Somehow, I am miraculously cured!
What's that? You didn't know what was wrong with me? Ok, I'll tell you....
I went to an event on Saturday, hosted by the Chorale, during which we (we being me and my mom, due to the fact that Dad hates musicals and the Toreador and Mozzle are too young) sat at tables and each table was themed after a certain musical. Our table was Wicked (which, by the by, is a really great musical. The songs are superb), and my mom and I dressed up as characters from the show. Mom was a fabulous munchkin. I was Nessarose, the self-centered invalid sister of Elphaba, the wicked witch of the West and the main character. I was in a wheelchair. So many people I knew asked what was wrong with me. It was kind of funny. Their faces went through this myriad of thoughts, starting with a vague oh-look-a-handicapped-person look, then moving on to Recognition (oh my god, is that you?), quickly changing into Horror (she must have really hurt herself!) before pausing momentarily at Morbid Curiosity (how did that happen?). After I told the person(s) that it was actually a costume, the faces showed first Understanding, then Amusement (I can't believe I fell for that!) and finally a touch of You're Insane (why go to all that trouble for a costume?) before they walked away muttering while I vainly tried to move throughout the press of people in a cumbersome vehicle. Actually, by the time the thing was over, I got pretty good at maneuvring myself around. Anyway, some of the people who were there went to our church, and when I showed up on Sunday one of them came up to me and jokingly said something about my miraculous recovery, thus prompting the title of this entry.
I have also recently discovered that I have a talent for expository writing. I never liked creative writing, because although I have perfect grammar, spelling, punctuation, and an excellent grasp of the English language in general, plus a lot of cool ideas, I tend to overthink every word I put out, causing them to be much too formal-sounding. I'm also overly fond of participle phrases (and if you don't know what that is, that's your problem). But in expository writing, I can write as formally as I like, as long as it's readable. And the teachers seem to like it.
Today's strange phrase for you to translate out of some language or another: Descensus averno facilis est. Because I'm feeling kindly, I'll tell you what language it's in to make it easier for you to translate it (although it likely doesn't matter, because the only person I know of who reads my livejournal on a regular basis is my dad, and he's fluent in every language that I know well enough to have a phrase in). It's in Latin. Get translating.
I am feeling oddly cheerful due to sun coming out after much rain and gloominess. I think the human race is engineered to be solar-powered to some extent. Or it could be just me. I am always a bit odd.
oh, and I was a little creeped out today to find, while surfing, an anorexics support group. A forum where a bunch of anorexic people get together and bemoan their sorry fates, that they have been afflicted with chests in which each rib is not individually defined, and trade pictures of Paris Hilton and pre-therapy Ashley Olsen and say, "They're pretty and skinny. Why can't I be like them?" WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD???
I went to an event on Saturday, hosted by the Chorale, during which we (we being me and my mom, due to the fact that Dad hates musicals and the Toreador and Mozzle are too young) sat at tables and each table was themed after a certain musical. Our table was Wicked (which, by the by, is a really great musical. The songs are superb), and my mom and I dressed up as characters from the show. Mom was a fabulous munchkin. I was Nessarose, the self-centered invalid sister of Elphaba, the wicked witch of the West and the main character. I was in a wheelchair. So many people I knew asked what was wrong with me. It was kind of funny. Their faces went through this myriad of thoughts, starting with a vague oh-look-a-handicapped-person look, then moving on to Recognition (oh my god, is that you?), quickly changing into Horror (she must have really hurt herself!) before pausing momentarily at Morbid Curiosity (how did that happen?). After I told the person(s) that it was actually a costume, the faces showed first Understanding, then Amusement (I can't believe I fell for that!) and finally a touch of You're Insane (why go to all that trouble for a costume?) before they walked away muttering while I vainly tried to move throughout the press of people in a cumbersome vehicle. Actually, by the time the thing was over, I got pretty good at maneuvring myself around. Anyway, some of the people who were there went to our church, and when I showed up on Sunday one of them came up to me and jokingly said something about my miraculous recovery, thus prompting the title of this entry.
I have also recently discovered that I have a talent for expository writing. I never liked creative writing, because although I have perfect grammar, spelling, punctuation, and an excellent grasp of the English language in general, plus a lot of cool ideas, I tend to overthink every word I put out, causing them to be much too formal-sounding. I'm also overly fond of participle phrases (and if you don't know what that is, that's your problem). But in expository writing, I can write as formally as I like, as long as it's readable. And the teachers seem to like it.
Today's strange phrase for you to translate out of some language or another: Descensus averno facilis est. Because I'm feeling kindly, I'll tell you what language it's in to make it easier for you to translate it (although it likely doesn't matter, because the only person I know of who reads my livejournal on a regular basis is my dad, and he's fluent in every language that I know well enough to have a phrase in). It's in Latin. Get translating.
I am feeling oddly cheerful due to sun coming out after much rain and gloominess. I think the human race is engineered to be solar-powered to some extent. Or it could be just me. I am always a bit odd.
oh, and I was a little creeped out today to find, while surfing, an anorexics support group. A forum where a bunch of anorexic people get together and bemoan their sorry fates, that they have been afflicted with chests in which each rib is not individually defined, and trade pictures of Paris Hilton and pre-therapy Ashley Olsen and say, "They're pretty and skinny. Why can't I be like them?" WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD???