't handle any other way.
I think that's why I thought it so interesting that Tolkien made Pippin a soldier in the end, and Merry, too--because they started out so innocent, so flighty, so immature. It's something you'd never, ever picture for them--but they do it, and they both do it well. I'm pretty sure Tolkien was trying to make a point, and it's one I'd do well to finally pick up on.
Like I said, I'm not ashamed that last year, I was so naive, so happy, so Whose Line-obsessive, and such a dreamer. I had a deep side, too. But last year, my life was very simple. My friends, to my knowledge, were all happy people with happy suburban lives like mine, and the biggest things to worry about were grades and crushes. But, starting in ninth grade, I wanted more. I wanted to help end problems that others had, and I wanted a life that made me more than what I was. And this year, I got it. All at once, a lot of it...but I got it. And it's not going to stop, that much I know.
So this Memorial Day, I honor the soldiers for real, for probably the first time, and it's because they have to put up with so much and do so many terrifying things. And in honoring them for real, I'm realizing that I have to do the same, just for lower stakes. Not physical life and death, like them, but for all the things I've worked for.
In typical fashion, I have taken a holiday about honoring others and ended up talking and thinking about myself, and about this year, but I'm not so sure that that's wrong. A day set aside to think about someone--it's a good idea, but it's meant to change us, isn't it? If we think a few fleeting times about the military today, and are no different tomorrow, what's the point of having the holiday at all?
So I'm picking it up and trying it again--trying to do what I'm supposed to, and be better than I have been. The trouble is coming. Of course it is. I've wanted my life to be more like this since the ninth grade, never knowing what I was getting into. But it's too important to quit now. And this time, once again, I'm readying myself for it, not expecting to succeed yet, but hoping to at least fail better this time.
I've talked all year about Pippin and Radar, loving them for their humor and their lovable-dorkness and their naivete--and they'll still be my favorites--but the thing I have to remember is that they both grew up. And crap with melodrama, 'cause it's true: Like Pippin, I have to learn to be a soldier; like Radar, I have to leave my teddy bear behind.
-Laurel
And I thought that was interesting. I mean, he was actually a chaplain, and didn't fight, but I've never been sure exactly what to do on Memorial Day. Mourn for the fallen, yes, but in a happy way--they served their country, brought honor on themselves, gave us freedom--or sad--what makes two countries decide to do this to themselves, and send so many young, spirited people to death and/or emotional disturbance--? I'm guessing now that it's a bit of both.
Though some stores are better about it in September's wake, much of the corporate world, of course, handles the holiday with their usual smack-your-head tact: Buy today, it's the American way, etc. Even TV has done this, in a way. As much as my family likes (and I love) the show M*A*S*H, I was surprised to see the marathon yesterday on FX in honor of Memorial Day weekend, with that channel proclaming in their commercials that war was...well, in the words of Radar, h-e-double-toothpicks. I mean, the show is, at heart, anti-war. I was trying to figure out whether that, broadcast in honor of Memorial Day weekend, was being unintentionally insulting (like the city this year that ran a sale on fried chicken in honor of Black History month), or just trying to follow in the spirit of M*A*S*H or something. I don't know; ask the soldiers whether they're offended, I guess, 'cause theirs are the opinions that matter.
I'm surprised that the show itself hasn't made me more anti-war. I used to be, when I was younger--but then, we didn't have a reason to fight one--and now I don't know. What M*A*S*H has done has been to give me an incredible respect for soldiers and the medical profession. In my eyes, it used to be that the military was for people who couldn't get anywhere else. There was a time when I would have mourned for people like my friend Pete, who's thinking about becoming a soldier, as wasting all sorts of potential and setting themselves up for all sorts of awful things. Now I think of it as I look him over--pale and bespectacled, strong but skinny--and only smile wryly, thinking that this boy who hates gym class is going to be in for it. It's not that he hates activity--he loves archery and weight-lifting. Just...he has to want it, if he's going to work so hard and endure the things they do. But I think he wants this.
And I look at my friend Megan, who wants to be a nurse, and who has gone through a bit of a crisis of conscience lately because a boy's hand went through a window when she was in chorus, and she was too scared to do anything. "I want to be a nurse," she told Bethie and me. "And I was disgusted and scared. I can't do that. How am I supposed to be a nurse if injury scares me?" But that's the thing about being in medicine--I know Megan, and I know she'll get over it. That's the first time she's had to see something serious, and she couldn't have done anything even if she'd wanted to: almost as soon as the boy's hand went through, teachers were over there and someone was calling the nurse's office, just down the next hall. Megan will get over it because she wants to help people, just like soldiers get over everything because it's what they have to do.
If there's anything I've learned this year, it's about doing what scares you. I've done a lot of commiserating and grieving for a year I've felt as essentially lost, but it's followed the same lines. From the beginning of this year on, all my friends and I have had to do, over and over, some very frightening things. Driving scared me. Semi-going-out with Bryan scared me. It scared me to know that there are children who are hungry and abused and unloved--and that some of them would rather fall on their own than seek help--and that some of them will play for sympathy and not for friendship. It scared me to know that four planes could kill thousands of people. It scared me to deliberately set myself in the path of difficulty. And this year, all of that's happened. That's partly why I've loved Lord of the Rings, that's partly why I've loved M*A*S*H. Because now I can relate to them. Scary things happen, and you have to go with them, imperfect though you wish desperately that you weren't. Innocence does get lost, and theirs does, and so did mine.
Much as I wish I could, I can't be Pippin anymore--if, indeed, I ever was; I'm not sure how many people see as much resemblance as I do. Or if I am, it has to be, like I mentioned before, third-book Pippin, Return of the King Pippin, soldier-Pippin. Not because I'm almost done with eleventh grade, but because things are happening to me that you can't handle any other way.
I think that's why I thought it so interesting that Tolkien made Pippin a soldier in the end, and Merry, too--because they started out so innocent, so flighty, so immature. It's something you'd never, ever picture for them--but they do it, and they both do it well. I'm pretty sure Tolkien was trying to make a point, and it's one I'd do well to finally pick up on.
Like I said, I'm not ashamed that last year, I was so naive, so happy, so Whose Line-obsessive, and such a dreamer. I had a deep side, too. But last year, my life was very simple. My friends, to my knowledge, were all happy people with happy suburban lives like mine, and the biggest things to worry about were grades and crushes. But, starting in ninth grade, I wanted more. I wanted to help end problems that others had, and I wanted a life that made me more than what I was. And this year, I got it. All at once, a lot of it...but I got it. And it's not going to stop, that much I know.
So this Memorial Day, I honor the soldiers for real, for probably the first time, and it's because they have to put up with so much and do so many terrifying things. And in honoring them for real, I'm realizing that I have to do the same, just for lower stakes. Not physical life and death, like them, but for all the things I've worked for.
In typical fashion, I have taken a holiday about honoring others and ended up talking and thinking about myself, and about this year, but I'm not so sure that that's wrong. A day set aside to think about someone--it's a good idea, but it's meant to change us, isn't it? If we think a few fleeting times about the military today, and are no different tomorrow, what's the point of having the holiday at all?
So I'm picking it up and trying it again--trying to do what I'm supposed to, and be better than I have been. The trouble is coming. Of course it is. I've wanted my life to be more like this since the ninth grade, never knowing what I was getting into. But it's too important to quit now. And this time, once again, I'm readying myself for it, not expecting to succeed yet, but hoping to at least fail better this time.
I've talked all year about Pippin and Radar, loving them for their humor and their lovable-dorkness and their naivete--and they'll still be my favorites--but the thing I have to remember is that they both grew up. And crap with melodrama, 'cause it's true: Like Pippin, I have to learn to be a soldier; like Radar, I have to leave my teddy bear behind.
-Laurel
5.26.2002
Thank you, 'Nanda. That was very nice of you. I'm mostly back...just...so tired of weakness...we say we're only human, but I can be so much more than I am...really, what's happening is that my life is getting harder again, which I knew it would because it happens every time I resolve to do better spiritually, which I had...and I was waiting for it...and then it hit, and down I fell, as always. ::sigh:: That's the problem in being so Pippin...it takes you a ridiculous amount of time to learn these things. I was even watching for it, and I didn't see it coming, 'cause it caught me off guard, hitting on Friday--end of the week, beginning of a long weekend, Radar's birthday, warm weather...happy, right?
I was preparing for problems...other people having things happen, et cetera...but I hadn't identified the inside as the problem, which really causes many more difficulties than externals do.
My cousin, who's studying business in college, came over to give us a Cutco cutlery demonstration today. It was pretty well done, but I kept wanting to laugh...I used to jump on this boy's bed and play "Bowling for Martians", a freaky game he made up where we threw yarn balls at designs on his wallpaper, when I was three or four and he was five or six...and when my brother was old enough, he and I played with my cousin's "food toys"--based on some Saturday morning cartoon; they were basically pieces of food equipped with toy machine guns--and all his other stuff, when he was playing Nintendo...and now he's in our kitchen, in shirt, dress pants, tie, and penny loafers, talking about "the world's finest cutlery"...I kept wanting to laugh, and I think my brother did, too. It was well done, just...he was so serious...
...Going to a party today. Getting off now.
-Laurel
I was preparing for problems...other people having things happen, et cetera...but I hadn't identified the inside as the problem, which really causes many more difficulties than externals do.
My cousin, who's studying business in college, came over to give us a Cutco cutlery demonstration today. It was pretty well done, but I kept wanting to laugh...I used to jump on this boy's bed and play "Bowling for Martians", a freaky game he made up where we threw yarn balls at designs on his wallpaper, when I was three or four and he was five or six...and when my brother was old enough, he and I played with my cousin's "food toys"--based on some Saturday morning cartoon; they were basically pieces of food equipped with toy machine guns--and all his other stuff, when he was playing Nintendo...and now he's in our kitchen, in shirt, dress pants, tie, and penny loafers, talking about "the world's finest cutlery"...I kept wanting to laugh, and I think my brother did, too. It was well done, just...he was so serious...
...Going to a party today. Getting off now.
-Laurel
5.25.2002
I should delete that; my friends all have much bigger problems than my I'm-not-special whining. Zinni wants to break up with Aubrey, and it's hard--like it was hard for Daf, and I don't think Zinni'll be able to be mad at him, like Daf can. Don't blame yourself, Zinni. It's like Daf...everyone left him, so I was determined I wouldn't...and now I'm bitter about it (though I don't picture claws...I understand, Daf, but that's mildly frightening, coming from you), and it's my own fault. Just...I know it sounds fatalistic, Zinni, but we can't win now. Whatever we do, it's gonna feel wrong, so please, if you want to bail out, bail out. He's in a stable home now; he can take it. And he'll find someone else soon enough, whether that makes you feel better or worse.
I'm sorry, guys. I'm sorry for everything. I don't know what's wrong with this year...so much of it has felt so hopeless...I keep wanting to cry...it's LOTR, all this year, that's said what I couldn't...it's been so hopeless, but it makes me hope that it'll be all right.
Mornië utúlië
Believe and you will find your way
Mornie alantië
A promise lives within you now
Mornië utúlië--darkness has come. Mornie alantië--darkness has fallen. Interspersed with hope, which is much better than I've done all year.
*sigh* I don't want to be anything but naive and happy. I want to be Radar, I want to be Pippin. I want to do something besides cry when I hear what's going on in the world and my best friends' lives.
I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.
So do all that live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, than the will of evil.
::buries head in hands:: I hate this. I hate how much we've all cried this year, and I hate that I didn't take it better. I hate how much weaker I am in real life than I always said I'd be in crisis. It's mine to control, and I only ever screw it up...
Yeah, this is real good, too. I'm getting off now. Apologies again. Carp.
-Laurel
I'm sorry, guys. I'm sorry for everything. I don't know what's wrong with this year...so much of it has felt so hopeless...I keep wanting to cry...it's LOTR, all this year, that's said what I couldn't...it's been so hopeless, but it makes me hope that it'll be all right.
Mornië utúlië
Believe and you will find your way
Mornie alantië
A promise lives within you now
Mornië utúlië--darkness has come. Mornie alantië--darkness has fallen. Interspersed with hope, which is much better than I've done all year.
*sigh* I don't want to be anything but naive and happy. I want to be Radar, I want to be Pippin. I want to do something besides cry when I hear what's going on in the world and my best friends' lives.
I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.
So do all that live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, than the will of evil.
::buries head in hands:: I hate this. I hate how much we've all cried this year, and I hate that I didn't take it better. I hate how much weaker I am in real life than I always said I'd be in crisis. It's mine to control, and I only ever screw it up...
Yeah, this is real good, too. I'm getting off now. Apologies again. Carp.
-Laurel
Don't know what got me thinking about the fact that, despite the fact that I have neither the time, talent, nor desire to be on any form of team, I really kind of like sports.
This, by the way, makes me an instant alien (just add water? *g*) with most of my friends, who regard gym class as something inherently evil. I used to hate it myself, for the very simple reason that I was awful at everything I tried (spending all your free time reading, writing, and watching TV isn't exactly conducive to athletic talent...), but out of nowhere, around last year, I actually got decently good, or at least not quite so horribly bad, at several sports. And, of course, it helps that I got in a gym class this year where I'm one of the only girls with any athletic talent at all--all the ones on sports teams switched out after the first couple of classes--which automatically makes me look good. It's a new experience for me to have someone want me on their team, as has happened this year. What happened to my perdedora status of last year, when Christy and I dubbed ourselves Los Perdedores (Spanish for "the losers") after the two of us lost every single badminton game except one we tied? (Actually, come to think of it for the first time, the correct Spanish would have been Las Perdedoras, but whatever...we kept saying it without the first "d" as it was, per-e-dores...)
Even Pete hates gym, and he's a guy. This may be due to the fact that the kind of sports he's good at--like archery, which he's taken competitions in and everything--are the ones we don't play, or the fact that he's about as apt to drop the ball as I am, which is to say a few times per game. It's been another new experience to have to throw a guy a Frisbee slowly so he'll catch it. That was the first unit we did this year, and Pete and I became friends partly because I was one of the only ones who'd throw to him--the guys avoided him like he was diseased after he dropped three in a row the first game. How is it that fully half of my guy-friendships begin in pity, and a fair amount of those turn into semi-crushes? (Mine on Pete was relatively short-lived, as he had, and still has, a girlfriend already, whom I've since become friends with.) Anyway, my original point was that he and his friend Sam (who does look somewhat like Sam Gamgee, though without the curly hair) hate gym with a passion. Blake, too, always found it incredibly pointless. I kind of like it, though, and I was wondering why.
It's not just gym. Sports in general are pretty cool. Even in eighth grade, when I was still athletically mediocre, I read the sports section and Sports Illustrated, though mostly for the NFL reports and Rick Reilly's and Steve Rushin's columns (I have an inherent love for humor columns; it's a Dave Barry-born thing). I still read all through the Bills games, though, even the ones I was at in person. And football is still my favorite sport to watch (to play is probably soccer, though ultimate Frisbree, gym-style, is lots of fun, too), but I've opened up to live hockey, too. NHL hockey is still intolerable, as are the NBA and MLB.
This is not to say that I'm not picky. I'm very picky. I hate basketball in all its forms, especially gym class, where our basketball unit consisted of eighty minutes of shooting hoops, which I lose patience for after a good six minutes (it'd be better if Zinni was there to compete against, like we did in ninth grade...nobody else likes that sort of game...). Indeed, most sports lose all their flavor once you watch them on TV. Take soccer. Great as the real thing, sawdust-dry on ESPN. And, holy cow, if that's boring, don't even get me started on televised bowling and golf. (Real-life golf is boring, too.) And, I'm sorry, neither cheerleading nor NASCAR racing are really sports (I'm sorry, Lily, I know you like it, but it just doesn't qualify in my book); it's just that TV sports stations have a lot of air time to fill, and you can't run biographies of sports players all the time. And all that goes double for computer- and video-game sports, of which my brother has at least a dozen for each system, computer and N64.
...So why was it so cool to see the Baseball Hall of Fame at Cooperstown, a trip I'd mildly rebelled against since my parents started saying a couple years ago that "we should really go sometime"? It was really cool. All these baseball greats and ERA statistics and displays about the evolution over time of gloves, bats, hats, uniforms, etc. All these actual things the players wore. I guess it's modern baseball I don't like. I don't watch ESPN Classic things about the Yankees of old, but I like the Yankees of old way better than the current ones. With the current ones, they actually have too many good players. They've gone at it like a science project. The games are like this: They pitch well. They hit well. They get lots of home runs. They win. Yay. Repeat 108 times per season and for at least three World Series games. ...My parents and brother cannot fathom not liking them, nor can a good chunk of my many relatives.
But even when I don't like the sport, I still get the whole sports mentality. I can see why guys sit around watching sports all the time--if I liked most televised sports, I would, too. To me, running around and scoring points is a valid pastime. I've always gotten way more into the competitive side of sports than most of my friends, or other girls in my gym class. And while many sports are boring to actually watch unless you have someone to consistently root for, more sports, at least in theory,.are really cool. Like the Tour de France biking, the Iditarod dog sledding, the Boston marathon. And my thinking so surprises people sometimes, because I'm not on a team, and I don't look athletic, except for having thick legs and wearing a ponytail 75% of school days, and I spend my time with books, music, and TV. I can't lift weights. The fact that I can support my weight on flexed-arm hang for 15 seconds absolutely bewilders me because in my regular life, I don't lift anything heavier than my backpack, and only to put it on my back.
So I was wondering why. I think it's because my mom likes sports. She watches football and live hockey, like me, and scorns most other televised sports (she'll watch the Yankees every so often, though, as I implied before). And part of it, too, was being babysat in the summer for three years--the summers after fifth, sixth, and seventh grade (I know I was a bit old, but I helped watch them a lot, and anyway, it beat dealing with my brother alone). See, most of the time, there were only two girls, Alex and me, and Alex was seven years younger than I was. The ones closest to my age were Eric (it was his mom who watched us all) and Georgio, and my brother, Nick, and Andrew only a year younger than those two. And though I did my fair share and more of reading, Nintendo, and walking Brandy (Eric's dog), the others were often very active, and often I ended up following along.
And I guess I tend to be more competitive, too, than my friends. In elementary school, I was always the smartest kid in the class--my mom thought even then that I'd be valedictorian--but that changed quickly after about fourth grade. I was used to being admired, and I was a perfectionist, but I wasn't anywhere near all-starness anymore--my friends with 80s couldn't understand why I was jealous of my friends' 98 and 99 averages when mine was 96, but the fact that I had the same first numeral wasn't the point. The point is, they were my age, and many were my friends, and I wasn't measuring up, and I didn't like it. By ninth grade, I realized that I could bust my butt at math and science and still never do as well as Matt George and Bethie did naturally, and I could sing at home 'til my throat killed, but I couldn't duplicate what the choir kids had already from their million years of playing instruments and taking voice. And it was ninth grade, in fact, when I first began to truly like sports, and I don't think it's a coincidence.
And Bethie envies me because I can sing at all, and my English essays get higher grades than hers (kind of like her math grades), and my stories still get some attention, but I envy her talent at things only guys are supposed to be good at--math, science, sports--and her instrumental ability, of which I have precious little (harmonica: two riffs, a flawed rendition of "Oh, Susannah", a mediocre Lone Ranger theme, and a set of chords that sounds kind of like a sigh, and I still have to find the notes with my tongue, which you're not supposed to do).
And even my own talent, lots of times, doesn't seem like enough--everything I have is done even better by my friends. Even Spanish is topped by Nicole, and anyway, it doesn't seem like it counts unless all my friends do it, and none of my best friends do anymore, if they ever did (Daf took French).
I stopped envying Bethie's life in general after I found out how much she pays for it (and I don't mean money, I mean sweat, tears, and general paranoia, and what her parents say when she isn't good enough for them), but what about people who get it automatically? Few compliments make me happier than my winning out over someone traditionally sky-high above me; Mrs. Morturano's comment this year that my Spanish was "even better than Becky Sillick's" still sticks in my head, and the one like it last year was even better--that I'd gotten the same PSAT score as Matt George, who is so smart it should be illegal, and whom I resent because he's stuck-up about it. Becky is not: she's one of the nicest people I know, though her brilliant athleticism in track, in addition to her over-100 weighted average, still annoys me very slightly. It's not Becky anyone ever resents so much as her grades and her tendency to break her own pole vault records. Also last year was my dramatic-skill breakthrough, when only two people got to reread Grace's part in How to Succeed tryouts, and I was ranked, at least for a moment, with the ever-favored (and eventual winner; I was cut altogether after bombing out the singing part) Lani Toyama. (It was not, however, Goodling's request that I read it again, but Kelly's, the other director.)
...This started in sports and meandered into my inferiority semi-complex, and I apologize if I've just bored the carp out of you. I'm not even looking for recognition, currently, so I don't know what my problem is, except that I want what I can't have...and the thing is, even if I got it, it wouldn't be enough.
I think my friends'll be surprised at Daphne's description of her version of Reûic in Applebus in the chapter I'm working on, but really, it's more me than they might think. I'm very competitive and very possessive: my grades, my ideas, my dreams, my friends, etc., and it's so wrong. But I'm trying to deal with it. It's not anyone else's fault. I spent all my time reading and writing; why expect substantial skill at anything else?
*sigh* These are all so long. I should stop that, too. I keep wondering, despite Ananda's claims that it's half of what blogging's about, why anyone on earth would want to read what I write about; when it's not overlengthy, melodramatic psychobabble, it's my accounts of M*A*S*H, LOTR, and other random meaningless things.
Creative writing story is coming along well; should really be working on evil AP American project or doing my million knee stretches, but not gonna happen. Gonna go upstairs where it's warmish, maybe read, maybe watch TV.
-Laurel
This, by the way, makes me an instant alien (just add water? *g*) with most of my friends, who regard gym class as something inherently evil. I used to hate it myself, for the very simple reason that I was awful at everything I tried (spending all your free time reading, writing, and watching TV isn't exactly conducive to athletic talent...), but out of nowhere, around last year, I actually got decently good, or at least not quite so horribly bad, at several sports. And, of course, it helps that I got in a gym class this year where I'm one of the only girls with any athletic talent at all--all the ones on sports teams switched out after the first couple of classes--which automatically makes me look good. It's a new experience for me to have someone want me on their team, as has happened this year. What happened to my perdedora status of last year, when Christy and I dubbed ourselves Los Perdedores (Spanish for "the losers") after the two of us lost every single badminton game except one we tied? (Actually, come to think of it for the first time, the correct Spanish would have been Las Perdedoras, but whatever...we kept saying it without the first "d" as it was, per-e-dores...)
Even Pete hates gym, and he's a guy. This may be due to the fact that the kind of sports he's good at--like archery, which he's taken competitions in and everything--are the ones we don't play, or the fact that he's about as apt to drop the ball as I am, which is to say a few times per game. It's been another new experience to have to throw a guy a Frisbee slowly so he'll catch it. That was the first unit we did this year, and Pete and I became friends partly because I was one of the only ones who'd throw to him--the guys avoided him like he was diseased after he dropped three in a row the first game. How is it that fully half of my guy-friendships begin in pity, and a fair amount of those turn into semi-crushes? (Mine on Pete was relatively short-lived, as he had, and still has, a girlfriend already, whom I've since become friends with.) Anyway, my original point was that he and his friend Sam (who does look somewhat like Sam Gamgee, though without the curly hair) hate gym with a passion. Blake, too, always found it incredibly pointless. I kind of like it, though, and I was wondering why.
It's not just gym. Sports in general are pretty cool. Even in eighth grade, when I was still athletically mediocre, I read the sports section and Sports Illustrated, though mostly for the NFL reports and Rick Reilly's and Steve Rushin's columns (I have an inherent love for humor columns; it's a Dave Barry-born thing). I still read all through the Bills games, though, even the ones I was at in person. And football is still my favorite sport to watch (to play is probably soccer, though ultimate Frisbree, gym-style, is lots of fun, too), but I've opened up to live hockey, too. NHL hockey is still intolerable, as are the NBA and MLB.
This is not to say that I'm not picky. I'm very picky. I hate basketball in all its forms, especially gym class, where our basketball unit consisted of eighty minutes of shooting hoops, which I lose patience for after a good six minutes (it'd be better if Zinni was there to compete against, like we did in ninth grade...nobody else likes that sort of game...). Indeed, most sports lose all their flavor once you watch them on TV. Take soccer. Great as the real thing, sawdust-dry on ESPN. And, holy cow, if that's boring, don't even get me started on televised bowling and golf. (Real-life golf is boring, too.) And, I'm sorry, neither cheerleading nor NASCAR racing are really sports (I'm sorry, Lily, I know you like it, but it just doesn't qualify in my book); it's just that TV sports stations have a lot of air time to fill, and you can't run biographies of sports players all the time. And all that goes double for computer- and video-game sports, of which my brother has at least a dozen for each system, computer and N64.
...So why was it so cool to see the Baseball Hall of Fame at Cooperstown, a trip I'd mildly rebelled against since my parents started saying a couple years ago that "we should really go sometime"? It was really cool. All these baseball greats and ERA statistics and displays about the evolution over time of gloves, bats, hats, uniforms, etc. All these actual things the players wore. I guess it's modern baseball I don't like. I don't watch ESPN Classic things about the Yankees of old, but I like the Yankees of old way better than the current ones. With the current ones, they actually have too many good players. They've gone at it like a science project. The games are like this: They pitch well. They hit well. They get lots of home runs. They win. Yay. Repeat 108 times per season and for at least three World Series games. ...My parents and brother cannot fathom not liking them, nor can a good chunk of my many relatives.
But even when I don't like the sport, I still get the whole sports mentality. I can see why guys sit around watching sports all the time--if I liked most televised sports, I would, too. To me, running around and scoring points is a valid pastime. I've always gotten way more into the competitive side of sports than most of my friends, or other girls in my gym class. And while many sports are boring to actually watch unless you have someone to consistently root for, more sports, at least in theory,.are really cool. Like the Tour de France biking, the Iditarod dog sledding, the Boston marathon. And my thinking so surprises people sometimes, because I'm not on a team, and I don't look athletic, except for having thick legs and wearing a ponytail 75% of school days, and I spend my time with books, music, and TV. I can't lift weights. The fact that I can support my weight on flexed-arm hang for 15 seconds absolutely bewilders me because in my regular life, I don't lift anything heavier than my backpack, and only to put it on my back.
So I was wondering why. I think it's because my mom likes sports. She watches football and live hockey, like me, and scorns most other televised sports (she'll watch the Yankees every so often, though, as I implied before). And part of it, too, was being babysat in the summer for three years--the summers after fifth, sixth, and seventh grade (I know I was a bit old, but I helped watch them a lot, and anyway, it beat dealing with my brother alone). See, most of the time, there were only two girls, Alex and me, and Alex was seven years younger than I was. The ones closest to my age were Eric (it was his mom who watched us all) and Georgio, and my brother, Nick, and Andrew only a year younger than those two. And though I did my fair share and more of reading, Nintendo, and walking Brandy (Eric's dog), the others were often very active, and often I ended up following along.
And I guess I tend to be more competitive, too, than my friends. In elementary school, I was always the smartest kid in the class--my mom thought even then that I'd be valedictorian--but that changed quickly after about fourth grade. I was used to being admired, and I was a perfectionist, but I wasn't anywhere near all-starness anymore--my friends with 80s couldn't understand why I was jealous of my friends' 98 and 99 averages when mine was 96, but the fact that I had the same first numeral wasn't the point. The point is, they were my age, and many were my friends, and I wasn't measuring up, and I didn't like it. By ninth grade, I realized that I could bust my butt at math and science and still never do as well as Matt George and Bethie did naturally, and I could sing at home 'til my throat killed, but I couldn't duplicate what the choir kids had already from their million years of playing instruments and taking voice. And it was ninth grade, in fact, when I first began to truly like sports, and I don't think it's a coincidence.
And Bethie envies me because I can sing at all, and my English essays get higher grades than hers (kind of like her math grades), and my stories still get some attention, but I envy her talent at things only guys are supposed to be good at--math, science, sports--and her instrumental ability, of which I have precious little (harmonica: two riffs, a flawed rendition of "Oh, Susannah", a mediocre Lone Ranger theme, and a set of chords that sounds kind of like a sigh, and I still have to find the notes with my tongue, which you're not supposed to do).
And even my own talent, lots of times, doesn't seem like enough--everything I have is done even better by my friends. Even Spanish is topped by Nicole, and anyway, it doesn't seem like it counts unless all my friends do it, and none of my best friends do anymore, if they ever did (Daf took French).
I stopped envying Bethie's life in general after I found out how much she pays for it (and I don't mean money, I mean sweat, tears, and general paranoia, and what her parents say when she isn't good enough for them), but what about people who get it automatically? Few compliments make me happier than my winning out over someone traditionally sky-high above me; Mrs. Morturano's comment this year that my Spanish was "even better than Becky Sillick's" still sticks in my head, and the one like it last year was even better--that I'd gotten the same PSAT score as Matt George, who is so smart it should be illegal, and whom I resent because he's stuck-up about it. Becky is not: she's one of the nicest people I know, though her brilliant athleticism in track, in addition to her over-100 weighted average, still annoys me very slightly. It's not Becky anyone ever resents so much as her grades and her tendency to break her own pole vault records. Also last year was my dramatic-skill breakthrough, when only two people got to reread Grace's part in How to Succeed tryouts, and I was ranked, at least for a moment, with the ever-favored (and eventual winner; I was cut altogether after bombing out the singing part) Lani Toyama. (It was not, however, Goodling's request that I read it again, but Kelly's, the other director.)
...This started in sports and meandered into my inferiority semi-complex, and I apologize if I've just bored the carp out of you. I'm not even looking for recognition, currently, so I don't know what my problem is, except that I want what I can't have...and the thing is, even if I got it, it wouldn't be enough.
I think my friends'll be surprised at Daphne's description of her version of Reûic in Applebus in the chapter I'm working on, but really, it's more me than they might think. I'm very competitive and very possessive: my grades, my ideas, my dreams, my friends, etc., and it's so wrong. But I'm trying to deal with it. It's not anyone else's fault. I spent all my time reading and writing; why expect substantial skill at anything else?
*sigh* These are all so long. I should stop that, too. I keep wondering, despite Ananda's claims that it's half of what blogging's about, why anyone on earth would want to read what I write about; when it's not overlengthy, melodramatic psychobabble, it's my accounts of M*A*S*H, LOTR, and other random meaningless things.
Creative writing story is coming along well; should really be working on evil AP American project or doing my million knee stretches, but not gonna happen. Gonna go upstairs where it's warmish, maybe read, maybe watch TV.
-Laurel
5.24.2002
I will most likely have back entries up at some point that I wrote at school. But for now, the concert last night:
To all from out of town (sorry, I really like saying that!), last night was our chorus concert--and Ananda's last one, as she's off to college after that...Blake (another changed-name, as he also appears in the Applebus) had told us that Mr. Goodling, chorus teacher from last year, would be there, and that had us mildly frantic. See, Goodling was...possibly the most complex and bewildering teacher I've ever had. He's the kind that terrifies you for the first three months, practically making you hate him with his taskmastering, making you glad for the days a student conductor or student teacher gets to run rehearsal...but somehow makes you worlds better, so that one day, towards the middle of the year, suddenly you realize that he's the difference...and suddenly you realize that it's been weeks since you've stopped hating him...and he's one of your favorite teachers, somehow, from then on.
And then, if you're in my grade, he announces a month or two later that he's retiring. And it really is semi-tragic, 'cause a lot of the reason was the ruddy scholastic powers-that-be...he was losing a ridiculous amount of salary for every year he stayed on, 'cause the district wants new teachers: they don't need as much pay...
Off-Topic Mini-Rant Alert:
...and, you know, that's happened over and over since I came to the junior high and high school. The administration has gone about things in ways a lot of kids in my school have questioned...there was a lot of private student protest going on last year, petitions and all...but, stupid though they were, I refused to take part in it--naive though I may be, I learned as early as third grade (a story for another time) that student protests and petitions, even sometimes when parentally backed, are about as likely to succeed as a trip over Niagara Falls on a surfboard--and, besides, a lot of times, the things they're complaining about aren't really worth it...some of it is more whining than anything else, and it nails the rest of us when we've got something that's truly worth making noise over, 'cause they don't take us seriously. My theory, anyway, was that the system may or may not have been crap, but either way, the best thing to do was work with it. And I realize what that sounds like--cowardice, etc.--but sometimes that is, really, all that works. You want to get anywhere with my school, the best thing to do is play by their rules. When your reputation is good enough, then you've got a chance. In any case, I wasn't personally affected by anything the students were protesting, so I didn't get into it. And the thing is, no one protested Goodling's leaving. He went along with it so well that we did, too.
But this year, I've watched the administration screw up again and again...and still it hasn't affected me...but now it's affected some of my best friends. Ananda, a National Merit finalist, got much more hindrance than help in college-searching...my dad, a college worker, was this close to calling her counselor and letting him have it--she needed the help, and they blew her off. And, with some teacher clout (you'll not read this, Mrs. Rice, B, and Schank, but *thank you*), Aubrey's case, which was really and honestly serious at that point, finally got through...but after being wrapped in about three rolls of red tape. They knew his problems for several months before our prodding took any effect...and by then, it was too late--though, to be fair, that's much more Aubrey's fault than theirs. Granted, Aubrey could have cooperated a little more, and granted, once the worst had happened and Aubrey was with a foster family of sorts, they did exactly what they should have done--followed up, got him counseling, got him tutored--but...but you know? We needed them this year, and they weren't there. And I know I'm pointing the finger at the counseling office here, but it's not just them. It's the whole administration. When did we descend into this? Have they been too busy with our construction project (which we do need, and badly) to remember who they're here for? As we sang on the Les Mis medley last year for Goodling, It's us who'll have to pay/At the end of the day...
(End of Mini-Rant)
Anyway, Goodling was coming, and so that was that on top of all else. We thought, as Ananda has already told, that we'd screw up a fair amount, but we really didn't..."Shenandoah" was great; I sang better on that than I ever have, and my mom was even sitting right there (we went into the audience and did stereo-effect). I turned the wrong way once on "Baby, I'm Yours", which was not a big surprise, considering how terrible we've all been at the moves to it, but it was all right. The guys' "Manly Men" song was hysterical, and "Loch Lomond" was untentionally funny...guys doing Scottish accents, and rather mediocre ones at that--where is Billy Boyd (Pippin in the LOTR movies) when you need him? *g*--but it was still cool, too. And we got "Cindy", we finally sang it right! Crumbs, I didn't think it was possible for us to do so well! Right after our last shouted "Hooray!" in the song, Ananda turned to me (we got to be next to each other on the risers) and cried out, under cover of the applause, "We did it!"
As Pete, a friend of mine (and a second bass in choir), had observed in gym earlier that day, that's our school's choral "success plan"--screw it all up 'til the concert, then rock. And I think that underestimates how many people in chorus and choir do well all the time--of which there are many--but for many of us, that really is how it works.
As for the senior song...that was when Goodling stepped out. Does he do anything but make an entrance? ::laughs:: Not a chance, the barmy dramatist. I mean, his reputation alone precedes him, and it was the same fancyish white suit-thing, same general commanding-ness, same mini-marathon speeches. This time he read the statistics of our senior class...colleges attending, majors, future goals...and basically praised the lot of them roundly. And then the time came for us juniors to give the seniors flowers. Goodling read off the names--too fast, I might add, but then, he couldn't see behind him, where we were--and we hurried up with the flowers. Ananda, of course, hugged Daf, and I saw other seniors I knew embracing juniors I knew. I'm actually kind of glad that Sara didn't try to shake my hand or hug me or anything, 'cause we're only acquaintances...but, I don't know, she could have smiled. I don't think she did. I mean, come on, I nearly impaled my finger on her roses's thorn--I wanted some recognition! *g*
But don't worry about it, Daf. You're Ananda's best-est friend. It was, by rights, your flower, not mine, and I would have felt bad even if you'd switched to Calypso.
There was a throng round the door we exited from, so I hurried to another one to peek in at the singing seniors. A whole group was gathered there, too, but this time the tall ones had gotten off to the side, and I could see over the short ones. There were Ananda, Blake, and the whole group, and they sounded good...I guess I kind of pasted my eyes on 'Nanda most of the time (and besides, her tie-dyed skirt was easy to pick out!)...but I didn't cry. I came close--my eyes were a bit blurred--but somehow I didn't think I should. I mean, she and Daf'll tell me I had a perfect right to, and I know I did, but...I don't know, it was Ananda and Daf's moment. It didn't feel like mine. It was like, let them cry for each other now. Ananda can have my goodbyes when she wants them. Sometimes there're just moments when one of us feels like we should back off and just watch...Zinni's done that with the three of us; she did even before she left, the one night when we were all crying, scared about faith and everything...certainly Ananda's done that with us concerning Zinni...this was one of those, that's all.
The first post-song hug, however, went to me, then a second to Daf, and Calypso came out, and our parents found us. Moment broken.
I didn't get to talk to Goodling...which is kind of okay. However much I ended up liking him in the end, I've rarely felt at ease near him...the only time was on the way back from NYC, when we he was playing Balderdash with the Harringtons, Melinda, Anne Marie, and me...that was a great ride, and not just because I absolutely rocked that day at Balderdash, fooling everyone--even Goodling, with all his Latin study--multiple times. Despite his comment at one point last year, as I held my own at parents' night against the choir elite, that I could "fit in with them nicely" (though it was said us, Goodling counting the choir elite and himself as almost a separate body...which, quite frankly, they were)...and, freakily enough, I've just realized that I'm wearing the same shirt I was that night; I hardly ever wear it...I've never found that true. Maybe my assertion that I wouldn't want to be a choir elite stems from the fact that I could never be one anyway, but I've heard tale from Michelle, possibly the nicest girl who's part of it, about what they say about each other privately...and I don't want that at all now. I still envy their talent, and the favor they get and admittedly deserve...but I've seen it change Blake and Dan, and I've heard more than enough, and I no longer want it.
As for Mrs. Rice, Goodling's successor...she's busted her butt all year, and I can honestly say that she's gotten exactly what she wanted, and I hope she knows it. She wanted to show that she was just as good as Goodling...but I think she'd resent being compared to him. She wants to be good for how she teaches...and she really is. My Spanish teacher, who's come to the concerts for years, says that her music is more varied, and she did some things better than Goodling...my mom commented on how well she speaks before an audience with another maybe-even-better-than-Goodling sort of implication, and about how she liked the concert's style...and I enjoyed being able to screw up that bit of "Baby, I'm Yours" without having to mentally calculate how many points of my concert grade it'd cost me, and have on-stage rehearsals that weren't part of the concert grade...I think Mrs. Rice has taken just enough from Goodling, really. She took what helped, and kept her own style in any case. She's been, well, frenetic many times this year, trying to make us her own...but I think she'll calm down now. She got what she wanted. I hope she sees that. She did really well, and is, no question, the best first-year teacher I've ever had. All I've just said about her is purely guesswork--she never indicated that she was afraid of being compared unfavorably to Goodling.
Anyway, I've said quite the mouthful, so I'll sign off.
-Laurel
To all from out of town (sorry, I really like saying that!), last night was our chorus concert--and Ananda's last one, as she's off to college after that...Blake (another changed-name, as he also appears in the Applebus) had told us that Mr. Goodling, chorus teacher from last year, would be there, and that had us mildly frantic. See, Goodling was...possibly the most complex and bewildering teacher I've ever had. He's the kind that terrifies you for the first three months, practically making you hate him with his taskmastering, making you glad for the days a student conductor or student teacher gets to run rehearsal...but somehow makes you worlds better, so that one day, towards the middle of the year, suddenly you realize that he's the difference...and suddenly you realize that it's been weeks since you've stopped hating him...and he's one of your favorite teachers, somehow, from then on.
And then, if you're in my grade, he announces a month or two later that he's retiring. And it really is semi-tragic, 'cause a lot of the reason was the ruddy scholastic powers-that-be...he was losing a ridiculous amount of salary for every year he stayed on, 'cause the district wants new teachers: they don't need as much pay...
Off-Topic Mini-Rant Alert:
...and, you know, that's happened over and over since I came to the junior high and high school. The administration has gone about things in ways a lot of kids in my school have questioned...there was a lot of private student protest going on last year, petitions and all...but, stupid though they were, I refused to take part in it--naive though I may be, I learned as early as third grade (a story for another time) that student protests and petitions, even sometimes when parentally backed, are about as likely to succeed as a trip over Niagara Falls on a surfboard--and, besides, a lot of times, the things they're complaining about aren't really worth it...some of it is more whining than anything else, and it nails the rest of us when we've got something that's truly worth making noise over, 'cause they don't take us seriously. My theory, anyway, was that the system may or may not have been crap, but either way, the best thing to do was work with it. And I realize what that sounds like--cowardice, etc.--but sometimes that is, really, all that works. You want to get anywhere with my school, the best thing to do is play by their rules. When your reputation is good enough, then you've got a chance. In any case, I wasn't personally affected by anything the students were protesting, so I didn't get into it. And the thing is, no one protested Goodling's leaving. He went along with it so well that we did, too.
But this year, I've watched the administration screw up again and again...and still it hasn't affected me...but now it's affected some of my best friends. Ananda, a National Merit finalist, got much more hindrance than help in college-searching...my dad, a college worker, was this close to calling her counselor and letting him have it--she needed the help, and they blew her off. And, with some teacher clout (you'll not read this, Mrs. Rice, B, and Schank, but *thank you*), Aubrey's case, which was really and honestly serious at that point, finally got through...but after being wrapped in about three rolls of red tape. They knew his problems for several months before our prodding took any effect...and by then, it was too late--though, to be fair, that's much more Aubrey's fault than theirs. Granted, Aubrey could have cooperated a little more, and granted, once the worst had happened and Aubrey was with a foster family of sorts, they did exactly what they should have done--followed up, got him counseling, got him tutored--but...but you know? We needed them this year, and they weren't there. And I know I'm pointing the finger at the counseling office here, but it's not just them. It's the whole administration. When did we descend into this? Have they been too busy with our construction project (which we do need, and badly) to remember who they're here for? As we sang on the Les Mis medley last year for Goodling, It's us who'll have to pay/At the end of the day...
(End of Mini-Rant)
Anyway, Goodling was coming, and so that was that on top of all else. We thought, as Ananda has already told, that we'd screw up a fair amount, but we really didn't..."Shenandoah" was great; I sang better on that than I ever have, and my mom was even sitting right there (we went into the audience and did stereo-effect). I turned the wrong way once on "Baby, I'm Yours", which was not a big surprise, considering how terrible we've all been at the moves to it, but it was all right. The guys' "Manly Men" song was hysterical, and "Loch Lomond" was untentionally funny...guys doing Scottish accents, and rather mediocre ones at that--where is Billy Boyd (Pippin in the LOTR movies) when you need him? *g*--but it was still cool, too. And we got "Cindy", we finally sang it right! Crumbs, I didn't think it was possible for us to do so well! Right after our last shouted "Hooray!" in the song, Ananda turned to me (we got to be next to each other on the risers) and cried out, under cover of the applause, "We did it!"
As Pete, a friend of mine (and a second bass in choir), had observed in gym earlier that day, that's our school's choral "success plan"--screw it all up 'til the concert, then rock. And I think that underestimates how many people in chorus and choir do well all the time--of which there are many--but for many of us, that really is how it works.
As for the senior song...that was when Goodling stepped out. Does he do anything but make an entrance? ::laughs:: Not a chance, the barmy dramatist. I mean, his reputation alone precedes him, and it was the same fancyish white suit-thing, same general commanding-ness, same mini-marathon speeches. This time he read the statistics of our senior class...colleges attending, majors, future goals...and basically praised the lot of them roundly. And then the time came for us juniors to give the seniors flowers. Goodling read off the names--too fast, I might add, but then, he couldn't see behind him, where we were--and we hurried up with the flowers. Ananda, of course, hugged Daf, and I saw other seniors I knew embracing juniors I knew. I'm actually kind of glad that Sara didn't try to shake my hand or hug me or anything, 'cause we're only acquaintances...but, I don't know, she could have smiled. I don't think she did. I mean, come on, I nearly impaled my finger on her roses's thorn--I wanted some recognition! *g*
But don't worry about it, Daf. You're Ananda's best-est friend. It was, by rights, your flower, not mine, and I would have felt bad even if you'd switched to Calypso.
There was a throng round the door we exited from, so I hurried to another one to peek in at the singing seniors. A whole group was gathered there, too, but this time the tall ones had gotten off to the side, and I could see over the short ones. There were Ananda, Blake, and the whole group, and they sounded good...I guess I kind of pasted my eyes on 'Nanda most of the time (and besides, her tie-dyed skirt was easy to pick out!)...but I didn't cry. I came close--my eyes were a bit blurred--but somehow I didn't think I should. I mean, she and Daf'll tell me I had a perfect right to, and I know I did, but...I don't know, it was Ananda and Daf's moment. It didn't feel like mine. It was like, let them cry for each other now. Ananda can have my goodbyes when she wants them. Sometimes there're just moments when one of us feels like we should back off and just watch...Zinni's done that with the three of us; she did even before she left, the one night when we were all crying, scared about faith and everything...certainly Ananda's done that with us concerning Zinni...this was one of those, that's all.
The first post-song hug, however, went to me, then a second to Daf, and Calypso came out, and our parents found us. Moment broken.
I didn't get to talk to Goodling...which is kind of okay. However much I ended up liking him in the end, I've rarely felt at ease near him...the only time was on the way back from NYC, when we he was playing Balderdash with the Harringtons, Melinda, Anne Marie, and me...that was a great ride, and not just because I absolutely rocked that day at Balderdash, fooling everyone--even Goodling, with all his Latin study--multiple times. Despite his comment at one point last year, as I held my own at parents' night against the choir elite, that I could "fit in with them nicely" (though it was said us, Goodling counting the choir elite and himself as almost a separate body...which, quite frankly, they were)...and, freakily enough, I've just realized that I'm wearing the same shirt I was that night; I hardly ever wear it...I've never found that true. Maybe my assertion that I wouldn't want to be a choir elite stems from the fact that I could never be one anyway, but I've heard tale from Michelle, possibly the nicest girl who's part of it, about what they say about each other privately...and I don't want that at all now. I still envy their talent, and the favor they get and admittedly deserve...but I've seen it change Blake and Dan, and I've heard more than enough, and I no longer want it.
As for Mrs. Rice, Goodling's successor...she's busted her butt all year, and I can honestly say that she's gotten exactly what she wanted, and I hope she knows it. She wanted to show that she was just as good as Goodling...but I think she'd resent being compared to him. She wants to be good for how she teaches...and she really is. My Spanish teacher, who's come to the concerts for years, says that her music is more varied, and she did some things better than Goodling...my mom commented on how well she speaks before an audience with another maybe-even-better-than-Goodling sort of implication, and about how she liked the concert's style...and I enjoyed being able to screw up that bit of "Baby, I'm Yours" without having to mentally calculate how many points of my concert grade it'd cost me, and have on-stage rehearsals that weren't part of the concert grade...I think Mrs. Rice has taken just enough from Goodling, really. She took what helped, and kept her own style in any case. She's been, well, frenetic many times this year, trying to make us her own...but I think she'll calm down now. She got what she wanted. I hope she sees that. She did really well, and is, no question, the best first-year teacher I've ever had. All I've just said about her is purely guesswork--she never indicated that she was afraid of being compared unfavorably to Goodling.
Anyway, I've said quite the mouthful, so I'll sign off.
-Laurel
5.21.2002
Watched my brother tonight, as my parents were out of town for a work dinner--we had pizza, played Nintendo and such, watched M*A*S*H (one I hadn't seen, and with Radar; it was great) and ended up watching our Ninja Turtles cartoon video from when we were in kindergarten and third grade (respectively)--"Sky Turtles"; still as great as it was then in everything but the wavery sound, though I'm gonna be nuts for the next few days trying to figure out where I've heard Raphael's voice since then...are there no good TMNT wavs on the web, by the way?!
Had my knee appointment--they don't like that there's fluid on my knee, and they've affirmed the diagnosis that the cap slipped in a certain spot--there's a specific Latin term, but I've since forgotten it--and have put me on three doses of Motrin a day, given me more(!) exercises to do, and banned me off gym for two weeks, as though we were doing anything but orienteering and kickball anyway. I hope I get to read instead...maybe I'll finally get to chapter four of SdlA...
...Have SAFE breakfast tomorrow and must dress up for it (yech), so I should go iron my khakis and crud now. *sigh*
Cheerio.
-Laurel
Had my knee appointment--they don't like that there's fluid on my knee, and they've affirmed the diagnosis that the cap slipped in a certain spot--there's a specific Latin term, but I've since forgotten it--and have put me on three doses of Motrin a day, given me more(!) exercises to do, and banned me off gym for two weeks, as though we were doing anything but orienteering and kickball anyway. I hope I get to read instead...maybe I'll finally get to chapter four of SdlA...
...Have SAFE breakfast tomorrow and must dress up for it (yech), so I should go iron my khakis and crud now. *sigh*
Cheerio.
-Laurel
5.20.2002
My friends are having an identity crisis and I'm not? Now that is foreign. *g*
No, seriously, guys, ask me anything if you want. Whatever. Goodness knows you've put up with mine.
To all from out of town: Go to ***stardust to see what I mean.
-Laurel
No, seriously, guys, ask me anything if you want. Whatever. Goodness knows you've put up with mine.
To all from out of town: Go to ***stardust to see what I mean.
-Laurel
5.19.2002
5.18.2002
There, I've changed my blog. Much good may it do me. I like dark blue color schemes, but there weren't any good ones I've already used--I can't picture Powerful Play without the "Sandbox at Night" template; my original blog, even before that one and this (called "Tea and Psychology", it only lasted about two days) also used it.
Saw Lord of the Rings for the third time last night, as planned...how I love that lovely movie. It's quite possibly my favorite now--hey, M*A*S*H took down Whose Line; LOTR just might replace Dead Poets Society. I never call it by its real name, though (Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring)--to me it will always be Lord of the Rings, and the other two will be just Two Towers and Return of the King (often quickly pronounced as 'Turn of the King when I'm not feeling particularly precise). The effect is almost the same as the first time--my heart still pounds every time they run to escape the Balrog; I still burst into suppressed giggles every time Pippin goes into his mini-tirades about "second breakfast" and "people of intelligence"; I still open my eyes wide when Boromir dies so as not to cry...lots of stuff like that.
...'Course, like last time, I made the mistake of drinking lots of soda at movie's beginning, so that I spent the last hour checking my watch, seeing how soon I'd be able to get to a bathroom. Sooner or later I'll figure it out.
The thing was, though, I went with Ananda, Daffodil, and Christy, and we were going to see Attack of the Clones right after it--saw LOTR at eight, Episode II at 12:15. So Ananda and Daf decided that they were going to dress as Star Wars characters--'Nanda as young Obi-Wan, Daf as Princess Leia--and they wanted me to dress up as one, too. And I'm thinking, who the heck can I be? All I've got, costume-material-wise, is a bathrobe, and it's got ducks on the back. That's not gonna work!
And then I decided, heck with Star Wars--we're going to LOTR first; I'm being a hobbit!
Sam Gamgee, to be exact, as I figured he'd be the easiest to recognize (when you see a belt with a pan tied to it, who else do you think of?). I curled my hair, tried for the simple-shirt-with-overvest look (my undershirt was plain white, not striped, and my overvest was plaid, not brown leather, but it was the best I could do), put on baggyish pants (my dad's gray sweatpants), put on a belt and tied a pan onto it, and stuck a spoon in my shirt pocket (which Daf confiscated, of course, as soon as I let her). My mom said I couldn't go barefoot--not that I asked--so I wore my old sandals instead. I wasn't heavy enough, but I decided that was a good thing. I didn't look quite hobbitish, but the overall effect wasn't bad.
So when I got to Ananda's, I stood there, waiting for her to realize that I wasn't a Star Wars character. Eventually she did.
"You're Pippin!" she cried. Well, close enough--Daf's really the one whom we've dubbed the Sam of the group, and I'm Pippin (Ananda's Frodo; Zinni's the group Merry, though my friend Bethie is the original Merry from when I dubbed us Merry and Pippin), so...
...It's not a bad comparison, really. Ananda is really the leader-figure with us, and has had a lot on her shoulders for a while. Daf is intensely devoted to her, and has a very Samlike silliness, especially in speech (if Ananda said she was going someplace alone, it'd be just like Daffy to reply, a la Sam, "Of course you are--and I'm coming with you!"). I originally decided I was Pippin when I read the books--and for those who haven't, Pippin is not quite as much a clown as he is in the movie; he does do some ungraceful things, but more out of curiosity and rushing into things headlong...and I do a lot of that. Ananda and Daf consider me the grounded one, to a point, but sometimes I just fly into things, feel-of-the-moment-driven, and lots of times I end up falling on my face, be it figuratively or literally--which is Pippin. And Pippin, in the later books, grows up a bit and shows he's deeper and nobler than he seems, and that works, too--in sixth grade I was definitely Fellowship Pippin; now I'm much more Return of the King Pippin. Besides, of the four of us, I am the most likely to get hungry at inconvenient times; it's happened before. *g*. And Zinni, well...Merry and Pippin are companions, like Frodo and Sam...and to be very honest, in later years it's worked very much that way--I share more interests with Zinni than I do the others, but lots of times she's seemed like the one who had the better grounding, and that's Merry. She's much more sure of me than I am.
In any case, I was Sam, and it was fun (I later used 'Nanda's face paint to give myself hairy feet). But I have to go now.
-Laurel
Saw Lord of the Rings for the third time last night, as planned...how I love that lovely movie. It's quite possibly my favorite now--hey, M*A*S*H took down Whose Line; LOTR just might replace Dead Poets Society. I never call it by its real name, though (Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring)--to me it will always be Lord of the Rings, and the other two will be just Two Towers and Return of the King (often quickly pronounced as 'Turn of the King when I'm not feeling particularly precise). The effect is almost the same as the first time--my heart still pounds every time they run to escape the Balrog; I still burst into suppressed giggles every time Pippin goes into his mini-tirades about "second breakfast" and "people of intelligence"; I still open my eyes wide when Boromir dies so as not to cry...lots of stuff like that.
...'Course, like last time, I made the mistake of drinking lots of soda at movie's beginning, so that I spent the last hour checking my watch, seeing how soon I'd be able to get to a bathroom. Sooner or later I'll figure it out.
The thing was, though, I went with Ananda, Daffodil, and Christy, and we were going to see Attack of the Clones right after it--saw LOTR at eight, Episode II at 12:15. So Ananda and Daf decided that they were going to dress as Star Wars characters--'Nanda as young Obi-Wan, Daf as Princess Leia--and they wanted me to dress up as one, too. And I'm thinking, who the heck can I be? All I've got, costume-material-wise, is a bathrobe, and it's got ducks on the back. That's not gonna work!
And then I decided, heck with Star Wars--we're going to LOTR first; I'm being a hobbit!
Sam Gamgee, to be exact, as I figured he'd be the easiest to recognize (when you see a belt with a pan tied to it, who else do you think of?). I curled my hair, tried for the simple-shirt-with-overvest look (my undershirt was plain white, not striped, and my overvest was plaid, not brown leather, but it was the best I could do), put on baggyish pants (my dad's gray sweatpants), put on a belt and tied a pan onto it, and stuck a spoon in my shirt pocket (which Daf confiscated, of course, as soon as I let her). My mom said I couldn't go barefoot--not that I asked--so I wore my old sandals instead. I wasn't heavy enough, but I decided that was a good thing. I didn't look quite hobbitish, but the overall effect wasn't bad.
So when I got to Ananda's, I stood there, waiting for her to realize that I wasn't a Star Wars character. Eventually she did.
"You're Pippin!" she cried. Well, close enough--Daf's really the one whom we've dubbed the Sam of the group, and I'm Pippin (Ananda's Frodo; Zinni's the group Merry, though my friend Bethie is the original Merry from when I dubbed us Merry and Pippin), so...
...It's not a bad comparison, really. Ananda is really the leader-figure with us, and has had a lot on her shoulders for a while. Daf is intensely devoted to her, and has a very Samlike silliness, especially in speech (if Ananda said she was going someplace alone, it'd be just like Daffy to reply, a la Sam, "Of course you are--and I'm coming with you!"). I originally decided I was Pippin when I read the books--and for those who haven't, Pippin is not quite as much a clown as he is in the movie; he does do some ungraceful things, but more out of curiosity and rushing into things headlong...and I do a lot of that. Ananda and Daf consider me the grounded one, to a point, but sometimes I just fly into things, feel-of-the-moment-driven, and lots of times I end up falling on my face, be it figuratively or literally--which is Pippin. And Pippin, in the later books, grows up a bit and shows he's deeper and nobler than he seems, and that works, too--in sixth grade I was definitely Fellowship Pippin; now I'm much more Return of the King Pippin. Besides, of the four of us, I am the most likely to get hungry at inconvenient times; it's happened before. *g*. And Zinni, well...Merry and Pippin are companions, like Frodo and Sam...and to be very honest, in later years it's worked very much that way--I share more interests with Zinni than I do the others, but lots of times she's seemed like the one who had the better grounding, and that's Merry. She's much more sure of me than I am.
In any case, I was Sam, and it was fun (I later used 'Nanda's face paint to give myself hairy feet). But I have to go now.
-Laurel
5.17.2002
Greetings and salutations! Welcome to the humble, rather-badly-designed blog of Laurel Marie Christensen (name changed to protect the paranoid). If you're here from out of town (that is, if you don't have a clue who I really am), you probably got here from a friend or cousin's blog.
I call this blog "Quid Pro Quo" because, until now, I didn't have a personal blog, but one of my friends did, and I would go on and (rather shamelessly) read all about her life--and she knew it, too, which is probably why I never read anything negative about myself. *g* But considering all of my best friends do now (it was only my friend Ananda until this month), it now seems only fair that they get to read my take on things. Thus the blog name "Quid Pro Quo", which is, as defined by dictionary.com, in part, "an equal exchange". I get to read their innermost thoughts (at least all of them that're fit to post), they get to read mine. And as an added benefit on their part, they no longer have to get inundated with long e-mails when I really feel like talking.
As I want to be better than just any random blog, I will try to keep my M*A*S*H fanaticism and occasional melodramatics to a minimum, but no promises. I will also change this pre-set template, or at least improve upon it, as soon as I feel like figuring out how.
Here, however, is a review of my year (I'll attempt brevity; once again, no promises), just so you can understand me a bit better. I'll try to go in order. This year, I:
-finally was liked by my crush of three years, and actually asked on an experimental semi-"date" (we went bowling with his youth group)...
-...spent until November as affirmed-crush with him as he tried to figure out what he wanted...only to be told in mid-November that a girl from camp (whom I'd never so much as heard of) had been sending him flirtatious e-mails, and he already considered her a girlfriend (she officially became so within a week or so of my first hearing this). So my claim stands that I've never had a boyfriend. I'd never actually been liked by anyone I liked until him. It didn't end well, but the two months I had of knowing he liked me were worth it in the end.
-slaved over school, having had more homework for the first 20 weeks of it than I ever imagined could feasibly be assigned;
-spent 16 terrifying weeks in driver's ed with a teacher who did not trust me to brake on my own until the 15th class (after which point she yelled at me to brake a split-second before my foot hit the actual brake pedal). My final, by the way, was canceled, for which I am incredibly grateful.
-fell in love with the Lord of the Rings books even before the movie came out, then enjoyed the movie with about ten of my friends; I'm currently rather fanatical about Pippin (who is a much better character in the books, by the way, but you gotta love Billy Boyd's Scottish accent), and will be seeing the movie for the third time tonight at the dollar theater.
-rededicated my Christian faith shortly after Christmas--warmest literary praise to C.S. Lewis for Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters, while I'm on the subject...
-tried--this, by the way, is this year's biggest and most taxing event; my friends and I still feel this one--for over three months, with the assistance of all my friends, to get help for a friend of ours (who was, at the time, the boyfriend of Daffodil) whose home situation, past life (and psychological repercussions of it), and grades were in truly dire straits; we went to my youth group pastor, teachers, the school counselor, the school psychologist, and everybody in between; all offered help, our friend (hereinafter referred to as Aubrey, from a story you can get to through my links) wanted none of it...he grew more and more unstable, going so paranoid with Daffodil that she eventually broke up with him, practically starving himself, and being--I hope he doesn't read this, but--so despairing, troubled, starved (though self-imposed), and disheveled that, for a time, it made my heart sink to look at him. Just when the school was about to take action, he got himself suspended for abusing janitorial privileges--which is a nice way of saying that when he wasn't doing his custodial job at school, he was sleeping on the couch in the band room and using/misusing the computers. That is to say, he didn't go home. His food came out of vending machines, and his showers from bathroom sinks. A few lies on his part, however, were connected with this incident--and suddenly we saw how much he'd played on our sympathy and made us pity him--and we found out the truth behind the things he'd lied about...and suddenly we wondered who we'd been dealing with all year. Daf was wondering who she'd been dealing with since the ninth grade, when they'd gotten together. He was out of school for a month and a half, and when he came back, I still didn't know what to do. To stay with this boy, who constantly told us how awful his life was (and it was, on anyone's account), but who never let us help, and who imposed so much on Daf and dragged us all down so much, seemed like psychological suicide; to break off our friendship (which had been close), however, was something I could not do--he'd lied (despite his insistence even now that it was to protect my feelings), he'd gone for our pity, and he'd let his accursed pride ruin him...but his problems had been real, and he still deserved friends. He's currently in a sort of foster home and happier than he's ever been, and our friendship...it has survived (his with Daffodil did not; nor, to my knowledge, did his with Ananda)...but I have to quote U2's "The Sweetest Thing" here, and say that you can sew it up, but you still see the tear...it'll be quite a while before I feel right around him. His life changed for the better...but his persona is very different, and I'm not sure I like it. Anyway, so much for a brief summary; here's the rest:
-fell in love with the TV show M*A*S*H, which almost destroyed my Whose Line is it Anyway? fixation and which stole its title as "the best TV show in the world" in any case. Radar's my favorite (Hawkeye's a close-ish second), and I find a lot in the characters that connect with my life (yes, I'm one of those disgusting psychological types that're all about emotional connection), so if I compare my life to the show periodically, don't be surprised.
-sprained my knee in the middle of Aubrey's suspension, adding to all my other worries; it's still not always great, a month later
-had a crush on a guy-friend of mine--the problem was, he had a girlfriend already; crush has since subsided almost fully, leaving me with no current romantic interests
-September 11th, of course, hurt everybody, and I thank God I knew no one who was killed
-enjoyed success in a state-level ocean science competition (my team came in fourth out of sixteen) and a choir competition field trip to Boston (our group was one of only two to be rated "superior")
-went back to my elementary school once a month as a junior intern for teaching (I enjoyed it, but would much rather teach high school or college, I've found)
...And my friends have had troubles of their own, too, and we've all tried to help each other, but it hasn't been easy. My year hasn't been totally bad, as you can see, but it has been absolutely exhausting, and it's left me much less innocent and naive as I was going into it. Among my friends, Zinni and I have always been the "wide-eyed wonderers" (to twist a line by Elton John), but this year has been insane for us, too. Now I can relate to Hawkeye's line about making jokes to keep from screaming. I'm still the one who's probably least likely to understand a double entendre, but in terms of optimism and looking at the world, the year has left me rather jaded, something I don't like at all.
But this has been quite a post, so I'll leave off here. More to come sometime, and certainly a better template.
-Laurel
I call this blog "Quid Pro Quo" because, until now, I didn't have a personal blog, but one of my friends did, and I would go on and (rather shamelessly) read all about her life--and she knew it, too, which is probably why I never read anything negative about myself. *g* But considering all of my best friends do now (it was only my friend Ananda until this month), it now seems only fair that they get to read my take on things. Thus the blog name "Quid Pro Quo", which is, as defined by dictionary.com, in part, "an equal exchange". I get to read their innermost thoughts (at least all of them that're fit to post), they get to read mine. And as an added benefit on their part, they no longer have to get inundated with long e-mails when I really feel like talking.
As I want to be better than just any random blog, I will try to keep my M*A*S*H fanaticism and occasional melodramatics to a minimum, but no promises. I will also change this pre-set template, or at least improve upon it, as soon as I feel like figuring out how.
Here, however, is a review of my year (I'll attempt brevity; once again, no promises), just so you can understand me a bit better. I'll try to go in order. This year, I:
-finally was liked by my crush of three years, and actually asked on an experimental semi-"date" (we went bowling with his youth group)...
-...spent until November as affirmed-crush with him as he tried to figure out what he wanted...only to be told in mid-November that a girl from camp (whom I'd never so much as heard of) had been sending him flirtatious e-mails, and he already considered her a girlfriend (she officially became so within a week or so of my first hearing this). So my claim stands that I've never had a boyfriend. I'd never actually been liked by anyone I liked until him. It didn't end well, but the two months I had of knowing he liked me were worth it in the end.
-slaved over school, having had more homework for the first 20 weeks of it than I ever imagined could feasibly be assigned;
-spent 16 terrifying weeks in driver's ed with a teacher who did not trust me to brake on my own until the 15th class (after which point she yelled at me to brake a split-second before my foot hit the actual brake pedal). My final, by the way, was canceled, for which I am incredibly grateful.
-fell in love with the Lord of the Rings books even before the movie came out, then enjoyed the movie with about ten of my friends; I'm currently rather fanatical about Pippin (who is a much better character in the books, by the way, but you gotta love Billy Boyd's Scottish accent), and will be seeing the movie for the third time tonight at the dollar theater.
-rededicated my Christian faith shortly after Christmas--warmest literary praise to C.S. Lewis for Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters, while I'm on the subject...
-tried--this, by the way, is this year's biggest and most taxing event; my friends and I still feel this one--for over three months, with the assistance of all my friends, to get help for a friend of ours (who was, at the time, the boyfriend of Daffodil) whose home situation, past life (and psychological repercussions of it), and grades were in truly dire straits; we went to my youth group pastor, teachers, the school counselor, the school psychologist, and everybody in between; all offered help, our friend (hereinafter referred to as Aubrey, from a story you can get to through my links) wanted none of it...he grew more and more unstable, going so paranoid with Daffodil that she eventually broke up with him, practically starving himself, and being--I hope he doesn't read this, but--so despairing, troubled, starved (though self-imposed), and disheveled that, for a time, it made my heart sink to look at him. Just when the school was about to take action, he got himself suspended for abusing janitorial privileges--which is a nice way of saying that when he wasn't doing his custodial job at school, he was sleeping on the couch in the band room and using/misusing the computers. That is to say, he didn't go home. His food came out of vending machines, and his showers from bathroom sinks. A few lies on his part, however, were connected with this incident--and suddenly we saw how much he'd played on our sympathy and made us pity him--and we found out the truth behind the things he'd lied about...and suddenly we wondered who we'd been dealing with all year. Daf was wondering who she'd been dealing with since the ninth grade, when they'd gotten together. He was out of school for a month and a half, and when he came back, I still didn't know what to do. To stay with this boy, who constantly told us how awful his life was (and it was, on anyone's account), but who never let us help, and who imposed so much on Daf and dragged us all down so much, seemed like psychological suicide; to break off our friendship (which had been close), however, was something I could not do--he'd lied (despite his insistence even now that it was to protect my feelings), he'd gone for our pity, and he'd let his accursed pride ruin him...but his problems had been real, and he still deserved friends. He's currently in a sort of foster home and happier than he's ever been, and our friendship...it has survived (his with Daffodil did not; nor, to my knowledge, did his with Ananda)...but I have to quote U2's "The Sweetest Thing" here, and say that you can sew it up, but you still see the tear...it'll be quite a while before I feel right around him. His life changed for the better...but his persona is very different, and I'm not sure I like it. Anyway, so much for a brief summary; here's the rest:
-fell in love with the TV show M*A*S*H, which almost destroyed my Whose Line is it Anyway? fixation and which stole its title as "the best TV show in the world" in any case. Radar's my favorite (Hawkeye's a close-ish second), and I find a lot in the characters that connect with my life (yes, I'm one of those disgusting psychological types that're all about emotional connection), so if I compare my life to the show periodically, don't be surprised.
-sprained my knee in the middle of Aubrey's suspension, adding to all my other worries; it's still not always great, a month later
-had a crush on a guy-friend of mine--the problem was, he had a girlfriend already; crush has since subsided almost fully, leaving me with no current romantic interests
-September 11th, of course, hurt everybody, and I thank God I knew no one who was killed
-enjoyed success in a state-level ocean science competition (my team came in fourth out of sixteen) and a choir competition field trip to Boston (our group was one of only two to be rated "superior")
-went back to my elementary school once a month as a junior intern for teaching (I enjoyed it, but would much rather teach high school or college, I've found)
...And my friends have had troubles of their own, too, and we've all tried to help each other, but it hasn't been easy. My year hasn't been totally bad, as you can see, but it has been absolutely exhausting, and it's left me much less innocent and naive as I was going into it. Among my friends, Zinni and I have always been the "wide-eyed wonderers" (to twist a line by Elton John), but this year has been insane for us, too. Now I can relate to Hawkeye's line about making jokes to keep from screaming. I'm still the one who's probably least likely to understand a double entendre, but in terms of optimism and looking at the world, the year has left me rather jaded, something I don't like at all.
But this has been quite a post, so I'll leave off here. More to come sometime, and certainly a better template.
-Laurel