In full color

after the weekend

2007-09-18T16:53:00.000-05:00

After the weekend, my week starts, and I have returned to my old habit of being stressed out all the time.

Something about these uncharacteristically warm autumn days gets me thinking, usually about nothing in particular.

"What is the greatest experience you can have? It is...the hour when you say, 'What matters my happiness? It is poverty and filth and wretched contentment. But my happiness ought to justify existence itself.'
-- Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra (Kaufmann translation)

I had never read Nietzche before, though I knew a good deal about him (or so I believed). I think my friend Matt ascertained it best: reading Nietzche is difficult because "either you're going into it biased, in which case you may as well not even bother, or you're going into it blind, which is worse." I found myself to be one of the former, at least, until I began to read. What I did not find was a sense of disgust at the absolute blasphemy, nor that disdain of what I would term to be overly "emo," and therefore not worth attention.

Instead, what I found was compassion and pity. I owe it to reading the translator's notes at the beginning of the book, detailing Nietzsche's bad digestion, near-blindness, and migraines that would hold him hostage for days at a time, among other things. Yet it was not simply the physical maladies of the slight, slightly stooped man that caused me to pity him. It was when the translator spoke of him as an "utterly lonely man" that I began to feel very sorry for him. I hated myself for having thought ill of him simply on the basis of quotes which I read completely out of context. Rather than seeing Nietzsche as the sneering, arrogant, angry Modern who writes "God is dead" simply to draw a reaction, I saw him for what he was: unaffected, tortured, and utterly lonely.

Nietzche himself would hate me for pitying him, as when he writes,
...The hour when you say: "What good is my pity? Is not pity the cross on which he is nailed who loves man?"

But I have found that while being compassionate towards other people can sometimes be a burden, it is far lighter than the feeling of guilt for refusing to sympathize for a fellow human being.

We live in an age where the individual is considered the supreme entity. Self-consciousness, self-awareness, self-improvement, self-confidence, self-esteem, self-help, self-indulgence, and the list continues.

Let me put it this way: if you ever have need of a camera, you only need to go so far as a teenager's bathroom to find one.

Clearly, we are obsessed with ourselves.

I heard a statistic once that said the average person spends only 5%-10% of his or her time thinking about other people. This is a problem. Isn't it interesting how, along with our total vanity, we are now seeing an utter breakdown of community? Families are imploding upon themselves, countries are divided, and bombs rip apart entire neighborhoods daily, all because people are so busy pushing their own agendas that they have forgotten what is truly important: life, love, breath, friendship, family, cooperation.

If we put all of our effort into ourselves, what is left after we die? It is like renovating a home after it has been condemned to be demolished. It is pointless. I recognize that it is not always easy to put other people before yourself. But then, that which is truly rewarding is never easy. And so I offer a challenge:

"This is ME. This is what I am. This is what I do. This is what I think. This is MY opinion. This is what's important to ME."

Just stop.

Banish these thoughts. They are poverty and filth and wretched contentment.

Today is the day to ask someone, "What is important to you?"

that's my KING

2007-09-18T15:56:00.000-05:00

My King is a sovereign King. No means of measure can define His limitless love. No far seeing telescope can bring into visibility the coastline of His shoreless supply. No barrier can hinder Him from pouring out His blessings. He's enduringly strong. He's entirely sincere. He's eternally steadfast. He's immortally graceful. He's imperially powerful. He's impartially merciful. Do you know Him?

He's the greatest phenomenon that ever crossed the horizon of this world. He's God's Son. He's a sinner's Savior. He's the centerpiece of civilization. ... He's unique. He's unparalleled. He's unprecedented. He's the loftiest idea in literature. He's the highest personality in philosophy. He's the supreme problem in higher criticism. He's the fundamental doctrine of true theology. He's the cardinal necessity for spiritual religion. He's the miracle of the age. He's the superlative of everything good that you choose to call Him. He's the only one qualified to be an all-sufficient Savior. I wonder if you know Him today?

He supplies strength for the weak. He's available for the tempted and the tried. He sympathizes and He saves. He strengthens and sustains. He guards and He guids. He heals the sick. He cleanses lepers. He forgives sinners. He discharges debtors. He delivers captives. He defends the feeble. He blesses the young. He serves the unfortunate. He regards the aged. He rewards the diligent. He beautifies the meek. I wonder if you know Him?

My King is the King. He's the key to knowledge. He's the wellspring to wisdom. He's the doorway of deliverance. He's the pathway of peace. He's the roadway of righteousness. He's the highway of holiness. He's the gateway of glory. Do you know Him?

His office is manifold. His promise is sure. His light is matchless. His goodness is limitless. His mercy is everlasting. His love never changes. His word is enough. His grace is sufficient. His reign is righteous. His yoke is easy, and His burden is light. I wish I could describe Him to you, but He's indescribable. He's incomprehensible. He's invincible. He's irresistible.

You can't get Him out of your mind. You can't get Him off of your hand. You can't outlive Him, and you can't live without Him.

The Pharisees couldn't stand Him, but they found out they couldn't stop Him. Pilate couldn't find any fault in Him. ... Herod couldn't kill Him. Death couldn't handle Him, and the grave couldn't hold Him. Yeah! That's my King, that's my King.
-- Dr. S.M. Lockridge

why i came to the city

2007-09-04T12:03:00.000-05:00

I came to the city to learn deeply, to be challenged greatly, and thus be greatly rewarded.

I came to read Nietzsche, Coleridge, Sartre, Byron and Poe and have no one tell me that they were drunken, drugged or lifeless men, only that they were men with ideas and visions and passions that set them apart from their peers.

I came to create and explore that which ennobles mankind: music, art, philosophy.

I came to ask the pressing questions -- Who am I? What is humanity? What is a life of faith? Who is God? What am I really supposed to do with my life? -- and begin to find the answers.

I came to dive into cultural diversity, to smell and see it everywhere, to make friends in many circles, savor their differences and experience that which makes us all the same - breath, faith, love.

I came to be moved to tears by poignant moments, unashamed of emotion and dedicated to living a life in bright and saturated color.

I came to surrender myself to God and experience Him in new ways.

I came to sip coffee and intellectualize, unashamed to be young and curious.

I came to develop my own potential, with the help and blessing of He who gave me that potential.

I came to take in the bad times along with the good, to suffer, to toil, and thus to reap a greater appreciation of the good times, when they come.

I came to taste freedom, free from material burdens.

I came to speak dramatically, even poetically, with many infinitives.

I came to throw my head back and laugh with gusto.

I came to be bold, broke and happy.

I came to live my life in a shout, not a whisper.

Oscar Wilde once said, "It is tragic how few people ever 'possess their souls' before they die. Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their life a mimicry."

Myself, I refuse to live in shades of gray.

what they don't tell you

2007-08-28T14:22:00.000-05:00

What they don't tell you is that planning is meaningless -- standing alone, this life will kill you.

It's times like this that I wonder how people without a God to cling to can get by.

ugghhhh

2007-07-28T23:27:00.000-05:00

I am annoyed.

Today was one big explosion of romantic tension.

First, my manager at work was wearing my ex-boyfriend's cologne. (And you know what they say about scent being the strongest-tied sense to memory.) Strike one.

Second, I had to work with Creepy Pizza Guy who won't stop flirting with me and asking me out, but in this really attitudinal, nasal sort of way. Strike two.

And then I come home and one of the last guys in the universe I wanted to see was at my house. Strike three.

To top it off, I've barely spoken to the one guy I actually want to talk to.

Awkward.

I am feeling very annoyed, indeed.

on abortion II

2007-07-27T10:30:00.001-05:00

This is a follow-up to the anonymous comment left on my last entry about abortion.

The comment reads, "Abortion is like an eraser to your pencil, if you will. What happens when you're writing something and you mess up? You erase it! Same goes for little "mistakes" such as unwanted teen pregnancies. Why ruin a baby's life by bringing it into a world when it won't be properly cared for?"

But isn't that the same mentality as history's murderous dictators? "Erase the 'mistakes' that should never have been conceived?"

My point is that no human being, regardless of the circumstances in which it is born, is a mistake. Every life has a purpose, if we give it a chance to prosper. We can't run around snuffing out lives because we're afraid that they won't be "properly cared for." If that truly is your belief, we may as well euthanize all of the children in the foster care system. Clearly, they might not be properly cared for either.

Many great things have come from people who had difficult childhoods. If they had simply been "erased"...think of all the things on which humankind would have missed out.

Moreover, I am all for protecting the choice of a woman, but once she has made the choice, there is nothing to protect. Once the choice is made, we must, first and foremost, protect the ones who cannot voice their own feelings.

Of course we must protect those born into difficult circumstances! I just never even imagined that death could be considered protection.

too true

2007-07-27T10:20:00.000-05:00

"Television is the first truly democratic culture - the first culture available to everybody and entirely governed by what the people want. The most terrifying thing is what people do want."
-- Clive Barnes

i don't like the person i am sometimes

2007-07-24T01:47:00.000-05:00

Lately I've been feeling like I've become an arrogant bitch to some people. I suppose fear brings out the animal in me.

Have you ever had one of those moments where something comes at such a perfect time that you just knew that God was behind it, desperately trying to speak to you? I had a moment like that on Sunday morning.

I've been thinking a lot lately about people, about my friends, about my non-friends ("enemies" is too strong a word; I have no enemies that I know of), about the people I like, and the people I dislike. Somehow I have logicked myself into believing that it is perfectly acceptable to ignore the people I dislike.

Benign indifference, you know?

Now I remember: benign indifference is not acceptable. "Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you." What an arrogant fool I am, to have convinced myself that some people are simply not worth my time. A fresh shot of humility is coursing through my veins. High school is over now. I am nearly a grown-up -- at least in the legal sense -- and once and for all, I am letting this resentment go.

There it is.

Clean slate.

my life in eras

2007-07-24T01:37:00.000-05:00

Due to my perpetual dissatisfaction with the person I am, my life is constantly fueled by growth and change. Those who knew me five years ago know how different I am today. Those who know me today may well find me very different five years from now.

June 2nd marked the end of an era that taught me many things, an era that I appreciate for the things it taught me, but do not miss. August 21st marks the beginning of the next, hopefully greater, era of my life.

August 21st...the date seemed so far for so long. My dreams and hopes of many years are finally materializing before my eyes, and yet, realizing that they are less than a month away, I am frightened for the first time.

The future looms ahead of me like a wall stretched across the horizon, and I must try to find my very own door somewhere along the wide expanse.

Success is pressing its nose against my window, but do I have the ambition, or even the ability, to capture it?

Do I dare?

true friends

2007-07-06T22:37:00.000-05:00

Why do some people find it so abominably rude that I don't go out of my way to befriend people I don't like?

I am not obligated to bestow affection on someone. That is something one should do because one wants to. Which is not to say that I'm going to be a jerk to someone because I don't like them -- I will be completely cordial -- but in my opinion, that sort of sycophantic, plastic friendship is just plain dishonest.

I try to treat people the way I would like to be treated, and from experience I know that I, at least, am far more hurt by fake people who insult my intelligence by pretending to be my friend -- when I'm fully aware that they don't actually care about me -- than by people who dislike me quite openly.

My self-esteem is unaffected by the latter. My world is not going to crash down upon me because someone admits that they do not like me. I know myself, my achievements, and my true friends, and nothing anyone says can make me forget them. It's not cockiness, only confidence. Why would I want to be friends with someone I know is going to trash me later? If you think I am rude, snobbish, or other choice words, feel free to say it. You are wrong, but then, a lot of people are.

To make a long blog short, I am through with trying to please everyone. In the end, it only displeases me. Quality of friendship is vastly more important than quantity. This is my life, and I'm not about to waste it rubbing elbows with people who aren't worth my time. Perhaps I have pushed people away this past year, but honestly, I don't miss them, and I've only gotten closer to the people who actually care about me.

Life is not all sunshine and roses, and it is silly to try and paint it as such through falsehood or self-delusion. The truth is not always pleasant, but it is liberating. I know who my true friends are, I love them, and I trust them with my life. Some may see me as harsh, but without such discretion, I don't think I would be capable of such trust.

i'm in d minor

2007-06-29T22:12:00.001-05:00

What is it about this summer heat that always gets me so depressed?

I've written a lot today.

nonsense

2007-06-29T07:34:00.000-05:00

Some people.

Put what they want and need right in front of them, and every time, they turn around and choose something else that is completely wrong for them.

For simple ignorance, there is forgiveness. For willful ignorance? Never.

There is no hope for these people.

Don't even try.

kindness

2007-06-29T06:12:00.001-05:00

I think we should try something new.

Well, not new, but it needs to become a trend. The next time someone does something nice for you, even without knowing they did it, tell them how much you appreciate it. Return the smile that they put on your face.

Just think how many more people would smile if we would only spread the love.

Or as the saying goes, "Do unto others..." and you know the rest.

:)

religion

2007-06-29T05:04:00.000-05:00

It is most unwise to discuss religion in public, unless it is with close friends or people who agree with you -- or the rare individual who can actually agree to disagree and not simply pretend to do so -- so I will discuss it here.

If my opinions offend you, well, my deepest sympathies. They are still my opinions.

:)

Just a few minutes ago, I was sitting on my front porch, braving the morning chill and watching the sun rise. In my hand, I held a cup of coffee made in my mini-French press, which was given to me by one of the dearest people ever to appear on this earth. The sky was a perfect powder blue and vivid orange, the grass and trees a rich green, and I found myself feeling surrounded by evidence of a Creator. Blessings, be they in the form of a beautiful sunrise, a loved one or a cup of coffee, do not happen by random accident.

Look at New Guinea's birds of paradise, for example.

Could function and art be so deftly combined without a Designer? I don't think so. I am the first to admit that I do not understand everything around me, but basic logic tells me that one cannot throw cosmic dust and four billion years into a blender and pour out such absolute perfection.

It occurs to me that atheism requires more blind faith than any other religion. Thinking that humankind can fully comprehend a universe that it did not create is, frankly, as absolutely absurd as a baby asking its siblings where it came from rather than its parents. What utter arrogance, for a human being to think that he or she can effectively fathom and control the world, thus shafting the One who created both! Should the invention abandon its Inventor? Never.

Picture evolution in a casino. The odds are a million to one to get the desired effect. What are the chances that our world could be the one jackpot, out of so many other failures? I suppose there is the tiniest chance, where the comparison falls apart a bit, but honestly, what sensible person would gamble eternity on such a chance? To this, I say, the House always wins.

In such arguments, I am a firm supporter of Pascal's Wager. If I am wrong, and there is no God, I have lost nothing. If they -- atheists, I mean -- are wrong, well, in simplest terms, they are screwed.

And yet, according to them, I am the ignorant one.

Hmm.

impatience

2007-06-24T23:21:00.000-05:00

I am feeling incredibly out of sorts.

Today has not been a very pleasant day.

A lot of things have frustrated me today.

The fact that I am so ineffably impatient to move to Chicago is not helping. At the risk of sounding like a spoiled American, I am so tired of being in the suburbs, it puts me on the verge of physical illness.

No specific thing has really made me tremendously upset -- it is only a buildup of things -- but I think a good cry will make me feel better.

a most earnest prayer

2007-06-23T00:03:00.000-05:00

May I never be so engrossed in what I think -- or, well, in the case of which I am speaking, what others think -- that I purposefully taunt or ignore my own family.

It is a sad thing, indeed, when belief becomes so radical that one cannot stand the presence of those who do not share it.

It is sadder still when one thinks that his semi-coherent rants are more important than sharing in the lives of his family.

But clearly, they are saving the world.

How arrogant of him!

Passion and zeal, when well-channeled, can be so positive. But when that passion and zeal are misguided, what disaster!

I miss my uncle for who he used to be.

I am sad that he never knew me.

But now it is too late.

romance II

2007-06-12T01:28:00.000-05:00

The nerve of some people. Keep a budding romance mum, and they will be mad at you for it, as if it is their right to know everything, whether or not it is any of their business.

Romance itself is not awkward. Other people make it so.

I think if I was a celebrity, I would be the kind who throws stuff at paparazzi, if only to get a moment's privacy.

For now, though, I will simply retain composure and refuse to share details of my personal life.

The best things in life should be kept secret. I don't care if you think it is selfish that I've discovered something special and I'm not tripping over myself to share it with you.

Let all the gossips go to Greenland -- we'll save Iceland for ourselves.

frustration

2007-06-12T01:10:00.000-05:00

Please don't make me cry,
Please don't make me cry,
I'm just like you,
I know you know I'm just like you,
So leave me alone.

I think I am too complex of a person or something. People who have known me for years still don't seem to have any idea what actually goes on inside my head. Is it possible for one to be so complex, she appears a simpleton?

I am not even that complex.

I am just me.

And yet, only one person besides God and myself seems to understand that.

I make a lot of sense, if you open your mind beyond what you think I am. Step outside yourself and your immediate reactions. Recognize your own faults before you go searching for them in others.

And regardless of the degree to which you understand or don't understand me, I am not going to change myself simply on account of your misinterpretation or overreaction. Don't make an incident out of nothing -- that is your problem, not mine.

I am a very private person, so don't feel entitled to all the details of my personal life, and don't act so shocked if I am miffed about being bothered about it.

It is not my job to heal your insecurities or to become what you think is right. It is not your place to tell me that I am wrong, especially when it is so obvious that you don't even know what is going on inside my head.

You say I need to think before I speak, but you're wrong. Perhaps you should think before you judge.

After all these years, you should know better than to have judged me so poorly.

on abortion

2007-06-03T01:45:00.000-05:00

I am sick and tired politically correct nonsense.

A baby in the womb is still a baby. It is not a negotiable thing.

The only exception is when it is medically necessary. Otherwise, killing a baby is murder. Again, it is not a negotiable thing.

That is all.

this is what i think

2007-06-03T01:42:00.001-05:00

In my opinion, one can never be too opinionated. Indeed, one should live with conviction. The term "overzealous," I think, was invented by people who are simply too weak or lazy to stand up for what they think.

The one thing I will not say when I die is that I did not live with passion. I am not afraid to come out and say what others won't simply because it is unbecoming.

It is better to be thought brash than to not be thought of at all.

If you think I am rude or hypocritical, I am sorry to have offended you, but perhaps you should remember the times when you have been equally rude or hypocritical.

If I believe something, I will speak it, I will fight for it, and I will not apologize for it.

nascent and new

2007-06-02T00:48:00.000-05:00

Okay, okay, so the title is redundant...but it's also alliterative.

It is June 2.

Today marks the end of this phase of my life, as well as the beginning of the next.

Today, I wear stoles and cords and pins and badges to mark my achievements so far. I wear them all with pride, for I have worked hard for the things I have achieved. Yet I am venturing into a world greater than what I have previously known, where these achievements are nothing, and I am starting fresh. Out there, I am not Erin Smith, Thespian of the Year. I am not Erin Smith, only All-state level soprano in the school district. I am not Erin Smith, winner of the James Iddings Award, the National School Choral Award, the North Park Music Honors Award, graduating with high honors.

I am simply Erin Smith, and I am starting fresh.

In less than three months, I am to stand on my own two feet, without the careful guidance of those around me who love and protect me.

Most of me is ready to take on this new journey. And yet, a part of me still feels like a child. Does one ever reach a point where that inner child grows up? Does one ever completely become an adult? Or will there always be that part of us that, despite the pointy shoes and pinstripe suits and briefcases that make us look so distinguished, is just playing dress up?

Somehow, childhood slipped away without my noticing. Can I still cry on my mother's shoulder after a bad day? Am I still Daddy's little princess? Can I still be that precocious little girl, spinning stories, singing songs and drawing pictures, never asking for directions, only creating?

The future looms ahead of me like a wall stretched across the horizon, and I must try to find my very own door somewhere along the wide expanse.

It is a scary thing, because I am not really that good at navigating.

I suppose I will just have to hand control over to One who knows better than I.

multifaceted

2007-05-08T21:08:00.000-05:00

I realized today that some people, even people who have known me for years and years, don't understand me at all beyond an extremely superficial level.

déjà vu

2007-05-03T02:47:00.000-05:00

Have you ever had an emotion from your past just come back without warning and whack you in the stomach like a bag of rocks?

Scary.

I can't sleep for contemplation.

metaphorical ambiguity?

2007-05-01T18:15:00.000-05:00

There's a figurine of a dog that sits on my shelf. It's been around for awhile, kind of like an old friend. Sometimes I take him for granted and neglect him, and other times I somehow remember to look and appreciate this little guy that's been with me for so much of my life. Occasionally, I notice something about him that I hadn't noticed before. Perhaps this old dog can teach me a new trick sometime.

fatigue

2007-05-01T16:51:00.000-05:00

I find it difficult to think about my life right now. It's always been my goal to define myself by myself, and not by what I do. But it seems as though what I do is so intricately tied into my very being that there is no longer any separation between the two.

Is this the rut we all fall into? Are we simply fated to become so busy with what we do that we forget who we are?

I hope not.

My worries and fears have become my friends, and they keep on smiling at me.

wittiness

2007-04-30T17:14:00.000-05:00

This quote pretty much sums me up:

"She had a pretty gift for quotation, which is a serviceable substitute for wit."
-- W. Somerset Maugham

:)

On another note, I got a way better job at Garibaldi's. Serving Italian food (as opposed to grease) and for more money. Pretty happy about that.

senioritis

2007-04-30T03:25:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: this is an unhappy entry, written while frustrated at 3:35 a.m., which is never a good state of being or time at which to contemplate life. But I am going to write anyway.

I am so done with high school.

I just don't do the whole "high school" thing.

For one thing, half the people I spend my days at school with don't even seem to like me very much. There is this huge, impenetrable clique, and with the exception of a few people, I am, despite my best efforts, always feeling like an outsider. Then again, as Oscar Wilde wrote, "to be popular, one must be a mediocrity," so perhaps I shouldn't feel so bad.

I suppose I should be sorry for wanting to be a part of a group, of whose plastic insincerity and utter tackiness I am totally aware, that is just so completely full of how awesome they think they are. Just like the education system, it is mediocrity on a sparkly pink rhinestone pedestal. Many times I look at all their self-indulgence and camera-whoring and wonder why I even want to be a part of it.

But I am reminded of yet another Oscar Wilde quote: "Never criticize society. Only people who can't get into it do that." Am I completely delusional? Am I the one isolating myself? It still hurts me sometimes that I am not "a part of the group."

The whole clique thing? Bullshit. I wish people would get real and stop being so fake all the time.

For another thing, I suddenly find people telling me I should feel bad about wanting something good for myself just because someone else wants it too. Since when is it my job to be doing the giving up? It's not my job to be making everyone else happy at my own expense. In other words, I would give up my life for my friends in an instant, but as long as I have my life, I will not give up my livelihood.

Is that selfish? But I don't think it is selfish. I am not obligated by law or religion to love anyone at all.

I've decided that my biggest pet peeve is people who are really bad at something and other people think they're amazing. Actually, it's the other way around. Let me rephrase: my biggest pet peeve are the people who think mediocrity is amazing. On the annoying scale, it's right up there with odd numbers and invisible zippers, or at least in my book.

I'm beginning to feel as though I don't have a place in this world. I watch people around me get ahead when they lie and cheat for it or just flat-out don't deserve it, and I wonder, is this how everything is? Is there any place left in this world for a person with integrity?

Prom is Friday, and my dress is not yet complete. And I ask myself, why should I be stressing out so much about Prom? Who decided it was some sort of sacred rite of passage? I thought it was a recreational activity, not something that should be gnawing at me as if it's some life-changing experience. I mean, it's a dance. But hey, what do I know? I don't do the high school thing, after all.

College is going to be so much better than high school. I can scarcely contain my excitement. I think I will die of happiness, à la "Story of an Hour," when I finally get out of the burbs and into an intellectually stimulating environment.

North Park University is pretty much the coolest thing since sliced bread.

I'm going to be eighteen in three and a half months. That means that I can vote next year. And that means I'm voting for Obama. If Clinton beats him, I think I will burst an artery. She is too busy bad-mouthing the Bush administration (though it is very deserving of said bad-mouthing) to actually come up with good ideas. Quite frankly, I look at her as the only female candidate and think, "Come on, ladies! Is this the best we've got?!"

On the Republican side of things, Ron Paul is also a very good candidate. I was pleasantly surprised. It's a pity he won't make it past a more well-known name like Rudy.

Regardless, I'm still voting for Obama.

Now I'm just ready for some good debates, and not a long string of political soundbytes.

Wow. I wrote a lot. I think I'll get back to work, then.

my neck hurts

2007-04-29T21:45:00.000-05:00

I wish you were here
So that you weren't somewhere else.

P.S. I'm so tired of sewing, I think I might gag.

loneliness

2007-04-26T19:58:00.000-05:00

What is this, the third time you've ditched me?
The fourth? Fifth maybe? I've lost count.
And yeah, you say you'll make it up to me,
And you might even go out of your way a little bit to do so,
But my point is that
You try awfully hard
To do a half-assed job of trying hard,
So I don't know if I could commit to you
If you try so hard to only half-commit to me.
I need to know if you'll ever find time for me,
Because if you won't,
Then I'm not about to waste my time
With someone who clearly doesn't want anything to do with me.
You know what's most ridiculous about the whole thing?
You've been telling me you have feelings for me for about two years now,
But apparently they're not strong enough
To motivate you to get up and do something,
Just enough so that I know that you care,
Because your word means nothing to me anymore.
You make too many promises you can't keep for me to trust you, and
I'm not going to waste another opportunity over you,
Not when this clearly is going nowhere,
And I don't even want it to, because
You like that other girl better anyway.
Enjoy her before she moves away,
And I'll be happy for you because
I don't want anything to do with you anymore.
I only regret wasting so many tears
And losing so many opportunities for happiness
Because of your cruelty, indifference and indecisiveness.
But what is done is done, and my regrets give me the strength to say
That I am done waiting around for you.
You had two years.
Two years, I have waited for you.
I offered you my heart on a platter,
And you threw it into storage,
Taking it out only when you didn't want to feel alone,
Unmoved by how lonely your indifference made me.
But now love has hit me in the stomach like a bag of rocks,
So don't tell me you don't have time to spend with me
And then go be with her
And then tell me you still have feelings for me.
You really should step back and think about what you say to me sometimes,
Because you seem to be completely unaware
Of how outrageously hypocritical you are sometimes.
It's no wonder you've spent so much time with fickle girls;
They're drawn to you because you're just as fickle.
You seem like such a good person sometimes,
But you're fake,
Just like the rest of them.
Stop stringing me along.
I'm done with you.
You're not worth my time.

There it is.

I've decided.

ch-ch-ch-changes

2007-04-18T12:40:00.000-05:00

A consistent voice can go sore overnight.

A strong relationship can be destroyed in a matter of days.

Even the most peaceful place can be ripped apart by a single vagrant in two hours.

Isn't it scary how quickly things change?

some stuff about stuff

2007-04-15T21:09:00.000-05:00

I have some stuff I should be doing instead of writing, but I'm going to write anyway.

One, even cool people can disappoint you. A lot.

Two, seniors in high school should just have a January graduation. Most of them don't even need the final semester. So why bother? I am so done with it. So very done.

Three, is it pronounced "vay-gan" or "vee-gan"? I've heard both.

I really wish I had something more profound on which to write...but I don't. Which sucks, because I'm in the mood for profundity.

Do I come off as ditzy?

Just wondering.

this has been a year of contradictions.

2007-04-09T22:08:00.000-05:00

Somehow, I have managed to become exponentially more positive and yet exponentially more bitter.

Now will someone please tell me how to be a properly functioning member of society and not be stressed out all the time?

Kthxbye.

:)

i feel like antonio salieri lately.

2007-04-08T17:18:00.000-05:00

By that, I mean that I feel lately as though I've not got the talent to do anything particularly genius. I only have enough intelligence to recognize my own inadequacy. This depresses me.

Can inspiration be learned? Or can we fight for it? In Jack London's words: "You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club." But sometimes inspiration can't even be pinned down by violent force. All too often, it barely escapes capture as we remain caught on the ground to watch it fly away. Again, this depresses me.

That's all, really.

late-night musings (thoroughly enriched by caffiene)

2007-04-04T23:57:00.000-05:00

I find beauty in kind, brown eyes,
Earth in strong eyebrows and jaw,
Joy in pleasant spirit,
Laughter, in love.

What is enlightenment to some is bullocks to others. It shows intellectual sophistication in one and pseudointellectualism in the other.

20th century music is dissonant, 20th century people are just dissident. Both usually just try too hard.

And finally,

"'Tailgate,' often used in hoedowns, is merely a colloquial term for 'coda.'" - Karolyn Ake.

car crashes are not pretty.

2007-02-08T19:02:00.000-06:00

I know it's supposed to be ironic...but it kind of stops short at stupid.

truth

2007-01-30T17:44:00.000-06:00

If we can understand the beauty of music,
We can uncover the truth of life,
And then,
Man will have discovered the means to fly.

giving silence for silence

2007-01-29T18:53:00.000-06:00

IMEA All-state is over. So much work, so much dreaming, so much hoping and praying and wishing, and it all went so fast. It was a fabulous experience - I only wish it had been longer.

I will admit, the first day was a little discouraging. I mean, I felt completely unprepared because I didn't have my stuff memorized. I was afraid people were going to eat me alive because I couldn't sing it perfectly from memory. But I was wrong! There were people there who didn't even know their notes yet! Someone told me it was the kids from the southern districts, but I think that's a very prejudiced attitude, and not even true - I was sitting by mostly Districts I and VII kids, and even they didn't really know their stuff. It was a little discouraging, because I thought making All-state raised the bar enough to warrant actually knowing the music! :p Even so, it got better. I was also surprised that people didn't write more in their music. I wrote down pretty much everything that came out of Rollo's mouth, and I was pretty much the only one around me who even had a pencil.

The concert was pretty good. The women's piece still lacked accents and crescendos, but whatev. The guy's piece was good, except that they stomped really loud while doing their little African dance and I think it might have affected how well the audience could hear the actual song! :p "A Boy and a Girl" sounded really nice, though I wish there had been more nuances. Even so, I love singing Whitacre, and that was one of my favorite performances of his work. "O Whistle"...well, it sounded good, but I am so gosh-darn tired of that song, I hope I never, ever, ever have to hear it again. "Gate Gate" was okay. We rushed the clapping, and, well, let's just say that it didn't "brew like a stew." "Walk in Jerusalem" rushed so badly...it was terrible. I felt like a fish swimming upstream against an entire school of fish going the other way. I was in the back, and the people around me were rushing by like, half a measure. I am not just nit-picking. Everyone noticed. I feel kind of bad that we ruined Rollo's song. But oh well. What's done is done, and I was at least watching/following him - it's not my fault.

I felt so privileged to work with Rollo Dilworth. He has so much passion for his work, and it really shows. He is an incredible conductor, concise and measured, but without losing the feeling and grace in the tempo. I was also grateful that we put a lot of emphasis on understanding the text, because choirs often tend to ignore that - which is ironic, because it is the words that separate choir from band or orchestra; they give choral music a sense of humanity that is mostly absent from instrumental music. Overall, it was an incredible experience. I think I grew leaps and bounds in choral techniques, learned some great new warm-ups, and I was able to introduce myself to Rollo and Joe Lill from North Park - all that talent, and they are still so approachable! I was very pleased.

Oh, and a few final notes: one, Peoria reeks of beer, all the time, and there is no getting away from it except inside. Two, never, ever, ever, ever eat at Sully's. Three, try not to drink the water. It made me pretty sick. Bring lots of bottled and you'll be fine.

That pretty much sums up my All-state experience! It was a blast! Love ya, Shanna, Fran, Adam and Greg!

On a final note, tap-dancing is really, really hard.

That is all.

bodhi, svaha!

2007-01-17T21:22:00.000-06:00

Life is a journey in which we learn through heartbreak, without which there is no progress.

Heartbreak helps us to master relationships.

When we are children, we master friendships.

When we are young, we master romances.

When we are old, we begin to master God.

And I say, if we cannot know happiness without pain, let's appreciate pain for what it is: education.

becoming exceptional

2007-01-17T20:34:00.000-06:00

I wrote this for my VanderCook application. This is the second draft (the better one). :p

In simplest words, music is my greatest passion. It’s not just because it comes easily to me, because it often doesn’t; it is just because I love it. I spend the bulk of my day at school in various music classes and the bulk of my free time singing or playing the piano. There is not a moment of my day when there isn’t some song stuck in my head. I drive my poor friends absolutely bonkers because I’m always singing, humming, or tapping something. Being a total perfectionist, it has always been my goal to become an exceptional musician. Much of my time has been spent developing my voice and my technical abilities. Circumstances have, for the most part, been in my favor. I am blessed to have a musical family that has always challenged and pushed me to improve, and I was lucky enough to have been born with an unusual gift.

I have perfect pitch. In other words, I can regurgitate a C# at will or tell you what note the air conditioner is humming (because, of course, you certainly wanted to know that!). It has always been a veritable novelty to my friends, who make a point of informing just about everyone about my ability. In the a capella group I am in at school, I have been nicknamed "the Human Pitch-pipe," a moniker I have often had to live up to in performances where someone has misplaced the real pitch-pipe. I used to pride myself on being able to go to a concert and practically notate each piece in my head. I thought that being able to catch every nuance (and every sour note) made me an exceptional musician. I was wrong.

Despite its uniqueness and its usefulness, having perfect pitch is really more of a curse than a gift. For a long time, I simply could not go to a performance without rapaciously picking apart the music, without focusing on what was wrong rather than what was beautiful. Recently, this changed.

My best friend Shanna had just been gushing to me about Eric Whitacre’s genius, and, intrigued, I bought a disc of his greatest choral works. I listened to a good portion of the disc and must have analyzed it to within an inch of its dissonant life – at the time, this made me feel very exceptional, indeed. Again, I was wrong. I was missing out on some deeper meaning.

Then the next song started to play. It began simply: just a modest, quiet A minor chord. The song was "When David Heard." As I listened for each nuance with my usual, over-analytical attitude, I started to think about the story behind the piece. At some point, I stopped over-listening and began to really appreciate how beautifully Whitacre had expressed this man’s immense grief through the music. As the song pulsed and grew, a tear welled up in the corner of my eye – my nit-picky shell had started to crumble. Then the tenor soloist came in, a single voice in agony, crying out in the silence and the darkness for his dead son, and as I imagined the scene, I started to sob. This was a man who had battled huge giants and fought terrible wars, yet despite his incredible strength, his sudden sorrow had now brought him to his knees. I began to see a parallel between the song and my own life as a musician – I had spent much of my life trying to achieve technical perfection in music, thinking it would make me exceptional. Yet, when I was least expecting it, the raw emotion and tragic beauty of this single piece of music had just shattered all of my musical delusions, my entire sense of musical reality. The simple, despairing cry of "Oh, my son, Absalom" had suddenly brought back to me the beauty of music. For the first time in a long time, the technical aspects of the piece did not matter to me just then. The expertly placed dissonance, the perfect intonation of the choir, the fabulous blend, the floating, unpretentious sopranos – that was not what entranced me. It was the sheer beauty of the music that kept me spellbound.

It was then that I realized that becoming an exceptional musician is not achieving musical perfection, but rather, it is achieving musical understanding and appreciation. While we strive to master the nuances in order to create high-quality music, the technical things must, in the end, take a backseat to the music itself. Music is not a sterile series of hoops through which we jump to achieve "success." Music is not, as Antonio Salieri put it in Peter Shaffer’s Amadeus, "a cage of meticulous ink strokes," but rather, it is the purest and most beautiful way of communication there is. I have been in performances that were almost technically perfect that have left me incredibly unsatisfied; likewise, I have been in performances riddled with mistakes – such is the essence of live performance, after all – that left a positive feeling of glowing accomplishment. Nothing else in the world can stir up raw, human passion and emotion as music can. Art inspires and words move, but music soars, touching the soul at its most profound levels.

If I can bring this understanding of the deep, true joy of music to the next generation of musicians, my life will be a success. I will have become what I have always wanted to be. I will have become exceptional.

insufficient

2007-01-15T23:14:00.000-06:00

It's been two weeks since I last saw you.

If you don't want to call, that's okay, because I don't really care.

I don't really even like you anymore. Out of sight, out of mind, and out of heart too, it seems.

I wouldn't hurt you, not on purpose, but how can I hurt you if you won't even call?

I know you don't love me, so don't pretend as if you do. I hardly know you. We're acquaintances that kiss occasionally, and that's not enough for me.

You're not enough for me.

snippets of shelley

2006-12-23T14:10:00.000-06:00

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitutes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill:

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!
- Percy Bysshe Shelley

the best things in life are free.

2006-12-05T13:09:00.000-06:00

No seriously. They are.

Apparently I'm the only soprano in all of D300 who made All-state. That's freakin' awesome. And freakin' weird. I'm still kind of in shock, but I'm starting to get really excited about the conference. We're singing a lot of great songs, including "A Boy and a Girl" by Eric Whitacre - beautiful! I'm thrilled!

I'm really excited for the Madrigal Dinner. It's going to be awesome.

I wish I could say the same about the Holidaypalooza. I don't know what we're going to do. We're barely rehearsing. We kind of just don't have time for it! :p

I still miss Zak. A lot.

That's all.

oh. my. GOD.

2006-12-01T15:08:00.000-06:00

I made All-state choir, bitches!

:D

desire

2006-11-29T22:23:00.000-06:00

Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;
It is the reflex of our earthly frame,
That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.
- Samuel Coleridge, "Desire"

time

2006-11-29T22:10:00.000-06:00

Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years,
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow
Claspest the limits of mortality,
And sick of prey, yet howling on for more,
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore;
Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm,
Who shall put forth on thee,
Unfathomable Sea?
- Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Time"

Time is cruel. Sometimes it seems to go so slowly, yet at times, it seems like there is never enough.

The other day I thought about my own mortality and actually comprehended it. It felt like a semi had just hit me in the stomach. It's not that I thought I wasn't going to die, I just always felt like I had forever and a day before I had to worry about it.

I thought about the sheer number of people in this world. I thought about how they're all just like me, with their own thoughts, dreams and relationships. I thought about how disasters happen, how thousands of people die, and somehow they lose their humanity along with their lives. They "become silhouettes" (thanks Ben Gibbard), they become statistics. How desensitized we are to them! I've always been fascinated by that, by how people die in huge numbers and we just think of them as empty shells.

It's depressing. Just food for thought.

life is short. sing more than you talk.

2006-11-29T21:42:00.000-06:00

I finished the Madrigal dress, and it's probably the best thing I've ever done. I don't have English homework to worry about. I finally got to sleep decently for the first time in awhile. So pretty much, I'm on cloud nine right now. Except that I really miss Zak right now. But one cannot have everything.

Madrigals had a pretty good performance today. It was our first without music. We sang at the Algonquin library, and I was actually really pleasantly surprised by the turnout. Frankly, I was expecting five or six people at best, all of whom were most likely far over the age of 70 and slept more than listened. But we had so many people, there were not enough seats for them all. I felt bad that some people did not have seats, but it was cool. There was one guy in the front row who, I'm pretty sure, is a musician of sorts. He seemed to listen very critically, and, as far as I could tell, he was not too disappointed. Mostly, though, I sang to the little kids who were there. They are just way too cute.

Brandon forgot the pitch-pipe, so I got to be the human pitch-pipe (like I did at the Boulder Ridge gig last year). It was okay, but I hate doing that - I always feel so pretentious. Whatever. It's a nice skill to have, all the same.

That's really all I have to say. Now I'm going to go to bed and sleep like I haven't slept in weeks.

Finally!

:)

calm

2006-11-28T02:00:00.000-06:00

'Tis calm indeed ! so calm, that it disturbs
And vexes meditation with its strange
And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,
This populous village ! Sea, and hill, and wood,
With all the numberless goings-on of life,
Inaudible as dreams!
- Samuel Coleridge, "Frost at Midnight"

It's been a little while.

I am tired.

There is too much going on in my life.

I am spent. I am exhausted. I am stressed out. I am completely taxed. I am ready to sleep for a week and not wake up at all.

I have friends who are busier than I am. They juggle music, drama, homework, and jobs and somehow manage to keep going.

I don't really know how they do it.

This is not a very intelligible blog entry. No intellectual goodies here. I apologize sincerely.

However, I have one large complaint which I must get off my chest: Whoever invented invisible zippers should die a thousand highly painful deaths.

That is all.

On the up and up, however, I have come to the conclusion that Brazilian music is better than American music.

schmultzy political nonsense

2006-11-25T01:26:00.000-06:00

Any chimp can play leader for a day,
Use his opposable thumbs to iron his uniform
And run for office on Election Day,
Fancy himself a real decision maker and
Deploy more troops from the salt-shaker
'Cause it's a jungle where your war is made,
And you'll panic and throw your own shit at the enemy
The camera pulls back to reveal your true identity -
Look, it's a sheep in wolf's clothing,
A smokin'-gun-holdin' ape.
- Rilo Kiley, "It's a Hit"

I don't like President Bush very much. I don't hate him, and I'm not about to go burn his image in the streets like some pagan madwoman. But I don't like him. I think he gets too much flack from people about his public speaking abilities and I think he is smarter than he portrays himself to be. But I don't like him.

objections to modern education

2006-11-22T20:57:00.000-06:00

A teacher once told me,

"No one is better at something than someone else. Everyone is completely equal."

It was hard for me to keep a straight face when she said this. It is not that I have a superiority complex or an ego or anything horrid like that. It's just that, frankly, that statement doesn't make logical sense. An illustration: Evan Jager just won the title of state champ in cross country. When I try really hard, I can run the mile in eight minutes. According to this philosophy, we are exactly the same. I don't think so.

Our world thrives on comparison. It's a constant yin-and-yang; we can't have the rich without the poor, nor the intelligent without the, well, academically-challenged, no fame without the unknown.

But this new breed of educational Socialism is putting mediocrity on a pedestal. It's the reasoning behind multiple valedictorians - I have heard of schools parading as many as fifty "valedictorians," and please, is there really any honor in that? When everyone is deemed exceptional, no one is.

The Howard Roarks of the world, who refuse to play the game, get expelled. Their ingeniousness becomes their downfall, while all the Peter Keatings -- ultra-cooperative, less talented, more attractive -- get ahead.

This is a problem.

And in this pursuit of faux excellence, we have witnessed the birth of a new evil: the standardized test. Newsweek's Anna Quindlen wrote that this educational atrocity has turned learning into "a joyless succession of hoops through which [students] must jump, rather than a way of understanding and mastering the world. Every question has one right answer; the measure of a person is a number. Being insightful, or creative, or, heaven forfend, counterintuitive counts for nothing" (6-13-05). This could not be more true.

I was very fortunate. I came out of my most recent encounter with a standardized test (in this case, the ACT) unscathed, and actually did quite well. According to my ACT score, at any rate, I am allegedly among the top 2% most intelligent high school seniors in the nation. And when I read this information for the first time, the first thought that came to mind was, "what the fuck." I have close friends who are far smarter than I who did not score nearly so well. I have close friends who cared a heck of a lot more about the test than I did who did not score so well. And the fact that I got a 31 without any preparatory work (and without really even caring) only speaks to the mindlessness of these tests.

Yes, education needs a serious makeover. Let's get on that.

anger and authority

2006-11-22T13:27:00.000-06:00

My third block class, Madrigals, is like one big dysfunctional family. It is also absolutely notorious for its pessimism. Sometimes our negativity is so tangible, we can smell it. We cause the problem, yet it drives us absolutely crazy.

Today was no different.

It starts out always the same way. Someone raises a point about a particular musical nuance, sparking a heated debate with some of the more outspoken members. Usually, the argument is all pertaining to something as trivial as whether a dotted quarter note equals 140 or 160 (the composer was foolish enough to leave it open to interpretation), whether there should be a breath mark in a particular phrase, or whether we should crescendo to a mezzoforte or a forte in measure fifteen. Whenever our poor teacher gets involved, chaos ensues. The quarrel usually ends with someone having an emotional breakdown, lots of tears, and everyone feeling generally unhappy and very, very tense.

The class means a lot to me, because we are a very talented group of people, and we deserve to have incredible performances that simply ooze musical artistry. We deserve to enjoy the music, because at the end of the day, that is what music is about. We strive to master the technique to make beautiful music; therefore, the music is the goal, not the technique. When we focus too much on the technique, it just frustrates people, and the music suffers. I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out exactly what the problem is. Why all the drama? We all have high levels of musical talent and ability (though they vary from person to person). We are all friends with each other. We all know a good bit about music. So why is it that we are the best of friends before class begins at 11:33 a.m., but after that bell rings we are at each others' throats? There has to be a deeper problem. And I think I've finally figured out what that is.

There is, within our group, a distinct lack of an authority figure. It's hard to put my finger on exactly why, but it seems to me that there is a very fine line between a teacher that is intimidating to make people strive for perfection and a teacher that tries to be both strict and laidback simultanously - in an attempt to raise the bar, it just ends up just shutting people down. It is no one's fault but the circumstances we are faced with. In the blink of an eye, we went from being a group that did not question the expectations to being a group without visible limitations. There was something about Mrs. Espel that made one both fear and love her. Even her mode of dress, from the immaculate bob down to her pointy-toed shoes, was distinctly authoritative. One did not dare question her, because he knew that she would shoot him down. Ms. Marino is really fun, sure, and very, very sweet, and has nothing but the best of intentions. But Mrs. Espel was business. Not cruelty, which is business without purpose. The difference, I have found, is the breaking point. If a teacher cannot be business, that teacher will not be a successful authority figure. It is a sad fact indeed, but it seems that to effectively teach an elite choir ("elite" being an extremely relative term in this case), the teacher must present herself as completely serious, perhaps even cold and unfeeling: pure business.

The other problem is that certain people are being given too much credit. We are in high school. We are not adults. We are not as responsible and mature as we'd like to think we are sometimes. And if you give us leeway of any kind, we will grab onto it, use it, and eventually, we will probably abuse it. The behavior will exponentially get worse if the teacher doesn't smack down on someone the second they misbehave (but in a way that isn't so much a "look-at-me-I'm-smacking-down-on-you" kind of thing, as that method has been proven ineffective). The trick is to belittle the person without actually belittling them; call them on their hypocrisy or whatever, give them the I'm-disappointed-because-you-know-better look, and then let self-loathing do the rest. My freshman year, I was an arrogant little know-it-all brat, but Mrs. Espel shot me down right away, and I've been uphill ever since.

At this point, I can only pray that we will pull things together at the last moment.

That's all we can do.

Pray.

romance

2006-11-21T20:14:00.000-06:00

My best friend, Dictionary.com, defines "romance" as "fanciful; impractical; unrealistic." Oscar Wilde once said, "In love, one always begins by deceiving oneself, and one always ends by deceiving others; and that is what the world calls a romance." Anyone who’s seen Grey’s Anatomy can tell you that romance is never simple, always confusing, and can make us as miserable and perplexed as it makes us happy. Romance is a paradox; in its best form, it is simple, blissful and unaffected, but romance as we know it is complex and annoying, yet deceptively enticing.

Romance is the pursuit of an ideal. As little girls, we glorify Disney’s princesses with perfectly coifed hair and eighteen-inch waists as they pine away for their perfect princes with equally perfect hair. We laugh with them, cry with them, and hope for them. At the end of the allotted hour and fifteen minutes, the story ends happily, and we are never dissatisfied. It seems so flawless, so simple. Our girlish hearts dream of someday having that same happy ending for ourselves.

Romance is a chase to find that shining apparition of amorous perfection that is presented to us as children. But it is never logical. It is never practical. It is never simple. For most people, with the bizarre exception of Ever After and eHarmony.com commercials, it never even happens. So why do we bother?

Romance is ballroom dancing. It is a sparkly spectacle fueled by both boredom and the visceral need to put sex on a pedestal. A man and a woman, superfluously spray-tanned and coated in glitter, twirl around the floor in skimpy outfits, strike a few nifty poses, shake their hips, and leave the floor. They have gained nothing, save for the opportunity to feel each other up and get a little exercise while they were at it. All the while, we spectators are perfectly aware that the music is bad, that the woman is wearing waaay too much makeup, that the man would most likely rather be feeling up another man, and that the whole thing is a big waste of time. Yet the charade is entrancing; we cannot bring ourselves to stop watching.

Romance is a gay man. He is sophisticated and sensitive. He loves the arts, fine dining, and French cuisine (the edible variety, at least). He has an eye for intricate details and does everything with an effortlessly upscale, haute-couture pizzazz, with that little extra zing! His home is filled with flowers, paintings and soulful music. He is warm and intelligent, always ready to converse over a cup of coffee. He’s never afraid to admit that he sings showtunes in the shower (while shaving his legs, of course!). His face is groomed, his fingernails filed, and for God’s sake, he knows how to dress himself in something other than sweatpants! He is everything a woman would ever want in a man and more. Then reality hits – he’s also arrogant, a little obnoxious, his voice is higher-pitched than his mother’s, and…well, he’s not all that interested in you, honey. Move on.

Romance is so irritatingly straightforward, so basic – so then, how does it have so many angles? How does something as simple as passion become tainted by jealousy? Nagging? Perfectionism? Dissatisfaction? Hurt feelings? We all want the same thing, so how is it we are so unable to deliver?

My cynicism comes not from my own bad experiences. For my part, I’ve been blessed with a wonderful guy who, for the time being, treats me like a princess, despite the fact that my waist is definitely not eighteen inches. Rather, the cynicism comes from watching close friends grapple constantly with the whole concept of romance, with little or no success. And if you are being overly cynical like me, romance absolutely sucks. But then again, the idea of romance is beautiful. When romance is good, it is as miraculous as bad romance is miserable. In its purest form, romance is what we all dream of. It’s this untainted form of romance that keeps us hoping, but in our confused and complex world, romance like this rarely even exists anymore. Unaffected romance is nearly as obsolete as Michael Jackson’s nose, a hollow shell of what was once very nice, but what has now been degraded to biological waste which we try to salvage and tape onto ourselves each morning.

At the end of the day, romance has two definitions. It is the blissful realization of what we all need and desire in life – passion, affection, fulfillment – that our modern society has bastardized into a baffling, bungling, silly time-waster. Romance is what some of us get up for in the morning, what gets us through the week, always looking on to what perfect bliss is in store. Romance is a "Santa Claus for grown-ups," designed to keep us on our most attractive behavior. In the end, we are usually disappointed; we settle for the best that comes to us, and we learn to appreciate the few actual benefits that modern romance has to offer. Or, in the words of Grey’s Anatomy’s Meredith Grey, "I’m dating! And it comes with snacks."

starting a blog can be sticky business

2006-11-21T19:56:00.000-06:00

I have wanted to blog for awhile -- it is a lot more interesting and infinitely more thoughtful than, say, Myspace -- but I've just not felt like I had anything to say that was worth writing down. Recently, I had a revelation:

One of the hardest things in the world to do is start a blog.

Does one just jump right into it? Or should one take a little time to introduce herself properly?

I don't know. I could speculate forever. Rather, I will just stop speculating and just start writing.

I have barely slept in two days. It's not insomnia, it's homework. I swear, my AP Lit class is going to be the death of me. I love the class itself; it is delightfully pseudo-intellectual. But the one piece of real knowledge I have gleaned from that class is that I really cannot function without sleep. I don't act like myself. I say stupid things. My friends and I have a euphemism for it: it is a "pretty" day. Oscar Wilde believed that one could be either intelligent or pretty, but never both; intelligence is accompanied always by ugliness, and beauty does not exist without stupidity. So when one of us does a stupid thing, say, staying up all night analyzing The Picture of Dorian Gray, we tell each other, "you're so pretty." We can simultaneously diss each other, compliment each other, and pay homage to Oscar Wilde - it's the best. We relish the irony.

I'm not really sure what my point is. I have noticed, though, that some of the most life-altering revelations and tidbits of wisdom have come out of pointless rambles. Perhaps if I dig long enough, I will strike the proverbial oil reservoir - a pit of incredibly valuable shit.

For now, though, it is time to read Pygmalion and consequently analyze it half to death. :)