Dude, I'm in the band.
OK, so I was wrong. It turns out it's Phi Omega Sigma, not Phi Omega Zeta. How does my father know this enough to correct me on it? I don't know. I don't think he studied Greek...studied everything else though. And surprisingly retained all the information into his forties. I can't even remember some of the stuff I learned two years ago.
Dad, if you are reading this (as you very well might), I miss you and love you and want chocolate, although the last part really doesn't concern you. It's just always a good thing when notifying people of things to notify them of your desire for chocolate, on the off chance that they might actually give you some. You can't lose.
Speaking of chocolate, we just came back from a church event that had lots of chocolate cake. It was a public thing to recognize people who had ever done anything nice for anyone ever in their life. It started out lauding all these fine, hardworking, upstanding citizens, then degenerated into random people coming up to the mic and pointing out their friends and saying 'so-and-so has done this fabulous thing' and we'd all applaud politely while eyeing the table of food. When I got nominated, I knew it had really gone down the toilet.
Back to the chocolate cake. Just think about it for a second... chocolate cake.....there were chocolate layer cakes, chocolate donuts, chocolate cookies, German chocolate cake, devil's food, chocolate strawberry cake... I had it all. Then felt oddly sick. Couldn't imagine why.
Then in the kitchen, I got cornered by two people who wanted me to do some public dance thing at the highschool. Let me repeat the operative words here: PUBLIC DANCE THING. That is bad. I do it ONCE a year, and it is good. The big performance, we have costumes, makeup, good music, a stage, lots and lots of preparation, and people pay to see it. The thing they wanted me to do was supposed to be SPONTANEOUS!! They wanted me to get up there and dance, just MAKING IT UP AS I GO ALONG. Can you tell how OPPOSED I am to this?
Anyway, there I am, in the kitchen, with two people getting in my face (only one of whom I actually knew familiarly, both of whom I wish I didn't) and telling me I ought to be dancing in public spontaneously. Ha! the conversation was odd too. Here is the gist of it (with my commentary and/or thoughts in parentheses).
Person 1: Hello! come here, come here, come here....
Me: (uh oh)
Person 1: I think you'd be perfect for this.. Listen, there's going to be a poetry faire at the high school soon.
Me: (Is she going to ask me for poetry contributions?) I like poetry, I've written some myself. *****(bottom for a spiffing sample)
Person 1: That's nice. (totally shunting me off here) Anyway, there's going to be about ten poetry booths, and the kids will be traveling back and forth between them. Each booth gives a 15 min. presentation...
Me: (How the heck can you fill 15 minutes with stuff all about your poetry? Isn't that a little egotistical? Mine are short, but awesome. I couldn't possibly fill fifteen minutes, nor would I try.)
Person 1: and we need entertainment for the time in between the presentations.
Me: (uh oh)
Person 1: I was thinking that a nice, casual form of art like dance would be appropriate. You know DC, right?
Me: um, yes.
Person 1: Well, I thought you and she and Person 2's daughter here, since you all dance, could just kind of make it up as you go along.
Me: ummm... (GOD NO!!!! PLEASE I CAN'T DO IMPROV!!!) I don't really feel comfortable dancing at the high school, because I'm homeschooled and I don't really know a lot of people there, and this event sounds like a fairly small school thing. Maybe you could ask ERP (ah, the wonders of initials that spell expletive-sounding actually pronouncable words! Enjoy your new nickname, my semi-evil doppelganger!). She goes to the high school, and she also comes here (to the church), so I'm sure you could catch her.
Person 1: *puzzled* You mean you aren't ERP? (doppelganger is right)
Me: No.
Person 1: I... I guess it doesn't really matter...
*enter Person 2, who puts her arm around me and leans in WAY TOO CLOSE. Hello people! There is this thing called PERSONAL SPACE you may have heard of... I'm a big fan.*
Person 2: Look, think of it this way: When you're going to be an adult, you won't be able to always do things where you know everybody. And even when you do, since you're so verbal and outgoing, you'll be the one who they send out to meet new people.
Me: (DAMN YOU WOMAN!!! I had nearly extricated myself. Plus, you are making no sense whatsoever. Get away from me.) *speaking* I'll have to talk to my mom.
Person 2:*to Person 1* See, that means no. *to me* Your mom has done a wonderful thing in homeschooling you, but she had to give up a big part of her life to do that for you, and you should try to help her out with doing some things for yourself.
Me: (How is dancing in public helping out my mom?) *looking her straight in the eye* We don't think of it as if she gave up a part of her life, but rather took on a new responsibility.
Person 2: Well try to see it the way your mom does (I said WE. Not I. WE. Which 'we' does she think that is?). I know she can't socialize you the way you need (she actually said this!!! Like I'm some sequestered freak, and it's her job to 'fix' me. RAAaargh) but you should do this on your own. When you have a job as an adult...
Me: (blunter now): I'd rather not. (I socialize! I came here, didn't I? I go to three dance classes, I'm in a band, I assist in teaching two bands, I tutor a neighbor in math, I babysit. I'm FINE ON MY OWN you MEDDLING LEECH.) I'm ok. I have a job. I edit college students' dissertations. I'm just fine.
Finally extricated myself. ERP, I am so very very sorry for potentially setting them on you. Please forgive me *grovels*.
Oh, today I discovered how to spell synesthesia. Like that. And I looked it up in Watson for the official definition, although I had a pretty good idea, and it said:
[professor voice] Synesthesia is a condition in which one type of stimulation invokes the senses of another, such as when hearing a sound results in the visualization of a color. [/professor voice]
I guess I don't have it then. I always sort of thought I might have it mildly, because whenever I hear a sound, or see a number, letter, or name, I instantly know what color it 'ought' to be. 'K' is always a bright orange. Hearing a car honk happens to be a bright silver, with undertones of green. The number two is pale yellow. My sister the toreador is navy blue. These things are always in my mind. I don't know if it offically counts, though. I don't actually see the color, I just know what it should be, if anybody ever asked me for it.
***** poetry of mine:
Heat
Watch the fire,
Burning higher,
Beautiful, yet deadly flames.
Be no stranger,
To its danger,
With the fire, play no games.
You have a score,
Of wounds before,
Remember them as lessons learned.
Taunt it never,
Flames are clever,
Heed the heat, lest you be burned.
and another shiny poem--
My Bird (tentative title...I'm open to suggestions)
I have a bird who lives in a jeweled cage,
To sing for me at every beck and call,
When I am sad, upset, or e'en enraged,
Only my bird can always make me calm.
Her wings are clipped so she can't fly away,
Though her gold collar surely'd weigh her down,
I control her night and bring her day,
Though she has finery, she's tightly bound.
I don't know if she knows she lives confined,
Hemmed in by bars, as rich as they may be,
If only I could look inside her mind,
I'd know how much my bird can truly see.
The idea behind this one is to paint a more realistic portrayal of a captive creature. You hear all these sad stories of birds, held captive, who pine away and never sing, eventually dying. But that doesn't really happen a lot. Let's face it. They're dumb. They sing anyway. But do they sing because they choose to, because it's ingrained in them, or because they don't know any better? This poem is about that, although it answers absolutely none of those questions. In fact, it answers no questions at all. But it's nice though, isn't it? Let's sit here and look at it, shall we? Aaaah...
I'm toying with the idea of getting rid of the second verse, as it seems pretty superfluous... It's just that I'm in this rut where every poem I write has two verses, then dies. I'm trying to stop, and the second verse is a nice verse, but I'm not sure if it goes with the rest of the poem.
Bored now. (and you probably are too.)
~*The End*~ (for today)
Dad, if you are reading this (as you very well might), I miss you and love you and want chocolate, although the last part really doesn't concern you. It's just always a good thing when notifying people of things to notify them of your desire for chocolate, on the off chance that they might actually give you some. You can't lose.
Speaking of chocolate, we just came back from a church event that had lots of chocolate cake. It was a public thing to recognize people who had ever done anything nice for anyone ever in their life. It started out lauding all these fine, hardworking, upstanding citizens, then degenerated into random people coming up to the mic and pointing out their friends and saying 'so-and-so has done this fabulous thing' and we'd all applaud politely while eyeing the table of food. When I got nominated, I knew it had really gone down the toilet.
Back to the chocolate cake. Just think about it for a second... chocolate cake.....there were chocolate layer cakes, chocolate donuts, chocolate cookies, German chocolate cake, devil's food, chocolate strawberry cake... I had it all. Then felt oddly sick. Couldn't imagine why.
Then in the kitchen, I got cornered by two people who wanted me to do some public dance thing at the highschool. Let me repeat the operative words here: PUBLIC DANCE THING. That is bad. I do it ONCE a year, and it is good. The big performance, we have costumes, makeup, good music, a stage, lots and lots of preparation, and people pay to see it. The thing they wanted me to do was supposed to be SPONTANEOUS!! They wanted me to get up there and dance, just MAKING IT UP AS I GO ALONG. Can you tell how OPPOSED I am to this?
Anyway, there I am, in the kitchen, with two people getting in my face (only one of whom I actually knew familiarly, both of whom I wish I didn't) and telling me I ought to be dancing in public spontaneously. Ha! the conversation was odd too. Here is the gist of it (with my commentary and/or thoughts in parentheses).
Person 1: Hello! come here, come here, come here....
Me: (uh oh)
Person 1: I think you'd be perfect for this.. Listen, there's going to be a poetry faire at the high school soon.
Me: (Is she going to ask me for poetry contributions?) I like poetry, I've written some myself. *****(bottom for a spiffing sample)
Person 1: That's nice. (totally shunting me off here) Anyway, there's going to be about ten poetry booths, and the kids will be traveling back and forth between them. Each booth gives a 15 min. presentation...
Me: (How the heck can you fill 15 minutes with stuff all about your poetry? Isn't that a little egotistical? Mine are short, but awesome. I couldn't possibly fill fifteen minutes, nor would I try.)
Person 1: and we need entertainment for the time in between the presentations.
Me: (uh oh)
Person 1: I was thinking that a nice, casual form of art like dance would be appropriate. You know DC, right?
Me: um, yes.
Person 1: Well, I thought you and she and Person 2's daughter here, since you all dance, could just kind of make it up as you go along.
Me: ummm... (GOD NO!!!! PLEASE I CAN'T DO IMPROV!!!) I don't really feel comfortable dancing at the high school, because I'm homeschooled and I don't really know a lot of people there, and this event sounds like a fairly small school thing. Maybe you could ask ERP (ah, the wonders of initials that spell expletive-sounding actually pronouncable words! Enjoy your new nickname, my semi-evil doppelganger!). She goes to the high school, and she also comes here (to the church), so I'm sure you could catch her.
Person 1: *puzzled* You mean you aren't ERP? (doppelganger is right)
Me: No.
Person 1: I... I guess it doesn't really matter...
*enter Person 2, who puts her arm around me and leans in WAY TOO CLOSE. Hello people! There is this thing called PERSONAL SPACE you may have heard of... I'm a big fan.*
Person 2: Look, think of it this way: When you're going to be an adult, you won't be able to always do things where you know everybody. And even when you do, since you're so verbal and outgoing, you'll be the one who they send out to meet new people.
Me: (DAMN YOU WOMAN!!! I had nearly extricated myself. Plus, you are making no sense whatsoever. Get away from me.) *speaking* I'll have to talk to my mom.
Person 2:*to Person 1* See, that means no. *to me* Your mom has done a wonderful thing in homeschooling you, but she had to give up a big part of her life to do that for you, and you should try to help her out with doing some things for yourself.
Me: (How is dancing in public helping out my mom?) *looking her straight in the eye* We don't think of it as if she gave up a part of her life, but rather took on a new responsibility.
Person 2: Well try to see it the way your mom does (I said WE. Not I. WE. Which 'we' does she think that is?). I know she can't socialize you the way you need (she actually said this!!! Like I'm some sequestered freak, and it's her job to 'fix' me. RAAaargh) but you should do this on your own. When you have a job as an adult...
Me: (blunter now): I'd rather not. (I socialize! I came here, didn't I? I go to three dance classes, I'm in a band, I assist in teaching two bands, I tutor a neighbor in math, I babysit. I'm FINE ON MY OWN you MEDDLING LEECH.) I'm ok. I have a job. I edit college students' dissertations. I'm just fine.
Finally extricated myself. ERP, I am so very very sorry for potentially setting them on you. Please forgive me *grovels*.
Oh, today I discovered how to spell synesthesia. Like that. And I looked it up in Watson for the official definition, although I had a pretty good idea, and it said:
[professor voice] Synesthesia is a condition in which one type of stimulation invokes the senses of another, such as when hearing a sound results in the visualization of a color. [/professor voice]
I guess I don't have it then. I always sort of thought I might have it mildly, because whenever I hear a sound, or see a number, letter, or name, I instantly know what color it 'ought' to be. 'K' is always a bright orange. Hearing a car honk happens to be a bright silver, with undertones of green. The number two is pale yellow. My sister the toreador is navy blue. These things are always in my mind. I don't know if it offically counts, though. I don't actually see the color, I just know what it should be, if anybody ever asked me for it.
***** poetry of mine:
Heat
Watch the fire,
Burning higher,
Beautiful, yet deadly flames.
Be no stranger,
To its danger,
With the fire, play no games.
You have a score,
Of wounds before,
Remember them as lessons learned.
Taunt it never,
Flames are clever,
Heed the heat, lest you be burned.
and another shiny poem--
My Bird (tentative title...I'm open to suggestions)
I have a bird who lives in a jeweled cage,
To sing for me at every beck and call,
When I am sad, upset, or e'en enraged,
Only my bird can always make me calm.
Her wings are clipped so she can't fly away,
Though her gold collar surely'd weigh her down,
I control her night and bring her day,
Though she has finery, she's tightly bound.
I don't know if she knows she lives confined,
Hemmed in by bars, as rich as they may be,
If only I could look inside her mind,
I'd know how much my bird can truly see.
The idea behind this one is to paint a more realistic portrayal of a captive creature. You hear all these sad stories of birds, held captive, who pine away and never sing, eventually dying. But that doesn't really happen a lot. Let's face it. They're dumb. They sing anyway. But do they sing because they choose to, because it's ingrained in them, or because they don't know any better? This poem is about that, although it answers absolutely none of those questions. In fact, it answers no questions at all. But it's nice though, isn't it? Let's sit here and look at it, shall we? Aaaah...
I'm toying with the idea of getting rid of the second verse, as it seems pretty superfluous... It's just that I'm in this rut where every poem I write has two verses, then dies. I'm trying to stop, and the second verse is a nice verse, but I'm not sure if it goes with the rest of the poem.
Bored now. (and you probably are too.)
~*The End*~ (for today)