Wherein Angie Celebrates Her 18th Birthday

Okay, I lied about having a quiet birthday. I went to Six Flags yesterday with Cristy and her boyfriend Mehmet, who is a funny, smart, and extremely gracious person I'd met Tuesday night at dinner at T's. He has a rich mellifluous voice; plus he can cook. He reminds me of a very young and rather stout Arabic Liam Neeson.

I took the 48 to Wheaton Station, then Red Line to Fort Totten and Green Line to the UMCP station. There was a shuttle bus from there to UMCP. I've never been on Green Line before. It was something of an exotic experience- the interior of the Metro car was reholstered and everything. No longer orange! Also, a good deal of the Green Line is above ground so it feels like a real train, and you can see the lush water-sated countryside. Really, UMCP in is the middle of nowhere after all, but at least a relatively pretty middle of nowhere if there aren't any buildings around to ruin the landscape.

At UM's Stamp Student Union, which is totally gutted from renovation, I bumped into Ryan, a random Cantonese guy from Churchill I keep seeing (though technically he isn't from Churchill anymore since they graduated a while ago). I know him from SAT classes and I saw him at a UMBC dinner. I've never once encountered him intentionally. But anyways, since he was there, I caught up with him and we talked, and he found immensely unfunny things funny. Anyhow, he knows Michael B, and he's going to UM next year, in engineering.

Then he left and Cristy and Mehmet picked me up to take me to Six Flags.. but we went to eat first at a really good Mexican restaurant for lunch. It was empty, being situated in a college town in the summer, with slowly rotating ceiling fans in the heat of the dark, there not being enough regular summer customers there to even bother turning on the lights. One meal and a side dish and a mango daiquiri was enough for three people, and I got happy birthday ice cream. (I loved my part of the daiquiri even though Mehmet, who is 24, technically ordered it; there was still the subtle taste of alcohol in the mango tartness. Mixed drinks are my friend.) We were the only people there. I felt so special. Mehmet sang me the Bennigan's birthday song, because he used to work there.

At Six Flags, the ticket taker at the entrance noted to T and Mehmet that "You come here every week!" because they have season passes. We went on the Beast, a wooden roller coaster in all its rackety glory as a coaster warmup. It would be a long day for roller coasters. We went on the Superman twice, which is a beautiful coaster in red and blue, with large graceful loop-de-loops. Oh yes, and a 200 foot drop! It's a bit nervewracking when you're at the top of that latticed metal bell-curve, right before the drop, and you see your long shadow cast over the land. After that, we went on the Joker twice, though it wasn't as cool as the Superman. It was a standard metal coaster, with the notable thing being that in the beginning, instead of being dragged up to a peak, the coaster just floors it, thanks to electromagnetic acceleration. Even after riding it twice, it still startled me. Thankfully, since I was getting dizzy, we went on the Penguin, or the Blizzard or whatever, that new water ride they have. It's basically a glorified water slide where you ride this circular tube with five other people and it spins around as it goes down. Some penguin statues jet water on you. Kind of stupid, but a nice and tame intermission. Then we went on the Batwing, a coaster where you go laying belly down with the rail above you, so there's nothing between you and the grass, or the sky, as the case may be.

Afterwards, upon leaving the Gotham section of Six Flags, I filled out a raffle ticket to win a car or $25,000, my first official form filled out as a legal adult. I was so proud. We played in the wave pool until the lifeguards yelled at us to get out because we were wearing pants, though Mehmet pretended not to understand English and answered the lifeguards in Arabic, but he conceded eventually. I don't understand what the issue with pants is; you can't even sit beached on an inner tube by the side of the pool in pants. We went on a swing ride twice to dry off, where Mehmet kept grabbing the chains of our swings and got yelled at again, and I won a teddy bear with the Guess Your Age/Weight/Height thing, because everyone thinks Mehmet is lighter than he actually is. I went on the Two-Face twice (the ride that goes forwards/backwards), but not a third time because I got immensely nauseous afterwards because it was just an un-fun and painful ride. I sat on a bench outside the Iron Eagle as the sun set and the day cooled while Cristy and Mehmet went on the spinning teacups.

As soon as we left, it was pouring rain. Mehmet said I must be a saint because of the miracle of it not actually raining while I was at the park. The skies opened and the whole sky was lit up by periodic flashes of lightning alarmingly close and split open by resounding peals of thunder. We went to his apartment in Greenbelt because God knows no one can drive in that type of weather, and though my clothes had dried off since my time in the wave pool, in the interval between exiting his car and entering his apartment, I was thoroughly soaked all over again. There were a bunch of his friends in his apartment, which was kind of weird to me because my house is all quiet at night. They went out to smoke on the balcony, which has a certain appeal to it because the T-storm, though terrifying in a primal way, made the air very clean and rain-washed. Me and T changed out of our wet clothes into Mehmet's clothes and put our own into the drier so we looked like painters in overly large work clothes. T laughed at me, an 18 year old woman, struggling to belt my (Mehmet's, really) pants. Hmmmph. >__< Well it's not like I ever use belts. I would've figured it out eventually at any rate. T threw back some fruity beverage that was 70% alcohol and got promptly drunk I suppose. We watched some hardcore German porn on Mehmet's computer for amusement, though his monitor, which he salvaged from a junkyard, makes everything all green-filtered so it's not like anyone had realistic skin tones. (I doubt that guy's cock is really purple). T thought that dialogue should be banned from porn movies; IMHO, soundtracks are worse. Who has sex to music? I don't understand.

Then Mehmet decided that playing Deus Ex would be more interesting, so he did that. Me and Cristy went to microwave some corn, much to the annoyance of Mehmet's pothead brother. He's one of those people who sound stupid somehow just by talking, possibly from overusage of the word "dawg." T told me earlier that he treats Mehmet very badly, though T was reluctant to talk about the brother to me with him there in the house. Which I thought was understandable, after having thought about it a bit. Apparently his (the brother's) computer and the microwave can't be on at the same time, or one or the other will go off. It's bad circuiting of some sort, like an electronic version of musical chairs.

In the meantime, Mehmet introduced me to Jagermeister, a very tasty German liquor that tastes like licorice, and burns in your throat. It is godlike, and joins my list of things I will drink when I am legal, though I got more of it on Mehmet's borrowed shirt than actually into my mouth, like a dumb boozer. T joked about me getting my 18th and 21st birthday confused, but she should talk since she had more alcohol than me and is not 21 either. (I had two capfuls of Jager; it's not that much). So in the end, I did end up having my celebratory Porn and Cigarettes as promised, though alcohol in lieu of cigarettes because we unanimously agreed that tobacco is stupid.

Then we remembered that we had microwaved the corn, so we took it out of the microwave, buttered, peppered and ate it. T showed me photos, on her digital camera, of when she got her ears pierced, while she was drunk, by drunk people. It does not seem to me like a wise thing to do, but she didn't feel a thing.

You must understand that during all this time T and Mehmet were all over each other. Sober IB high schoolers are very restrained people, I've noticed in hindsight. So my 18th birthday was fun but weird in all its stupidity and liberation. Stupidity in that ... well watching porn and drinking is stupid and possibly immoral... and also I thought it was disturbing of Mehmet in that he's the type of person that is amused by swerving all over the road and racing mothers of young children in parking lots and ignoring lifeguards and grabbing other people's swings on the swing ride and stealing ketchup packets and yelling at random passing drivers in the middle of the night. Either it means that he's immature or that I'm stodgy. It seems disturbing that I should find someone who's 6 years older than me to be immature, because if someone 6 years younger than you finds you to be juvenile, you must really be juvenile. Or it could be that I, freshly out of teenagerdom, am so molded into obedience towards the authority of elders so much that I draconically object to harmless fun. Or I'm a hypocrite in that I'm an easily amused person, but am annoyed when other people are easily amused. It's kind of like when people laugh at things that aren't funny. It's annoying for no particular reason.

Liberation.. in that it really doesn't matter whether my mom doesn't "let me" go out. It doesn't matter whether she wouldn't like if I had a boyfriend. It doesn't matter if she wouldn't like it if I go swimming in my clothes, or watching porn, or wearing some boy's clothes or eating microwaved corn instead of a real dinner or coming home at 1 in the morning. I'll go to Six Flags because it's fun, I'll get a boyfriend when I want one, I'll swim in my clothes because they'll dry off afterwards, I'll watch porn because it's amusing, wear a boy's clothes because my real clothes are wet, eat microwaved corn for dinner because I'm hungry, and come home at 1 or the next morning or not at all. There's a big list of "Shouldn't"s that I've been conditioned to accept, but if you think about them they really don't matter, and it's slightly frightening.

(I probably should stay at home when the forecasts say it'll rain and not get a boyfriend until I'm older and bring a swimsuit for god's sake and an umbrella so I won't get wet in the forecasted rain which I should have known better than to have been caught in in the first place and stay away from the porn and eat a real dinner and come home at a reasonable hour. These little things that don't matter, but make up your life. What sort of habits will you develop through your adult life with no mother watching?)

On a bright springsummer Monday in June, I graduated from high school at DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution) Constitution Hall, with my silly cap with its braided multi-tassels and cardboard quandrangle. I saw all of you there, mostly in the first few rows for band or chorus, truly spot on in your scholarly professionalism, though probably not intentionally. It made me proud. Lisa gave a moving speech, though I suspect its profundity was lost on a lot of the audience which was looking for something humorous to hoot and holler for. We are different people than we were. I thought it strange how fast these last four years have passed, though now that the glow of the graduation ceremony has given way to a more introspective mood, I think that the time hasn't passed by at all quickly. I've just lived it day by day, and not noticed. I am rarely so self-aware of growing up day by day as I have been in this second semester, or what was the second semester. It's a bit like a mental and emotional version of marking your height on the wall. I suppose we will have to pass on our reigning titles as seniors sooner or later.

In the meantime, I threw my cap up into the air (it came straight down while Andrew D's boomeranged and hit a guy in the row behind him), and did lots of spontaneous hugging with people.

My parents, sisters, and brothers-in-law came, and thoughtfully got me a capped-and-gowned teddy bear and a dozen red roses that have bloomed beautifully since in a water-filled vase, so that you can see all their rich velvet and deep shadowed swirls. Have been enjoying the general joy of it without my glasses on so that the world looks like a big and blurry oil painting. I took a long walk with my mom in the cool of early summer evening, and held my finger up to the moon.

I was thinking that of all the people in the world, there are very few that can claim to be happy at this very moment, and I have the extraordinary privelege of being one of them.

I turn 18 on Wednesday the 11th, two days after graduation. I will look for porn and cigarettes symbolically but otherwise be quiet about it. Being a neither a teenage girl nor a high schooler any longer, I wonder very much who I am now.

In Which Angie Bustles With Social Activity

That's why I haven't blogged in a week. I've been Doing Stuff, and this being quite uncharacteristic of me, actually talking to people.

Saturday, went to Ruchita's party. I saw a rainbow outside the car window on the way there; I suppose that boded well. We watched Bend It Like Beckham, again. Though personally while I thought it was funny but not worth watching twice, I was gratified that people who were watching it for the first time found exactly the same things I had thought funny to be funny..... See, I had thought I was the only one who thought Tony's way of coming out of the closet was funny... and Jess talking to the wall.. but all that's in my Beckham blog post from a while back. Great food. Brownies, blondies, dumplings, and pizza. Discovered that Andrew is straight and has been dating Erica Fardig for nine months, and then some. This did not surprise me, though I had just previously assumed that the Andrew-Erica thing had not worked out, or that it was just a platonic friendship that people kept joking about. Puffy made up for Andrew's straightness by licking his fingers seductively and making suggestive comments. Andrew noticed that he'd come a long way from the homeschooled little kid in 9th grade. Me and random people noted that he and Andrew would have made such a cute gay couple. Puffy angsted about not being able to get a girlfriend in college (though actually, he angsted not that girls wouldn't like him, but that he wouldn't be able to find one in the physics department to meet his high standards. ^__^).

He said his "finger held up to the moon" quote too.

When I was leaving, Ruchita's mom commented about not recognizing me... which was most likely because she has never met me. "Where are you from?" she said. "Drama? Chorus?" She was being nice but it rather highlighted to me that I don't know Ruchita at all well, though I do read her blog because I feel obliged to know better someone who I end up going to parties with, and on a less socially ritiualistic note, someone who my friends hang out with. I kind of feel bad freeloading from Ruchita's party, but being that we have mutual friends and she wasn't actually offended by my presence there... feh.

Monday was Silvia's birthday party, though I didn't know it was her birthday party so I didn't bring her any gifts... I ended up cooking, which amused me because I made one plate of eggrolls which were obviously burnt (though not enough that they didn't taste good) in relation to Silvia's nicely browned ones. Malex helped with the dumplings (same as those from Ruchita's party, except pan-fried!) in vast quantities in expectation of Nick B's appetite, but he didn't come, because he was waiting for an Important Call, he said. He got it... he now has a job. Jen showed up, with a monkey for Silvia (toy, not real), and Milla (sans Ed) and Lianna showed up. James was already there, putzing around because he didn't know how to cook. To be honest, I don't know how to cook either, but I, unlike James, am unfazed by scorching droplets of hot oil that pop up and burn your arm. It comes from living in a Chinese family.

We watched Shaolin Soccer, which I brought, and which people found funny, to my relief, since I feel somewhat uncomfortable showing ethnic movies to people not of that background. It's like making white people go to a Kwanzaa party... I worry that it makes me seem pretentious and self-important. (My mom later was like, "You showed them a movie... with subtitles?") But it was good humor in general and didn't rely on ethnic jokes and spoofed the Matrix, so it was good.

We watched the Pianist after Malex and Jen left and after Silvia's parents got home to fix the tv, which she had messed up. I thought it would be a bad party movie, but actually, was quite good. I don't mean to be evil, but it wasn't as much as a downer as I'd expected it to be- it was quite hopeful. And anyways, nothing fictional, even a dramaticization of real events, can be as depressing as reading unadulterated academic history in all its objective inhumanity. I am glad I am thoroughly done with that now. Since people more qualified have more profound things to say about The Pianist than I do, I shall say something totally trivial; I had been wondering why Wehrmacht officer Wilm Hosenfeld had been randomly in a ruined Warsaw apartment in such a serendipitous manner. Turns out, thanks to Google, that he was looking for toothpaste. I guess the Wehrmacht has no toothpaste. So now you know. His family has a website, which mostly has nothing to do with him, and parts of his diary are included in the real Pianist's, Wladislaw Szpilman's, memoirs.

Thursday- Graduation rehearsal and senior picnic. Rehearsal was dumb. I felt like a show horse, and not in a good way. Picnic was nice... the weather cleared up, miraculously. The weather was quite beautiful. I argued with Doug about whether reading and enjoying Mercedes Lackey makes him girly. I had a hard time articulating what Jen agreed was an "ineffable girliness" about the books, so just ended up sputtering vast generalizations. I am a very bad debater in person. The best I could do was that since Mercedes Lackey has the strength of her characters lie in empathy and emotional receptiveness, as opposed to aggression, decisiveness, control, and grace under pressure, her novels appeal more to people of a feminine nature, and therefore Doug is of a feminine nature. Bah. But he didn't agree with me. Because I'm a horrible person, I found that I respected Doug a lot less when I realized just how girly he was; I'm not sure why I'm like that but it's probably not pleasant. Not fitting within his gender role felt to me like something of a moral transgression. But that bit of nastiness aside, we had fun playing Manly Aggressive Tetherball, wherein we tried to kill each other with a projectile object attached to a rope. I went on the swings, and we waded in the creek, which was clear and cold (and not unpleasant once you got used to it), and got muddy, and poked a water snake with a stick. We went on top of a hill from which you could see everything, and I rolled down it. Smokey Glen Farm is the sort of place I like, like Clarksburg. It seems that such places are my center of gravity because I am happier when I am near places like that and unhappier the further I am away from my sunny piedmont. I am off balance when I am far away from grassy hills and sunny trees.

Massive yearbook signing too... I had a hard time finding non-generic things to say until I began actually thinking not of 'what should I say in this book?' but 'how do I feel about this person?' which is when the words began to flow of their own accord. So I wasn't so awkward after all. Malex, I should note here that your fake yearbook is a piece of art.

Because it was so nice out, when I got home I took a long walk not knowing where I was going and saw another watersnake in a glade in Rock Creek Park that glided gracefully through the water away from me with surprising speed, and stalked a deer through the woods for 20 minutes, as it tolerated my presence for so long.

Like football camp, but for nerds:

DC Fencers' Club

2003 Summer Fencing Camp

DC Fencers' Club
9330 Fraser Ave., Silver Spring, MD 20910
Phone: 301-562-1990
Fax: 301-309-006

1st SESSION: JULY 7-11, 2003
2nd SESSION: JULY 14-18, 2003 SOLD OUT!

From 10:00 am to 4:00 pm

Our camp is open to beginners, as well as experienced fencers. Must be at least 7 years of age.

Camp Activities Include:

Group lessons ................ Soccer
Footwork ...................... Games
Technique & Tactics ....... Fencing Videos
Competition ...................Training with nationally ranked fencers


I can see it now:

American Pie IV... "One day at fencing camp..."

Sticky Note to Self For Fencing Improvement: Lunge Lower!

Hmm, how much does Nick (B) remember from DCFC? Because I don't remember jack squat. But I was a goof during 10th grade in DCFC so that's also why. I remember doing the "I am Inigo Montoya!" speech from the Princess Bride a lot. And I remember being afflicted with 'glovehand,' that funky smell that emanates from your hand after wearing a single quilted glove for an hour and getting sweaty in it. Fortunately, I am spared that now because we aren't provided with gloves, so I bout barehanded. It doesn't seem to matter- my knuckles don't get all banged up like with epee. Foil is more genteel. It doesn't give you pin-point purple bruises.

I was not, however, spared MaskStench tonight, which is a pretty self-explanatory drawback that comes with the fencing territory. "We'll all get SARS!" someone joked about their grottiness. Horrendous SARS masks, those. They're gaping sieves. Look! I am the human fly!

I did spend the session swatting at my sparring partner (whose name he told me but I've forgotten)'s knees like an ex-epeeist/ bad foilist, but I ascribe that more to my lack of point control than any epee habits I must deprogram. The body does not remember- it's not like bicycling. I got a respectable number of hits on him though.

I was more comfortable this week with disengage 4 and 6 and combination 4-6, which I've finally figured out. Our instructor, who is a dumpy and unassuming middle-aged woman (but actually an amazingly fast ex-Olympian) trained our reaction times by dropping a piece of lint and having us try to hit it as it fell. Yes, this is one of those things you're supposed to fail. I got thoroughly exhausted, and did not feel like lifting anything heavy with my right arm all evening.

Something strange: my sparring partner asked me what school I go to.

What school do I go to?

Should I say "did" or "will"?

It made me feel discombobulated, not to have any school to identify with, like having no country, or no religion. It felt like I had turned paper thin and slipped into a crack between two sidewalk squares.

Done with high school! Done with school! Yes, all 12 years of it, and a chapter of my life is over.

I said goodbye to RM the building today (though I will be back eventually to pay obligations). I said goodbye to those old stones and old haunts and the courtyard that sheltered me in freshman year as I sat there on the first day of school at lunch, on the grass under the trees and sky with a bunch of people I did not know but would get to know much better in the next four years, but then it was all new to me. But today I said goodbye to Rachel in the hallway in that brief gap of time between first and second period, as if I'd see her tomorrow. Mary, I never even saw. I really don't know how to say goodbyes.

I thought it was strange also that the glue that had held us together is suddenly gone. That people who have no bearing on my life any longer still make their regular orbits in the universe of my consciousness, celestial beings unaware yet that the axis has fallen away. I thank you for having been with me for the last four years, or seven or seventeen as the case may be. I know that as of now we will go our own ways... Malex had protested that he would not leave me overnight, but I know that gradually and inevitably we'll all drift apart and move on. But for now, I still think of you as my friends, at least for a little while.

When I left the building into the real world, the whole world was infused with joy.

You know why "Deerskin" is boring now?

Because amnesia is a boring affliction. I swear, this is the whole book after page 60 up until now.. "She did not want to think of the future. She paid scarce attention to what she was doing in the present. She could not remember her past." Well great. What does that leave me with? A singularly uninteresting teenage girl bumbling around a rotten hut, or in a forest, or in the moutains with her dog. It really doesn't matter, does it?

You know you're in IB when:

It's considered the pinnacle of glamour to be quoted by Newsweek.

I think that it's not quite true that Xu has no redeeming qualities, and that anyone who says so is doing himself a grave disservice in allowing several aspects of a person to cloud his judgment. Xu is not the easiest person to get along with, but he has talent, and a burning need to correct past grievances. Anyone looking for "decency" in the form of conciliation will not find it there, which is what upsets people the most, especially girls who are taught from birth that a person's self worth can be found in her social graces. Sexism and homophobia and racial militance are political points of view that don't make it very pleasant to be around him. However, I do not find a sense of sexual equality, acceptance of alternative lifestyles or acceptance of other races to be fundamental moral values, meaning that you can be a sexist gay-hating militant segregationist and a kind and decent person whose viewpoints I will despise with all my guts and with all my power try to prevent from reaching a position of public office and keep away from my children. Nothing personal; it's strictly a matter of ideology. I hate Nazis and Nazis hate me; it's not like we know each other or ever will, and I bet there are a good deal of skins who I could respect as people if I ever got to know them but could never see eye to eye with, period, and I will still fight against all they stand for. Taking hatreds to a personal level simply make these things more psychologically palatable; it becomes much easier to hate Western racial oppression by hating the White Man, and it is much easier to hate the White Man by starting with that particular White Man over there, standing on a corner, minding his own business and eating a sandwich. But if you ever get to talk to people with odious viewpoints, by which I mean the gay-bashers, the evangelical Christians, the ultra-liberals, the Church of Satanists, the animal rights activists, the anti-Americans, you'd be surprised by the vast amount of people you don't hate on any personal level. I have never talked to a White Racist except for going on some webpages and reading some materials, but I suspect the experience would be very much the same.

But on the whole, society does need people like Xu who stay proud and angry, and who do not say anything that is not true, and if it is true will say it. The Asian community needs the voice, the fire and the anger. This is our country but we have never claimed it for our own, and so we sit around like houseguests uncomfortable with touching the furniture and of course are never heard and never recognized.

And since it is a quality in him I have noticed before now, but apparently other people have not, I should like to observe here that Xu is very defensive of Puffy, and anyone who hurts him or is perceived as hurting him will suffer Xu's wholehearted wrath with all objectivity and rationality suspended. Very few people are loyal to such a degree/fault and I admire and forgive him for it if it should ever become my place to forgive.

Casting Pearls Before Swine: Wherein Angie Goes All Madame Bovary

Senior prom.. several hundred pigs in stretched satin rutting around in the mud for four hours packed in the middle of other bloated piggy bodies. Maybe you oink occasionally. I suppose this type of thing would appeal to you, if you were a pig.

I think I had imagined a dark room, and a dance floor with tables around it with seated people making polite chatter in the dark, which was all essentially correct (except for the polite chatter), and on the dance floor, awkward teenagers kind of swaying and stepping on each other's feet and trying to look like adults in a slow dance, which was essentially incorrect. I thought, if I had expected it to be boring, that it would be boring in a formal way. And that with hired limousines and nail appointments and coifed hair threaded with pearls and sparkly dresses and white roses on your wrist and red roses in suit jacket breast pockets and white gloves that go all the way up to your elbows and everything looking spot on, I was disappointed to see that what was touted to be a dance to mark the ending of my girlhood was really nothing more than a sty.

I have been to other dances and enjoyed them just as much as the next teenager (who is not as intellectually pretentious), but they were never solely "hip hop," which is my less than favorite musical genre, and I was never dressed to the nines and and made to feel like a princess beforehand. It felt like I was having mud flung at me.

It also should be said that being lost in the middle of a sea of people drives me to seek intimacy in the person next to me, which was not forthcoming. Anyone, really, to cling to. Hold me, keep me, stay with me. Be warm and comforting and be my teddy bear. Me and Rob kind of looked at each other and were like.. "No." Four years of high school and three years of middle school didn't breed any kind of physical familiarity right there. Also, since you are socially responsible for your date, you can't very well go off to a corner and sulk.

There is, however, the happy friend of the hapless dancer: Dancing In A Circle. ^__^ Hurrah! Xu "Cornell" Wang had categorized me and Rob as the "dating of the desperate," which was pretty much a case of the pot calling the kettle black since his date was a goddamn glow stick. Nonetheless, it worked out very well for him. He had four or five glowsticks and spread the happy glowstick love around so that anybody clapping to the music with a group of buoyant friends crowded around Puffy juggling streaks of light could hardly stay depressed for long. And the glowsticks would go around and people would take turns inside the circle demonstrating their pyrotechnic skillz to enthusiastic cheers and applause. It was also fun dancing with Andrew Durfor too, since while he can't and doesn't "dance", he revels in moving around in a spectacularly silly fashion, and (it's the greatest thing about him no matter where he is and what he's doing) he makes you want to have fun too. We all at one point stopped caring about looking like idiots as long as we were quite thoroughly enjoying ourselves, with the all-male conga line, then the all-everyone conga line, then the male on male dirty dancing, which Xu said was faggy but he can stick his glowsticks where the sun don't shine. Malex almost kissed Nick (B) but Nick refused his dirty man-lips. I did some dancing with Malex and then Nick which involved some crotch bumping and I took a very long bath when I got home. I suspect Nick and Malex took very long baths also (but not with each other). ("What the hell did I do last night?") Also, me and Rob did dance with each other as in "dancing while facing the other's general direction" and were very happy with that.

Tragara's: Went to Silvia's house so that James could drive us from there to the restaurant. Rob was there already (at Silvia's house, not Tragara's), and when I gave him his boutonniere all the petals fell out. XD Nice restaurant, not worth $35 normally, but I got to steal other people's food, so it was. Andrew P eats everything, and stays skinny. Andrew Durfor on principle refuses to eat salad and will most likely get fat.

"Do you know how many angels died to make that pasta?" -Andrew D on angel-hair pasta

James is very good-looking and funny and charming and easy to get along with, but unlike Puffy, who is also very good-looking and funny and charming and easy to get along with, he doesn't make me feel like an idiot, so we were all very chatty in the car. He is very (James, not Puffy) sexy when he concentrates so he was the hottest boy to grace the Postprom airhockey table. Yes, even hotter than Ersin "The Russian Machine" (insert eyeroll here). He's a Russian Machine, meaning he breaks down... I beat him 7-3 in air hockey. BOOYA! Who da "2 Puck Master" now??!! Laser tag was also very cool. As was the Iron Man Race, but I fell on my head and skinned my knee because I rolled down the inclines and the metal studs in my pants got embedded in my skin. I was quite bad at that, having gotten stuck on the first section where you climb up little blocks sticking out of a wall because the blocks kept giving way under my feet, but Josh is amazingly agile and very good at it. Puffy taught me how to play pool and was very politely patient, especially so since by his own account he has never lost a game. I felt very educated by the time I left postprom.

I have been wondering whether I like Malex "in that way" but have decided that I don't and that even if I do we have nothing in common and we'd break up anyways and then I'd say, "Let's just be friends" but since we're already friends I'm two steps ahead of myself so why not skip the relationship altogether. It's the most painful thing when you have male friends to give them away and let them go because you like to think that he's yours forever for yourself, and it's been that way with Sean from elementary school and then Harry from middle school and then Nick and then Malex and will be my curse and blessing until the day I die, to have and then nothave male friends. And with Nick since 9th grade I've given so much of his friendship away to Bivalves and Drama and that Bard Who's Been Dead for 400 Years and Naomi and Abby and Allie and Lizzie and Julia and Re-Lizzie and an unremitting parade of female attentions that no part of him is hardly mine anymore so that I don't care where the rest goes, though I may feel some pain like when they've given you a shot and pull the needle out. But the point here is that this little bit of pain upon removal makes me hallucinate that I like someone, In That Way, and this is usually an illusion that does not last very long.

I'm kind of discouraged. You'd think with everything over, I'd be happy, but I don't really feel anything. I just don't know what to do. Elation never besets me at the end of events... I start feeling happy maybe two weeks into the middle of the summer when everyone else just starts to get bored.

I will quote Malex from his blog, who was paraphrasing quoting me.. a roundabout way of expressing myself which is kind of like trying to move around in a room by only watching reflections in a mirror. But I haven't a better way to say it or rather, since I think we all could write beautifully if we so chose, I don't care quite enough right now to really say what I mean.

"I don't want a job. I shall sit and have a Zen Summer. Summer is peaceful. I have no desires and no tasks."

I think I'm the only one like that. I don't know. But right now, the petty and the boring things fill my life like graininess in film, so that I can neither feel nor think as purely and passionately as I wish.

I've started reading books again, for fun. It may help. Am reading "Deerskin" by Robin McKinley which is kind of creepy.. it's disturbing in that I can't quite figure out what's disturbing about it so that everytime I try to figure it out it makes less sense like shadows in the corner of your eye that flick away when you look at them. It's a very girly book- it's about a princess, and therefore so far, princessy things. No action so to speak of but the suspense comes in not quite knowing where that dissonant and off-kilter feeling comes from of things being not quite right. There's a queen who is the most beautiful woman in the world beloved by all her people, and the great love for her by her husband, and it's a beautiful story but of course the queen dies of illness and it's all very classical and tragic. Except it's also very very creepy. Because beauty itself is a form of power except that very few people think to recognize it as such (especially men who think of power in very concrete terms, but that's a gross generalization). And any woman who captures the feverish and almost demonic adoration and rapture of a crowd has raised herself to godhead, and it seems to me at least just a wee bit creepy anyone who'd indulge and wallow in it and quietly cultivate her own cult of personality and wrap her entire self into her identity as the most beautiful woman of the seven kingdoms, even after death. Yeah, just a wee bit creepy. And perhaps the princess is afraid of growing up to look just like her mother because she will, in the course of that development, become her mother and the most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms, but lose herself in all the false idolatry and the love of a nation directed towards someone who she is not. But of course the queen was wise and virtuous by all accounts, if the NPCs are to be believed, and though everyone in the book finds the queen kind of creepy, nobody will ever admit to thinking it because We All Love the Queen, right?

The beginning chapters are told by narration so that the story is told, not shown, so that you never get a sense that the characters are real people instead of people out of a book or song, as you hear of their amazing feats and vows of love and astounding beauty and eccentric last wishes ... but never really know who they are (except for the people of the Sixth Kingdom who are mentioned briefly but disparaged by most people as being poor and stupid, but personally I think that anyone who makes quilts by hand and jam preserves and remembers to give puppies to little girls for their birthdays, and any king who'd rather settle for a kind and loving, though thick-legged, wife over The Most Beautiful Woman in the Seven Kingdoms, and any prince who's willing to muck about in his own kennels and write his own letters personally can't be all that bad and sound a whole lot better than all this Love and Death and Eternal Vows craziness). But as you get further in, the narrator and trappings of fairy tale lyricism begin to fall away until all you get is the viewpoint of the princess, which is rather like that of a teenage girl of any era, and warm and comforting in that way. But when the 'high style' of the early chapters manifests itself on occasion the creepiness level rises and I think around the corner I will find with the high passion and turmoil and tragedy also deep madness and violence to come...

But.. this is purely a guess behind the motivations of random characters, and a whole nation of fictional people, so that I'm psychoanalyzing a crowd. How rare it is that fantasy makes you think about what it means.

Saw Spiderman with Malex at my house. Thought it was stupider the second time around, or at least when it's not on the big screen. Found again, though, that the teenage awkwardness was very endearing.

Something ELSE:

I think the whole flower thing is rather absurd, given that one person has ordered. That in itself is not unusual; I had nine cards.. so one in nine ordered, which I think is a better number of buyers to number of advertisements ratio than many products, including spam mail where the number of buyers to number of advertisement rate is like one in a million. So that is not strange at all. But if you think about it, the cost of printing all those business cards (the cost of the paper alone is probably prohibitive) and the time spent in coming up with the list is probably much greater than what all the profits gained by an $8 flower is worth. And of course we must subtract the cost of the actual flower, the ordering and delivery.. It's worse than minimal wage, it is. It makes me think that people complaining about the greed of businesses perhaps don't remember that most of the time businesses seem to be a highly unprofitable venue.

Beyond Imaginations, Inc.
Prom 2003

Boutonnieres (with greenery)
One Rose $8
Two Roses $12
One Vanda Hybrid Orchid* $10
Three Vanda Hybrid Orchids* $14

Corsages (with greenery, assorted flowers and ribbon)
One Rose $12
Two Roses $16
Two Vanda Hybrid Orchids* $14
Three Vanda Hybrid Orchids* $16

Wrist Corsages (with greenery, assorted flowers and ribbon)
Two Roses $18
Three Roses $22
Three Vanda Hybrid Orchids* $20
Four Vanda Hybrid Orchids* $24

*See sample orchid boutonniere on the front of the brochure.

Please place your order with Angela before 3 pm on May 21, 2003 (Wednesday). For roses, specify a color such as red, pink, yellow, vanilla, etc. For orchids, choose red or purple only. If you are interested in designs besides those listed above, please contact us directly.

Oh, ja. "See sample orchid boutonniere on the front of the brochure" if I gave you a brochure. Obviously, if I didn't give you one you'll just have to go to the website to get an idea of what's there, or use your imagination. ^__^

Also: Totally random, but I am watching the Matrix with Nick B sometime on Wednesday, probably after school. Talk to me about that too.

Leave orders here, or by AIM, by e-mail, and by phone if you have my number. If you don't... well, I'm not putting my number out online.

Prom Peeps, Read

My sister Stella arranges boutonnieres and corsages and whatnot. Please buy from her if you're into that stuff for prom anyhow. On a side note, it's kind of amusing that all the pictures on the website are from Maggie's wedding, and I still have some of the silk flowers lying around my house somewhere if you want an actual example, but anyhow. They are very nice, but I'm partial.

Boutonnieres starting at $8
Corsages starting at $12
Wrist corsages starting from $18
Hand-Held Nosegays starting from $25

My sister and the main designer are coming up with a list of popular designs and prices so that if you want something from there you can just tell me instead of having to call them, write a check to Beyond Imaginations Inc., and I'll make your orders for you and give you your flowers at Tragara's. If you have something more specific in mind that's not on the list, you can call at (301) 603-8997, or fax at (301) 603-8816.

I have nice and colorful business cards too that I'll annoyingly pass out to people tomorrow. Malex and Silvia have already been inflicted with them.

(There. I've done my family duty. Ever so helpful as always.)

I changed my template, because while the rounded corners and messed up html were cute, I'd like to be able to put a bunch of links on the side of my blog. Whereas in my old template all my links were on top, so you had to scroll past them to see my posts. Also, Lizzie made her new blog with my old template, so...

Though for old time's sake you can see the old template in my archives, and of course, there's still messed up html.

CBS' "Hitler: The Rise of Evil" is on. I wish it had aired before the history test... I am now intimately acquainted with Hitler's rise to power, up to 1934. But perhaps I will appreciate the show more.

I thought it was funny that Warrior Challenge was mocked on Leno. It's the "PBS version of Jackass."

Oh, also. I'm happy that fencing was moved from 5:30 on Fridays to 6:30. It's a smaller, more experienced group... I caught the tail of the 5:30 group, which was a bunch of hyperactive kids who were treated like idiots, for good reason. ("Put your sword down before you take off your mask for safety..") The good part about being in the 6:30 group is that you get more individual attention. It's beginner II and I got my ass kicked by seven year olds. I was the only girl there. There was an old woman there, though that term is unfair as it really makes her sound more senile than she was because she was very experienced and much better than I. But since I was doing drills with more experienced fencers they could correct me, even when the teacher wasn't paying attention to our pair. It does make me feel over the hill though.. nobody (nobody good anyways) starts fencing at the age of 18. He'll earn faster than me, and in many ways he is my teacher. He (the pre-pubescent kid I was fencing with) has a brother in fencing, and fencing gear at home, and if they wish to they can bout every day, so if they keep at it, by the time they are my age, they will be amazing athletes. It makes me kind of sad. Though from the actual teacher's reprimands they must bicker more than they practice. Ah.. youth.

I don't know how to hold a foil (Damn you, French grip!). By the end of class I had to peel my fingers off of the handle because they were molded in there. I miss my po' pistol grip, which is much easier to hold but apparently lacks the finesse of a French grip.. :( Of course this is a lot more "real"... I'm glad also that we were dry fencing (without the electric hookup to the scoring system). You focus more on the fencing and less on the scoring, or the cable trailing out of your ass. And I had forgotten how much masks restrict your vision though I was glad for them; I kept hitting my opponent in the mask, because I have the point control of a manatee (Damn you, pistol grip training!). Also, I hadn't the faintest clue what the teacher meant when she was like.. "Straight parry 6, riposte!" "Parry 4, riposte!" "Disengage!" "1, 2 combination!" It's not like I've never learned this in DCFC, but I'd forgotten, especially the names. It's not like bicycling, where you never forget. Apparently, 6 is an attack of your opponent's chest area (if your opponent's torso were theoretically divided into quadrants) close to the sword arm and 4 is the chest area farther from the sword arm. But at DCFC I'd simply been taught that one was an "outside" parry (4), one was an "inside" parry (6), or for all practical purposes, either clockwise (4) or counterclockwise (6). But this way of thinking really screws you over when you are, like me, fencing a lefty, in which case it's all reversed, with the outside parry clockwise being 6 and the inside parry counterclockwise being 4. (Damn you, lefties!) Unless you're doing a "1,2 combination" which is actually a combination of 4,6.. or is it 6,4...? It boggles the mind. To make things even more confusing, even if you know exactly how to do all of the above, you may not necessarily (and most of the time won't) succeed in hitting your opponent anyhow. Like in doing a 1,2 combination.. it relies on your opponent being bluffed into moving their arm to defend against an attack in 4, and then you attack them in 6 instead and go, "Haha, sucker!" It's a feint of some sort. But since we're doing drills.. your opponent knows exactly what you're doing and isn't all that surprised. I've only been faster than this seven year old kid like once or twice. To my credit, he had a hard time with me too, but I think that's only because it's not that I'm great, it's just that I'm too stupid to be feinted against in the first place.

Also: I think that parry 4 is retarded.

I did additional drilling after I came home for an hour or so, fencing my music stand, so I think I understand this now. But during class I was very confused.

I've never seen Boromir so pretty.

Obviously, as you can tell by now, all this free time is putting me on a fantasy art kick.

Me and Malex kind of tried to get a group together to see the Matrix. But Andrew couldn't go later than 12:00pm because of piano lessons at 3 and everyone else had already seen it or had some rehearsal of some sort, mostly Shakespeare or Resonance or whatnot, so it kind of fell flat. Dena is organizing a trip to see it Saturday night. I'm really impressed with her vast amounts of group-organizing.

This would make a cool prom dress.

It's so seldom done well that I really appreciate it when it is.

Proof that I am straight and there are indeed boys I do like.

Nicely drawn wind; a fair test of the artist's pen is to see how well she draws something that's invisible.

I'm amazed that someone drew him. Hurrah! Very nicely not bishonnen; stalwart, direct, and not liable to be snapped like a twig. He's not at all unpleasant on the eyes, either. Hm. Mm. *contemplate.* I need to form a Not Bishonnen webring.

It's art. Probably not what I ought to be looking at, but I'm impressed with the hand for some reason.

Galadriel and Celeborn looking 100% better than their movie counterparts.

I like Eomer in one of the other pictures, but We Don't Need To See That. Mwee. He eats silly bishonnen boys for breakfast.

That was a sucky episode of Warrior Challenge (Knights). I was disappointed; there wasn't anything I didn't know already and the info was fairly general. (Of course, there'll be stuff you don't know already because y'all aren't knight freaks, so you watch it still. It's on tomorrow at 11PM and Sunday at 2:30PM.) The contestants this time around lacked oomph. It's always best when you have US airmen... the British police are kind of boring. Can't blame them though; how rowdy can two people get? Romans was better, also, because they actually had a bunch of guys living in the barracks, cooking their own pork and lentils, washing their own dishes, bitching about their underwear and lack of socks and too-tight chainmail, brushing their teeth with Roman toothpaste ("Mmm... minty!"), scrubbing their own armor, laying the gatehouse siege smackdown on each other, charging in formation, harassing innocent civilians, going on long marches and hitting the bath house and tavern circuit like they were Roman soldiers. It was the Roman soldier reality show and reeked of Roman coolness.

With all due credit to the filmmakers, who tried to make the whole tourney thing look as dramatic as possible, Knights was just like.. Renfest on tape. But without the fire eaters, genial but potbellied old men in kilts, drunken fat goth chicks, over-exposed old women in crushed velvet, pasty teenagers in brass chainmail bikinis and people yelling "Huzzah!" every 15 seconds. Granted it had its moments (armored knights doing pushups and jumping jacks to the theme from "Rocky," ... knight-tipping... , "I need my inhaler..") but for the most part, it just did not reek of knightly coolness.

I thought I was screwed for the history exam, but then Cathy told me Turkey counts as a middle eastern country as well as a European country, and Malex told me the Armenians are technically a religious group since the people oppressed are Armenian Christians. If I'm vague enough I just might get away with grouping them as an Oppressed Religious Minority, like the Jews. Either, way, it's over with and I don't care.

Christine has kindly offered me a ticket for graduation, so I no longer need extra.

Remember to watch Warrior Challenge, a tv show wherein a bunch of modern people live and train as ancient warriors. It's very cool. The Gladiators and Romans episodes are over, though Romans gave me a good bit of entertainment. My mom was like, "what?" since I was beaming/ laughing my ass off the whole time while watching it. (*holding up a sponge on a stick* "This is a sponge-ium. There's one for the eight of you." "What's it for?" "It's for the latrine, you know... to wipe your .. *demonstration* ... like that. There's only one, so you have to clean it off real well after you're done with it. There's a stream of water that runs through the latrine you can dip it in." *laughter* "Do we have to use that?" "Of course." "See, this is why the Roman Empire died!") The sponge-ium is later found used as a loofah to scour dishes and clean armor.. XD

But you can still catch the Knights and the Vikings eps.

Warrior Challenge broadcasts coming soon:

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Knights - May 13, 9:00PM
Knights - May 14, 11:00PM
Knights - May 18, 2:30PM
Vikings - May 20, 9:00PM
Vikings - May 21, 11:00PM
Vikings - May 25, 2:00PM

You're watching PBS on WETA TV 26 / 90.9 FM.

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For those of you not checking your calendars, the most convenient times for you are probably the episodes that show on Sundays at 2:30 or 2:00.

AVE, mighty SPONGE-IUM!

Went to Monkey Mall (Montgomery, to be correct, I guess. Westfield Shopping Town if you want to be even more correct). With Sharon C, Nick B, Nick S and Allison. It was fun, though mostly wandering around and window shopping than actually going into stores. I was mostly broke so I didn't complain. Sharon and Allison helped Sharon try on various red necklaces to match her red prom dress. Nick and Nick stood around nonchalantly telling her, yes, it looks wonderful, that one looks good, very nice, very nice, alternating with being indifferently casual to the spectacle of girly jewelthings. She finally bought one, but not one that Nick or Nick had seen on her. Which may have been wise, considering their fashion senses.

We (the girls, ahem) went to some department store and tried on prom dresses. Sharon's was incredibly trashy, but in an amusing way. It made her feel better that her real dress was so much better than that. Allison looked nice. I looked poofy. We went away from the department store to look at erotica. We did, and were amused.

Sharon dropped us off at the Bethesda metro station. Nick S peeled off from the crowd to take a bus; me and Nick B and Allison sang Hello Dolly and Damn Yankees songs on the hexagonal tiles under the vaulted ceiling. It had good acoustics and we echoed. People stared at us, and I liked it.

It wasn't my usual social circle, so I didn't really.. talk... Nick S was incredibly witty, which was a riot, but it also left me feeling upstaged. I had a good time though, putting on the act of being a normal bourgeois teenager, and it's what I mean when I said in yesterday's post that I'll settle for, if not best friends, then people I can get along with some of the time.

I am going off for my first foil fencing lesson now. Should be interesting.

Me, about the "Unsolved Mystery" episode on the Discovery Channel about the Who Killed the Red Baron, in which there are numberous gunfire sound effects, followed by gratuitous *splat splat* sound effects:

Me: I feel sorry for him.

My mom: He killed many people.

Me: I feel sorry for him anyway. And everyone he killed. I feel sorry for them all.

Her: Well, war is horrible.

Me: It must be bad to die being shot down in a plane.

Her: Planes did fly very low in the early days. I remember seeing them.

Me: You did?

Her: I saw the Japanese.

Me: You weren't even born then.
(my mom was born in 1946)

Her: (after some mental math) They must have been Guomingdang planes then.

Me: Where were you?

Her: Sam Yuen Gong.

Me: Where's that?

Her: In Guangzhou. It's a shrine where we went to worship, where we visited my (insert random convoluted Chinese title for a female relative here). I was with Grandma and Aunt- it must have been 1949 because that was when Aunt was born and she was a baby. I remember hearing the [air raid] siren like weeoooOOOO.. and Grandma picked me up and (random convoluted Chinese title for a female relative) picked up Aunt and ran to the bomb shelter.

[usually the rendition of this story involves my mom acting as my grandmother saying to the female relative, "Take the baby!"]

Me: Could you hear the planes? Like the engines?

Her: Yes.

Me: They flew low? What did you see? Were they fighting?

Her: No, they were flying to Taiwan.

Me: What for?

Her: They were fleeing the Communists.

Me: The Guomingtang and the Communists had planes? I thought they were all peasants.

Her: It's 1949, there's no reason they wouldn't have had them.

Me: I didn't know they had heavy industry.. the metal plants.. airplane factories... (*digging myself into deeper, historically ignorant hole*)... I guess so, I never thought about it. What about the communists encouraging people to make iron in their backyards?

Her: That was later on, and I think they did that to keep the people poor so they could be manipulated.

Me: What else did you see?

Her: I was very little! Only three. I don't remember any more.

Me: ... Would you have known the planes weren't Japanese if I hadn't told you?

Her: I had thought they were Japanese.

Me: 1949 is when Mao made China a Communist nation....

Her: Yes, for the Communists to be as far south as Guangzhou must have meant it was pretty late in the [Chinese Civil] War.

Me: The Communists were there?

Her: The Guomingdang were retreating from them to Taiwan; they blew up a bridge on their way...

Me: .. to keep the Communists from following.

Her: Right. They killed a lot of people too though. Because of boats under the bridge and people on the bridge and bombs then weren't so precise.

Me: Shouldn't they have cleared the bridge before blowing it up?

Her: How? No one had a radio then..

Me: (thought:... with a megaphone..) Oh! They were bombing it with planes?

Her: Yes, what did you think?

Me: I thought they'd rigged dynamite.

Her: You see why the Guomingdang are still so angry at the Communists, Chiang Kai-Shek and all the rest.

Me: And the Taiwanese must be angry at the Guomingdang for randomly invading their island.

Her: Yes, the Formosans.

Me: And the Communists don't like the Nationalists and the Nationalists don't like the Communists and the Taiwanese like neither of them.. Did you still write to your "Soviet Brothers"? [pen pals in USSR's Red Army]

Her: Of course.

Me: Did they write back?

Her: Yes, in Chinese.

Me: Your "Soviet Brothers" could write Chinese?

Her: No, but the letters were translated from Russian.

Me: How do you know they were translated correctly?

Her: I don't. I believed them as a child though.

Me: What sort of things did they say?

Her: I don't know... maybe "Dear Children: Thank you for your letters. Obey Mao Zedong and stay in school."

Me: That doesn't sound a lot like Soviet soldiers.

Her: They were very bureaucratic sounding letters. You know how they are. They all sound the same.

Me: That's very funny... "Obey Mao Zedong and stay in school." Sounds like the Red Guard.

Her: Yes, with their Little Red Books... I used to have one, but it was in English. I bought it for an English-speaking friend in Hong Kong.

Me: Were you in the Red Guard?

Her: No, Communism wasn't so powerful in Hong Kong.

Me: Why were you in Hong Kong? For university?

Her: No, my family was in Hong Kong.

Me: Why'd the family move?

Her: Because Grandpa moved.

Me: Why'd he move? Business?

Her: No, because the Communists were harassing him.

Me: "Harassing"?

Her: They'd make him get up on a stage, or send him to detention camps.

Me: On a stage?

Her: They'd have him kneel down and a bunch of people yell insulting things and accusations at him.

Me: Accusations? Of what?

Her: Of nothing, just for being a businessman.

Me: For being rich?

Her: We weren't rich... our house was only one story. We weren't like some of those landowners..

Me: I know, it's just that the Communists will say everybody's rich just to attack them. What's a detention center?

Her: It's just a place they put him, like a prison. You'd live in a room with a bunch of people. Sometimes they wouldn't give you food or water.

Me: Did Grandpa fight the Japanese?

Her: No, he was captured by them.

Me: He was captured by the Communists too. He seems to have a tendency towards getting captured.

Me: They let him go after a short time without doing anything. The Japanese weren't that bad in Guangzhou. They did the worst in Namking...

Me: A Mandarin classmate [this would be Xu] always tells me.

Her: The Japanese raped many women. They'd blacken their faces out of shame.

Me: He [Xu] really vents about the Japanese.

Her: Well a lot of people don't like the Japanese- when we were young, we refused to buy anything from Japan, but as Japan got more successful, we had to. Especially electronics. We tried not to; we bought from Germany instead.

(pause)

Me: Germany.

Her: Yes.

Me: A strange second choice.

Her: They were the only other people making electronics.

Me: From an American standpoint, it'd be more logical nationalistically to buy from Japan and avoid Germany.

Her: (finally getting it) Over here people might think that way. But in China, we hadn't been fighting Germany.

Me: That makes them so much less evil.

Something I posted on a message board in response to someone longing for childhood and feeling his life was slipping away:

----
May 8, 2003:

I had a better imagination in childhood, because I didn't know what was impossible, I didn't know that my ideas were already thought up a million times by other people (they were fresh to me), and I think my emotions were more pure, if you know what I mean. When I was happy, I was never like, "am I happy now? is this the best I'll ever feel? should I cherish this?" which is I find myself doing of late. But I remember, in fifth grade, reading Calvin and Hobbes and laughing with Bill Watterson, who spoke in Calvin's voice, about how adults found childhood to be such an idyllic bliss, because I was living it then, and I remember that I thought it really wasn't all that great. And I wondered, while I was reading that comic strip, if I'd grow up to remember childhood as this magical experience. But of course I do, in spite of myself.

I also make myself remember why it wasn't so great. I was lonely sometimes. I didn't really have friends; except that I really wished sometimes I had someone to play with, that I could just for once be the trendsetter and not the trendtaker and be adored, that I could run around with other kids on their level and not be tired, I really didn't notice it until middle school where these things amplify themselves. And I was sick to death of being looked down upon and not having any power to make my own choices.

I find it the reverse of Sparky's [someone who'd commented on how his friends seemed to grow more superficial in secondary school] experience.. I have real friends now. When I was little (elementary school) it was kind of idiotic. Yes, I had playmates, yeah, I was probably happier with them in terms of having fun, but it's only in these last few years when I've spent a long time knowing someone that I can really talk to them. And you discover, even when you're not talking to them, that they're going through the same things you are, and that even people you don't know that well are going through the exact same things. I've given up on this kind of "best friend for life" type thing I used to be enamored with (I was lonely in middle school.. Comradeship used to be a sacred, but unknown ideal to me, like Marriage and Motherhood.) ... relationships fall apart if they aren't maintained. Which means talking to people every day, seeing how they are, having fun with them. And if you stop hanging out with people one day you'll find that you're not really friends anymore because they've changed so much and spend all their time with other people, and when you try to talk you can't, and that's just how it is, and it's not necessarily a sad thing, though it often is sad. And sometimes random strangers can show amazing insight. And the best I can hope for now is having not this big Friends Forever thing I longed for when I was lonely, but just having people I can get along with some of the time.

Maybe I'm just bitter because I'm going off to college next year and four years of work (socially) will be undone and I'm starting all over again and leaving everyone. But I remember leaving middle school and, in contrast, not caring one bit about my "friends": perhaps feeling a sense of loss means that I should appreciate that I've had something to lose.

In general, losing your childhood means losing your ideals. As a kid, everything ahead was always a great adventure: something new and better around the corner, but now the realization comes to me that life will continue as it always has, the daily grind, that there will be no knight, no prince, no doorways and wardrobes opening to other worlds, no long lost islands under waterfalls, no Dream Job, no Dream Marriage, no One Great Family That's Loving All The Time, nothing will whisk me off my feet and with each new phase will be new problems. This is depressing to know sometimes, but then comforting to know that little bits of joy are interspersed with my life like little bits of sorrow.... I don't have to wait around for some Great Big Epiphany to happen in ten years when there's the spring sun or spring rain and fresh cut grass and shady trees outside my door. My life isn't supernatural, but rather ordinary.. and sometimes that's a good thing.
----

Has anyone got any additional tickets for graduation they could give me? I need one more. Two would be nice.

Now it is time for:

Strange LotR inspired shit!

Galadriel's Brooch! I am jumping up and down with girlish glee!

LotR Risk! .. for Malex.

Frodo Plush! If only it weren't so disturbing looking I'd buy it...

The TTT Action Figure Storybook! Like Jen's link to Lord of the Rings retold with Legos.. except this time with action figures. It's surprisingly cinematic.

Noam Chomsky's (Fake) Audio Commentary for the Fellowship DVD! "The dwarves are a Jew-like figure..." This is effin' hilarious!

Reenactment of the Battle of Helm's Deep at Castle Bardi in Italy! Dammit! How come the Italians always have to look so good! For one thing, when they LARP, they don't look like total losers!

You're the psychotic grin, and no one can quite tell
if you're insane or just really hyper. You scare
people, and I mean scare them a lot. Kati'd be
friends with you though. You two could have
sleepovers together and make pasta at 4 am.


What Kind of Smile are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Dark Platypus Studios

I have no idea what this is. Chintzy fantasy art, I suppose. The name is funny though. Also, since it's one of Quizilla's sponsors and I've been partaking of mad Quizilla joy for the last hour or so, I might as well linky.

Your Heart is Yellow


What Color is Your Heart?
brought to you by Quizilla

Yup. I'm a true China heart. HEY! Was that last bit a racial slur?

I've been chewing on Atkins Advantage bars. They taste like cardboard and leave a Diet Pepsi type aftertaste.

Mmm. Cardboard. *chewchewchew* I suppose you can get used to it though.

Slim Fast bars are richer and creamier, but on the downside, hard as bricks. You could kill someone with those things.

I should start up a Diet Gourmet Snack Food Magazine. You'd have luscious photos of Nutrigrain bars artfully adorned by golden lemon coins and sprigs of parsley.

You Have the Power of Teleportation!


What's Your Magic Power?
brought to you by Quizilla

I hope that as a teleportee that I don't have to travel through wormholes of that ghastly wavey green-black color though. My world is not a peppermint patty for a reason.

Nice quiz. Dumb images. I think I should start an Online Quiz Review, where judges rate online quizzes for their accuracy, cleverness, and aesthetic values. God knows it's about time online quizzes got a Snobby Literary Elite.

The Fake Senior Banquet on Saturday was pleasant, though the seating arrangements were convoluted. There were so many people we dominated one long table and a round table at the end, like an exclamation mark squished together. This made it so that people sitting at one end couldn't talk to people at the other. I had got there late and so had been relegated to the round table, but I bailed out on Malex and Ruchita and Silvia (and James) and other latecomers at the roundtable by switching places with Sarah Gordon who had been sitting in a fairly central position at the longtable. I hope the roundtable people didn't feel too abandoned in the periphery. In any case, though I can't speak for other people, I had a good time, talking with Rob, Cathy, Jen, Elissa and Carmel. Apparently, she's this mysterious Melly character I keep seeing around blogs! Man.. I shoulda won the Washington Post Award for Most Oblivious.

Jen: What's this for?

Teehee. I won for Most Easily Amused though.

Went to Ben and Jerry's afterward. Nick got Rob to sit on his lap, and put his hands around his waist. Rob looked rather shocked and uncomfortable, before bolting. I think this kind of destroyed his "we naive Southerners" defense he was using to shield himself against all the Carmeltalk. ("Can I have your cherry?" She won for Most Likely To End Up In Somebody's Lap). And after Rob had won the Victorian Sex Award too.

Malex: Rob, honey, I'm always open!

On another note, I think the "we naive Southerners" defense is a really lame reason for not knowing how to use chopsticks. I'm finding that I don't really like the food at Tara Asia (a lot better food could be found for $15) but it wasn't bad, just unspectacular, or maybe I just don't know what to order.

Went to the Archaeology dig, which was blessed by beautiful weather despite forecasts of rain. Wholesome air and greenery everywhere and Amish people who come down from Lancaster to sell their woodwork and stay for a week (a woman at the dig said that though they aren't allowed to own them, they can hitch rides from trucks driven by other people). I want to move to Clarksburg, with its population of.. oh.. 1,800. My mom thinks I'm crazy. Talked a lot to Mary, mostly about mages and lycanthropes, got dirty, were interviewed and photographed by people from the Gazette (who probably thought we were nuts- the whole lycanthrope thing, probably), and had a lot of fun. I was proud of our pit. I actually got the walls to look relatively straight. We found plate glass, green glassware, creamware, blessedly few nails (all of the square variety, just for your information), and massive bricks at least the size of your fist. Some people sent over from MK.. er.. MC... unearthed a brick and joked that you could see the imprint of Rodney King's head in it. On a totally random note, one of the MK people is one of Mary's mom's students. They found a random metal farming implement too, like a plow or something. I found a very tiny shard of blue-glazed ceramic, and also The World's Biggest Earthworm. (Dear God.)

Mr. Hines did a French and Indian War musket demostration and I screamed like a little girl when the thing shot. It sounds more like a loud clap than a bang (I didn't hear the 'whoosh-bang' sound he was talking about). I guess I've never heard a gun being fired up front before. We (me and Mary) went back to Needwood Mansion in the back of a station wagon sitting on the toolboxes with the musket wrapped up in cloth slanted over the back seats, with the back door up and my feet sticking out of the back of the car, and we could see the road stream away from under us.

After the IB English exam, tossed a frisbee around with Malex, got prom tickets for me and Rob. Puffy is going to prom with Karina despite thinking himself not cool enough for her when she asked him. (RM is so Sadie Hawkins it's ridiculous). Also he found it exceptionally funny for some reason that I was going to prom with Rob. Then went to Potbelly's with Malex and Nick for a "manly lunch." (Heehee, whatever.) We were foiled by Ruchita, Ranwa, and Sarah, who were there. Nick set up Sarah with Kevin Robinson as prom dates though they don't know each other, and Malex and Ruchita gushed how perfect it was. I couldn't really appreciate the perfectness of the match since I don't know Kevin all that well, but people were happy all around and it was good. Afterwards, we went to Regal to see "Bend it like Beckham" at 12:50, (without Sarah and Ranwa) and were met up with by Lizzie, Dena and Andrew. We dominated the theater.. it was just us and a bunch of retirees. ^__^ I love being "truant." In the movie, lots of "walking in at an inconvenient time" humor. It was kind of goofy and funny when it wasn't supposed to be. Like those pretentiously silly glamor shots of Joe looking pretty. And the dramatic slow-mo goal kicking shots. And Tony coming out of the closet by saying, "I really like Beckham" (does anybody do this??). And the fact that Jess and Jules are in such deep awe of Mia Hamm. (It was like: "Oh my GOD! Mia HAMM!... *starry-eyed* We should be just like her and play football in AMERICA!" Yes. Because we all know that the US is some kind of exotic and glamourous soccer Mecca. Andrew said that Mia Hamm actually is a big deal. I think I just take her for granted because she's on the local team. It kind of feels like, gee, if I wanted to watch her play, I can go out to my backyard. Actually, the fact that she's the only soccer player besides Beckham that brings any recognition by name and puts any sort of dent in my sports-indifferent consciousness shows that she probably is very very big.) And Jess admitting her deepest darkest secrets to her David Beckham poster. Yes! David Beckham is God! I expected to see him come to life off the poster and begin walking on water or crying blood or something. XD

Loved the music though.

I still think "Bend It" sounds obscene.

It was so very nice to have so much time... at the end of the movie I was like.. wow! It's only three!

Malex drove Andrew home and then me. Andrew has a very nice neighborhood, which is ridiculously close to Frost Middle. He is considering taking fencing classes there. I hope he does. I am taking the same class, on Fridays, starting from May 9th, but at the Bauer Drive Community Center. Anyhow, me and Malex were envious of Andrew's neighborhood's hillyness. I loved his lawn. Such a nice lawn. Andrew was cranky about the amount of time he spends maintaining it. But I think he's as much rewarded as one can be by a great lawn. Maybe he takes it for granted because he lives there. (Er... in the house there. Not literally on the lawn.. in a cardboard box.. though I would do it.) But honestly, Andrew, your lawn kicks major ass and I can't compliment you enough on it. It is so frikkin' cool. I told Malex that I liked Andrew's bushes.

Malex: Andrew has a really nice bush.

>_< ALEX!!!!!!!

Anyhow.

As opposed to my own lawn where I was pooed on by a bird.

Me: Oh shit! Literally!

That was a first.

But otherwise, a nice day.

VortexMR: if only their was a pause button on death
SFX 87: indeed.
VortexMR: we could PAUSE HIM!
SFX 87: I think we should freeze death in a large ice cube.
VortexMR: not just any ice cube
VortexMR: an ice scream cube
SFX 87: no, it must be an ice cube
SFX 87: because it should be transparent
VortexMR: ice cream can be transparent
VortexMR: or plastic!
VortexMR: and it doesn't melt easy
SFX 87: a large bubble
VortexMR: YES! so he leaps about scereaming
VortexMR: and you laugh
SFX 87: a giant soap bubble
VortexMR: maybe we should be less sadistic
VortexMR: OH BRILLIANT!
VortexMR: so he can float around!
VortexMR: but what if it pops?
SFX 87: then we can freeze him! In a cube!
VortexMR: right!
VortexMR: your brilliant
SFX 87: thanks!
VortexMR: i mean wow
VortexMR: taht's like... god
SFX 87: except not.
SFX 87: God comes in popsicles.
SFX 87: Godsicles!
VortexMR: .... hmmmm
SFX 87: It's like grape-flavored communion godsicles.
VortexMR: i can't eat that
VortexMR: i would emplode~
SFX 87: you can imbibe the blood of christ in all its fruity godness. Er... goodness. Fitting typo though.
VortexMR: i think godness is better
VortexMR: they should serve godsicles at church
SFX 87: it is indeed.
SFX 87: Also, toasted communion wafers.

I'm being blasphemous today.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Third Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Moderate
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Very High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Low
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

Hurray for Gluttony. I'm actually not that treacherous, IMHO. I just don't have a really great.. Friend-Radar... You know. One of those devices that endow their owners with the quality of knowing Exactly What to Do and Exactly What to Say. My total lack of Friend-Radar makes me awkward around people who are in shitty positions, (like people who randomly start crying) so that my instincts lean more towards getting the hell out of there than actually helping/comforting anyone. This same awkwardness means also that I'd rather discreetly avoid family members I don't get along with than stay around and act painfully Nice- and if I had a major falling out with them I doubt I'd even consider keeping them deeply involved in my life. (They don't like me and I don't like them and it's not like they're missing much.) But anyhow, so much for sticking to people through thick and thin, eh? Rest assured though, I've never gone about actively backstabbing people.... or so I'd like you to think. MWAHAHAHA! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Do I have a moral obligation to remove skinhead music from my computer if I have no idea what the lyrics mean? From a practical standpoint, I ought to find out what the lyrics mean, if only to prevent myself from singing along and humming and tapping my toes to what could turn out to be the German equivalent of 'zeig heil zeig heil let's kill all the jews hurrah hurrah.' More abstractly, I have a moral responsibility to know what I'm listening to, since indirectly the products I consume are the product I endorse, even if I paid no money for this mp3. I have been trawling Google for an English translation of the lyrics to no avail, but have found out enough about the type of people who like this band to be pretty sure that if I were to figure out what these lyrics mean, I would not like this song at all.

Strange that it's not a particularly angry song. It sounds sad, like dying flowers maybe... my kingdom for the meaning of the words. And yet.. perhaps not. What would I do then, if they turned out to be ugly bruising words and rob a song of beauty? (like ripping through a butterfly's wings it'd seem a sin)

Sturmwehr, why do you sing so beautifully, and yet are what you are and do what you do? How are you so capable of beauty?

Am going to prom with Rob out of expediency. He's in Dena's Massive Group now. It should be fun.

Ah yes.. going on a "date" to save 2.5 dollars. ^__^

German S&M Pong: Der Painstation. No, I am not making this up.

Speaking of amusing forms of pain: have found Xu's blog. Via him creating such a buzz in bloggerland, of course. Yes, he does have talent, for all his bad grammar. I'm surprised and impressed.

Was v. annoyed all afternoon that Jen already has dibs on Malex for prom, since he has been my Boy Next Door for the last, oh, four years. I am fatter but Jen is shorter but neither of us have acne; which one of us has better hair depends on what type of hair Malex likes; but I also have a more unpleasant personality; but Jen asked him first except I faintly remember asking him when we saw Chicago or something but he said no, I wonder why. All of which is an atrocious way to think but that's how I was amusing myself for an hour in the afternoon after missing the bus. I may need to grow out my hair for my dress since short hair looks bad with it. Yet another unknown variable. I was also hoping that if Malex wouldn't go with me I could go with Jen in a girly group of Bitter Singles ala Sarah G, but with Malex and Jen going with each other that's two birds in one stone, except those were my birds, dammit. Who will I go with? Is it a Social Requirement to go with a boy to prom? I remember talking to an adult somewhere about it. My mom remembers it being Irene, Sharon's friend (neither Sharon W, the Sophomore, nor Sharon C, the Sharon, but Sharon H, a lady friend of my father's social circle). She asked me if I knew my prom date yet as smalltalk and when I said no I was going in a group she gave me this weird look of horror and pity and asked, "Why?" Going to prom in a big non-datey group of friends had not at the time seemed unusual to me at all, but now I'm getting Anxiety that going to prom with a guy is this Fixture (like lighting, electricity, heat, and plumbing) of American Culture, which Malex seemed to affirm when he said he was going with Jen as a non-datey type date because it was Custom. Coupled (ha) by the fact that they're already selling Tickets for Two now so I need to figure this out now. Julia and Hershel and Francie and Vanessa in Stat were discussing logistics like a war campaign and I could not concentrate ("Seven Seas?" "No, but Kit doesn't like Chinese food." "She's only one person in a group..." and so on and so forth). How will I get transporation? What if I get lonely and everyone ignores me because they're all focused on their Dates? Is there a girly group of Singles going that all does makeup and hair together? There should be, being that IB girls are massively outnumbered. Do Ruchita, Ranwa, Sarah, Silvia, Cathy, and Lianna have dates (because surely Dena and Sharon C and Milla and Lizzie do so surely Hank and Seth and Ed and Nick are taken)? Are they even going? Who could I ask? Rob.. eh.. *imagining Rob in a tuxedo*...no.. Matt G.. but he doesn't like social occassions or loud music and is clinically insane and I'm sure wouldn't like being dragged around in a tux... Michael B but we have nothing to talk about... Andrew P.. ha... no.... Andrew D.. eh.. nice boy, yes, prom boy, no... Gordon Y.. haha, no... Humza... he's nice but I don't know him that well and he's a sophomore... Puffy.. I don't know well at all. Anxiety.

But then I read from Malex's blog that Dena is organizing a Group Thing, so all is relatively well. I shall tell her tomorrow that I am Interested.

You are Pope Pius XII. You're efficient and
dedicated, but not very approachable.


Which Twentieth Century Pope Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

You can tell how familiar I am with people by whether I use their last name in our fake senior superlatives and in my blog. Not something I do on purpose but just something I've noticed. Lara S is always "Lara S" even though there's really only one Lara of any significance at our school. (No, who do you think I mean, Lara Croft?) But I use her last name nonetheless. Andrew is very often "Andrew P" when I talk to people who don't know him that well but just "Andrew" with everyone else. "Alex" is always reserved for reference to Malex, while Valex must be content with always getting the V header. Rachel was called "Rachel M" in my earlier blog posts when I didn't know her all that well, and I still address her as "Rachel M" when I'm just mentioning her casually. "Sharon" is nearly always a reference to the sophomore, not Sharon C, which probably confuses people because the latter is the Sharon everybody knows. Puffy is always Puffy but I've noticed that people actually call him "David B" using first and last name which I found sounds weird to me now. Anika and Carmel, though I don't know them that well, are still just Anika and Carmel, but this is simply because there's no one else named Anika and Carmel and you all blog readers know very well who they are (more so than I) and refer to them in a similar fashion. Mike was "Michael B" when I first saw him again at the Eastern Reunion Party (I had to endure being called "Angie C" there in a similar fashion) but is now just "Mike." Nick is a common name, and sometimes called "Boe--" for convenience, most often in conversation with Alex, but he's most often just "Nick." Matt G, I used to call "Bob" in middle school but with less familiarity it's reverted to "Matthew G" again. My sisters and brothers-in-law used to be referred to as "my oldest sister" or "my younger sister" or "my oldest sister's husband" but are now referred to by name, the fact that readers don't know who I'm talking about be damned.

What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word... but you know the rest.

Went to Churchill's show, "Present Laughter," on Saturday night since Mike, who as it turns out is in the Thespian Society, is in it. I haven't been to Churchill since before it was renovated, so it was quite a shock to see it again. It has a real theater, for one thing, with seats complete with little brass plates on them, and your tickets have the row and number of your seat. It was sort of amusing having assigned seating, seeing as there was an extremely preppy audience of maybe forty people and maybe fifteen people on cast and crew altogether. (I'm sure we're just as white and middle class and preppy but we just don't notice) So the audience was rather frigid: Mike said later that it was their best audience yet. People really must go to Churchill plays if only for pity's sake; their tiny audience is just pathetic, which is a shame because the play was actually quite good. I thought the atmosphere in general was colder than RM's productions (though maybe it's because I didn't know anyone except Mike)... from them having such a professional looking theater and assigned seating for an audience that scarcely fills the first few rows, to the fact that you can't go onstage after the show and the actors don't come out. You wait by a windowed door leading from a hallway outside the auditorium for your friends to emerge after changing and washing off makeup and whatnot. There were a bunch of Churchillites bearing flowers and hugging people who emerged, looking happy, dazed and faintly exhausted. It's a good deal like waiting at an airport. But the show was great, once you get over American high school students trying for British accents. Either they got better further into the play once they warmed up or I just got used to it. Great acting, great comic timing, and it was the funniest thing I've seen in a long time. I wish people would write plays like that nowadays.. not this reality tv trash. You know the English can write... they've had the language for 1000 years, of course they know how to use it by now.

I'm not sure if I blogged about Hello Dolly. I saw the second show two weeks ago, so I'm not like everyone else in their belated Dolly blogging. It was good, possessing a quality commonly known as "razzle-dazzle" (aren't I quotalicious today?). Yah. Lara Supan stole the show (she's spectacular), Nick got seduced, even if he can't sing... good stuff. I should also note, with kudos to Lianna and Vanessa Gonzalez and Xiaofei and Gordon and Meg, that the set rocked, especially with the backdrop painted from one of those early 20th century photographs. I wish I were more emotional about it being our last production, but I'm not. Oh well. We did a damn fine job, which is as much as can be expected of anyone.

Am not going to Hong Kong this summer because of that silly "SARS" thing. Will go next year over winter break. Am happy with this because I want to hang out with people over the summer since this is our last year together, it delays me from seeing my dysfunctional family, and because I can escape the tropical heat of a Hong Kong summer and freezing North American winters.

I should note that Michael B has truckloads of confidence now. He shakes your hand firmly and looks you in the eye and speaks in an assertive tone of voice, and when he's talking to you, you really feel like he's talking to you. Though he's always been professional, he's grown up, I think. He'll make a fine journalist one day.

Francie's Eastern Reunion Party was great. I thought it would be totally awkward talking to people I hadn't seen in four years and weren't really close to in the first place, but it was just really good to see people, even people you didn't know all that well. There weren't any social groups after four years, so I'd find myself talking to and laughing with and hugging the strangest people without any strain or awkwardness, because none of the 8th grade social strata really matters worth a damn anymore, and I've honestly never found making conversation so effortless, not even with people I hang out with every day. You know how a lot of times talking to people makes you feel small or irrelevent but it wasn't like that. I've never been so un-self conscious.

Of course, no one recognized anyone and had hard times finding things to talk about but everyone was on the same level and knew it and didn't care.

Hey, Angie C! I remember you! How's it goin'?

Good, good.

How's high school?/ Where do you go to school?

Blah blah.

Where are you going to college?

Blah blah.

Great! What are you planning to study?

Blah.

Cool!

And it wasn't really stupid awkward small talk where you try to think of something better to say, because you'd be genuinely interested in how people were, and glad for them. And if you didn't have anything further to say, you as much mutually said "Have a nice life, I'm happy for you" though not in those words and moved off and went on with it, and that was that, no weirdness or emotional fissures. There was closure, I guess. It was all like that. It didn't matter what anyone said so much as being enveloped in an atmosphere of openness and goodwill, and laughter and memories and thunderous applause. We saw the Eastern video and saw how much we'd grown and recognized what a foul pit of stinking hell middle school was and what brats we all were, but affectionately, and cheered for what we'd all gone through. And no matter who you were, (that boy who I/you/we never talked to, that girl who picked on me/you/us) the commonality of experience and acknowledgement of bygones as bygones and all our changes brought us all together.

The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.

Amen.

At Archaeology, the pizza inspired me. I thought, wouldn't it be cool to have a spherical pizza???? You could have a crust on the outside and cheese and toppings on the inside, though of course since they'd no longer be on top but inside, they wouldn't be toppings, they'd be innings. And it'd be big, and you could slice it open like a watermelon, so it'd be like multiple circular slices of pizza, just like a normal pizza except that orginally, it was a sphere! Except the heel of the sphere, like the heel of a loaf of bread, would be shaped like a shallow bowl. And maybe even you could decorate the crust and cut it open partially and market it as the official Pacman fast food. The only problem would be, because it's melted cheese, once you cut the spherical pizza into slices, all the cheese would fall out leaving you with a ring of crust unless you had very solid cheese, like the cheese in a cheese wheel or cold cheese, but that'd be nasty. Rachel suggested a hollow sphere with cheese coating on the inside but then wouldn't all the cheese fall to the bottom? Mary suggested a spherical pizza with an anti-gravitational field generator inside of it and thought it was a good idea for an RPG, but I wasn't talking about RPGs. I asked Andrew if he'd buy my spherical pizza and he asked how much and I said I don't know, how much would he be willing to pay for it? and he said I should figure it out before I started selling. I asked Rob if he'd buy my spherical pizza and he said no and I accused him of quashing my entrepreneurial spirit and he just laughed at me because I couldn't pronounce "entrepreneurial," and he unlike me could pronounce French words and I was annoyed with the French. Rob said that supply doesn't create its own demand and I said but if something doesn't exist yet how can there be a latent demand for it? and he said that even though there isn't a demand for it specifically there's a demand for the services it would provide and I said I'm sure there's a demand for the services a spherical pizza would provide and he said like what? food? and I said I dunno. But I'm sure people would buy it because as Rachel said, people will eat anything and people will buy anything and she was sure in those two groups that there'd be some overlap. I asked Mr. Thomas, who'd come in for the real pizza, if he would buy my spherical pizza and he said he would if it tasted as good as regular pizza and Rachel said Mr. Thomas would eat anything and I agreed with her, but not out loud. But Rob thought a spherical pizza would be prohibitively expensive to make and I agreed with him because you can't after all deliver a spherical pizza in those nice flat boxes or sell frozen spherical pizzas to stick in the fridge because they are in general very space inefficient, so you'd have to make them at restaurants, though Rachel suggested little ball pizzas. But little ball pizzas aren't as cool as giant spherical pizzas, no? And you could make large spherical pizzas like cotton candy to get a bigger and bigger cheese ball by rolling it in a giant vat with cheese covering the walls, or you could have cheese being painted on layer by layer with a brush as the cheese ball revolved mechanically. Or, I said, you could have instead of a spherical crust filled with cheese on the inside you could have a giant crust ball covered with cheese. Basically you'd make a dough ball and dip it in tomato sauce (if you're not having white pizza) and then sprinkle cheese on and then bake it. Though the problem with a large pizza like that is that the cheese might fall off once it's all melty. And also it'd be hard to get the center of the crust ball all baked. Though maybe you could actually take a large meatball, cover that with crust, then cover that with sauce, then cover that with cheese and toppings, see? But Rachel said what about the vegetarians? and I said instead of a large meatball you take a sphere of cheese, cover that with crust, cover that with sauce, then cover that with more cheese, see? But she found it to be dubious. I said what about a Pizza Dog, like a corn dog? Pizza on a stick? It'd be more cost effective to roll a pizza tube like cotton candy than a pizza sphere. But of course, unlike a corn dog there is no dog, unless it's sausage inside, but that's just gross. I asked Andrew, if I invented a pizza tube, or a pizza burrito, would he buy it? Cuz the cool thing about a pizza tube with the crust on the outside is that it's more portable and less messy so you can carry it around, and he said like a calzone and I said what? and he said a pizza folded over. I said: Oh. And left him alone.

I have re-discovered a passion for walking, which I suppose is much healthier than my winter passion for S&M and German men.

Walking makes me really really happy. It's so peaceful every day, I don't give a damn about anything, and for that hour and a half, I have everything in life I wish to have. Today, a boy on a bike, maybe around twelve years old, smiled so warmly at me as he went by that it was like the sun came out (I mean, the sun was already out but it was like a second sun came out), and later on, he was with a bunch of friends in the street laughing as they raced each other on bikes and scooters and on foot. And how can such exuberance help but be contagious? And the Good Humor truck came out, the epitome of childhood happiness, and the boy's friend on the bike rode after it, and life was good.

More offcolor comments in Econ:

Vick: Chinese are dirty!
Xu: You have the plague!

Today in Econ, when asked what our dream jobs would be:

Mr. Baron: What would you like to be?
Vick: A CEO.
Mr. Baron: Of what?
Vick: Of anything!
Xu: Kwiki-Mart!

Ah, racial stereotyping at its finest hour.

Still, it would be funny.. *imagines it now*

Indian dude: I work at Kwiki-Mart..
Random other people: Haha!
Indian dude:... as CEO!
Random other people: .. damn!
Indian dude: BOOya!

Also, apparently Kwiki-Mart makes more money than China. So really. Booya.

I had a dream last night that George (Dubya) Bush came and visited RM. He was greeted rather icily by anti-war people. Though I'm not Bush' greatest fan I was appalled by the lack of respect he was getting in general and I was trying to apologize to Bush about the behavior of the student body as I was walking beside him, when this one curly-haired boy came up and very rudely confronted him about the war in Iraq. I lost all control, got in the boy's face and screamed at him. Though I didn't say anything about it afterwards, I was very embarrassed about my own emotional outburst towards the boy. I found Bush honest, sincere, earnest, and amazingly easy to talk to, though he seemed preocccupied with other things and more profoundly sad than offended by the school's opinion of him, as if he were used to such things. He was very sad in general.

I don't know what this dream says about my subconscious and all that. Maybe I'm a closet Republican.

Look, I just hate the French because it's funny, and I resent it when people like this make it not funny anymore. Now it's for real and they've gone too far.

Dammit. Now I can no longer go on hating the French in peace and making fun of their silly accents and berets without being involved in this ugly, faddish sentiment, by Jingo. Ah, I long for the innocent and carefree days of Gallophobia...

There's no greater joy in the world than a good, long, two-hour walk with birdsong and tall trees. It was very strange.. I felt like I'd turn a corner and see something.. I don't know what, like some lost world I once belonged to, a place where I should be and half remembered.

Have linked to Harry's Blog. Harry, for those of you who don't know, is a guy I used to annoy in elementary and middle school. He currently goes to WJ where he, like Nick, lives for Drama. He shares his blog with a girl I don't know. It annoys me irrationally. There's not much to read, because, as you know, blogger's archiving is all screwy.

So coming back from a journey, or after an illness, before habits had spun themselves across the surface, one felt that same unreality, which was so startling; felt something emerge. Life was most vivid then.

I am happy now because there's not anywhere else in the world I'd rather be or anything else in the world I'd rather be doing. I spend most of my life either looking forward or backwards, but I've spent today all mellow and at peace waiting for something to happen.

I am painfully happy for the beauty of the world. I think heaven must be a sunny walk. Why does the world have to change? I must go on living (school, job, marriage, kids) to be happy, but I'm happy already, so why won't the world stay as it is, with the wind and shadows in the grass? It feels like the end of everything, though I know there are no beginnings and no ends, simply living on as one lived before, and the world continues as before.

Anyone can have ambitions, but being content is God's gift. Let me be content then, at least for a while.