Diction in Great Gatsby

"He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy, straw-haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two bright, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes hid the enormous power of that body- he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting where his shoulder moved under his coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage-"

Tell me that doesn't sound like it could be right out of Fool for Love or Much Ado About You or any of the other ridiculously cheesy romance novels I read. In face, I definitely remember at least one description about someone who was so aggressively masculine that he made his overly stylish clothes look good, but in an over-the-top, more mediaeval manner. It isn't until the last three words, "-a cruel body," that the whole thing gets subverted.

Granted, I mentioned none of that in class. You wouldn't have expected me to tell everyone about my secret love of bodice-rippers, would you? Instead, we went through the above paragraph and discussed the various harsh connotations of certain words. When we got to "hard" Ms. Seltzia informed us that we would bypass the sexual connotations for now. Krystal, who appears to lack the typical devices to restrain speech, waited two beats before announcing loudly "Oh my god, I hadn't thought of that AT ALL." The class, which had managed, until that point, to keep the snickers away, began laughing.

Amazing

is that a group of people in my science class (Ali, Gnatta, Christoph, Dino, Tybalt, and Sergio) were able to have a long discussion about shoe sizes (Dino, for any interested parties, had the largest) without devolving in the slightest bit to making size jokes. There weren't even any snickers and pointed glances. I'm somewhat shocked. I thought that other high schoolers spent as much time in the gutter as I do!

On a more serious note, we had a discussion about gender distribution during math today. For some reason, only one third of the B.C. calc classes are female. Why did this happen? Oh, fellow females, why have you abandoned me so? I think the whole "guys are better at math" thing is utterly bogus. Do guys really just care that much less about grades? Maybe they don't feel that constant need to prove themselves, to show the teacher and fellow students that they really deserve to be in the tough classes. Are girls just scared out of the big, bad, b.c.? It seems difficult to believe. And when, precisely, are we getting funneled into lower levels. It doesn't seem to be early on, so why such a skew at higher levels? I don't get it! Does it have to do with us just assuming that guys are smarter? I mean, look at Gretchie's and my valedictorian list. Sure, we managed eight guys on the last one, but that took a fair amount of manipulating on out part. The first people we thought of on our extended list were all male, and we had to talk ourselves into adding girls to the top spots on the final. And as far as reputations go, the smart people, when others are asked to name them, are Bryant, Tybalt, Livny, and Mario. Never mind that Julie took B.C. last year as well, or that I keep up with Tybalt just fine much of the time, or that Livny has an ego far larger than anything else of his (that was a size joke), or that Mario really isn't much of writer. It's always the guys who get listed! It's just so utterly infuriating!

End rant.

Hiding

from my family, burrowed away in my room, procrastinating.

What fun.

Speaking of fun, the pirate setting for language on facebook is cracking me up. A few other interesting tidbits.

My homework for English is Friday: Transfiguration due. Yes, Harry Potter is amazing. Aside from the epilogue, which was awful. I began to lose faith that epilogues are ever any good, but then I finished Croggon's The Singing this afternoon, and my faith was restored- best epilogue ever. It actually drew the story to a close, rather than introducing random children like the Deathly Hallows one did.

I feel as if I should share another story. I ought to be able to wring something more out of SHP... well, on second thought, perhaps not. Nothing really happened in class that was funny enough for me to remember it now, aside from me feeling vindicated when the slimy looking guy said he wanted to be a politician, a very fitting career for him. Also, the teacher met her husband over cow brains. After announcing this, her voice trailed off dreamily and she sighed "so romantic..."

Homework

is something that I really, really don't want to do. Instead, I am embarking on an epic MLIA reading spree. It's positively splendiferous.

Also, you know your friends are fabulous when Taylor Swift's You Belong With Me starts playing at the bowling alley, you acknowledge that none of you really like Taylor Swift, but all start singing along anyways. Loudly. Jack, who was at the next lane over, probably thinks that we are freaks. Oh well.

Tonight, I will spend a quiet evening at home with my boyfriend, a yellow 10-pound medium hole bowling ball. We're very close.

Orientation

for SHP (which is back on! Wooot!)

In the morning, Mom dropped me off at the station. I waited by myself for a while, pacing in figure eights (or infinity signs) primarily out of boredom. Then, I looked over towards the station. I wasn't wearing my glasses, so everything looked a bit blurry, but I saw someone who looked a lot like Cormac. I tilted my head sideways and squinted, trying to decide if it was him or not. He turned his head sideways to imitate me, so I figured it must be him and said hello. It turns out he's taking a theater class on Saturdays until January, so he'll be on the train most mornings, which is most definitely good news. It's amazing how much faster the rides feel when you're talking to somebody.

I took a cab by myself from the station, since Archie and Helga had taken the earlier train for fear of being late. I was still early, though, so I went and got a delicious cranberry muffin from Nussbaum and Wu, the only deli I've ever been to that sells both sushi and baked goods. I went to Pupin to get my class assignment (cytoskeleton, which Melissa is in as well) and checked a few other people's (Ariadne is in nano, Irving in complex calculus, and Mario in psych) before heading to the orientation for returning students. I found Allana, a friend from last year, who was sitting in the back along with a bunch of Asian guys and one white guy who looked vaguely familiar but I couldn't remember the name of so introduced myself to anyways. We laughed about the ridiculous number of lost looking Asian kids with maps running around outside looking for Havemeyer. Then, the actual speech started.

I paid attention for the first few minutes until I heard the signature four beeps my phone makes upon getting a text message. I then spent five minutes digging through my bag for my phone before I found it and opened it up. I had a new message from Caleb. "Is that you in front of me? I think it is, but I don't want to awkwardly say hi to someone I don't know." I turned around and waved at him before unsuccessfully attempting to continue to listen to the lecture.

Guidance from Above, cont.

Today, I went back to the guidance department and compiled a list of twenty schools to check out. The list is:

• George Washington, which is in Washington, D.C., appropriately, and has a picture of Michele Obama on its homepage for unknown reasons. Also, 25% of their incoming freshmen have SAT scores that are lower than mine- when I was twelve. I was such a smart kid.
• John's Hopkins, which I'm absolutely terrified of because I heard that their pre-med kids are so competitive that they vandalize the library textbooks to keep their classmates from using them.
• Villanova, whose Roman Catholic University things makes me nervous, although they do have the same school colors as Paperclip does, so I could recycle that logo-wear that I never bought.
• Yale, or New Haven, as Nick Carroway likes to call it.
• Princeton makes me think of the rape case, which was when I first heard of it.
• Carnegie Mellon, which also has Michelle Obama on its homepage.
• Cornell, which I think has co-ed bathrooms, although I might have it mixed up with another school on that count. If the bathrooms are co-ed, does that mean that they don't have urinals? Or, well, yeah....
• URochester is hosting an international conference bringing Robin Hood scholars to the school, which is, really, kind of awesome.
• Tufts, which for some strange reason I thought was named after President Taft, the really fat one who couldn't fit in a bathtub.
• Amherst, which is not to be confused with UMassAmherst.
• Brown, where HERMIONE goes to school.
• UVA, because if you pronounce it phonetically, it sounds like saying oooo-ahhhh with a Romanian accent, like mullet-boy
• College of William and Mary, which is the baby formed by immaculate conception after Mary and Joseph broke up.
• Haverford, whose homepage reminds me of an AT&T add
• Swarthmore, which I can't pronounce.
• MIT, and if I get into this one, Dr. Verona will take me to both lunch AND dinner, and he'll pay for both, which means that it's really, really unlikely.
• Hamilton, where 40% of the students come from private schools
• Harvard, which my grandpa will chip in for if I get in.
• UPenn, where knowledge is without boundaries according to the slogan dotted all over the information pages.
• Dartmouth, which I already visited.

Guidance from Above

Or, more aptly, those wonderful people installed in our school whose sole purpose in life is to help us navigate the many pitfalls of the modern educational system. I refer, of course, to guidance counselors.

Today, during my period four drawing class, I went to the guidance office. When I got there, the secretary with a slightly chipmunk-like appearance and a grating New York accent informed me that my counselor was still in the freshman parent breakfast, so I settled in for a good long wait. While I was there, an extremely loquacious freshman shared with me her entire long, drawn-out story of trying to go down a level in Spanish. Apparently her teacher refused to sign a form, the department chair is on vacation, and the whole thing is a giant puddle of mess.

So, after my counselor made it back from the breakfast, escaping past the hoards of garrulous parents, he had to run off with the unnamed freshman in search of her spanish teacher. When he finally got back, the period was half over, so I only received a limited amount of my requested college guidance.

However, I did learn the following.

- "Just between you an me, you should really take four APs next year."

- "I don't think a tech would be the right approach for you"

- "You really shouldn't rule out Yale."

Right, because I could get into Yale. Honestly, Mr. Counselor, I think we're raising the bar a tad too high here.

Cooliality

According to Ali, I am less cool than Tybalt. I am deeply, grievously wounded. Actually, I'm not really that wounded, I just enjoy being overly dramatic about it. Plus, everyone gets mad at Ali at some point, or she gets mad at them, so I consider it something of a right of passage. A right of passage into what, I'm not quite certain.

On a completely unrelated note, here are a few of my fears: public speaking, embarrassing myself while speaking in public, trichomoniasis, those freaky old guys they catch on To Catch A Predator, the creepy news reporter on To Catch A Predator, date rape, and crappy law enforcement policies at universities. Thank you, Health class, for improving my optimistic perspective on life.

Speaking of Health class, you know you have great friends when you can have an hour long conversation about circumcision without anything becoming awkward. I did this on gchat with Nyx last night. The highlight of the conversation is as follows:

N: but how did your parents come to be invited to his circumcision?

T: they're apparently friends with his parents, but they can't be that close considering I never even met him, I don't think, and OMG THERE ARE PICTURES OF DICKS ON THE WIKIPEDIA PAGE!

*dramatic pause that actually builds drama, unlike those stupid fake ones Dino enjoys randomly adding into conversations*

T: that was traumatic

N: AH SO THERE ARE. I'm reading it too. yikes.

T: I totally didn't see it coming and it freaked me out

N: jeez wiki

T: they oughta have a warning or something.

Things Nyx and I learned from our wikipedia adventure: be wary of photos of private parts showing up on wikipedia pages related to said parts, and check skin-care products to make sure that they don't contain foreskin, because it says on wikipedia that it's in some of them, which is really, like, gross.

School Spirit

This week is spirit week. On Monday I wore my pajamas. On Tuesday I wore a cowboy hat. It wasn't until after school today when I found out a few people were going to homecoming that I realized that there is a dance and a sport game associated with the weird clothes and pep rally.

Hellos

Today, when I walked out of the guidance department, I exited the door just as Mario and Marsh walked past. Mario smiled and gave me that funny little two-fingered wave he's so fond of. I smiled back. That kind of made my day a little bit, which is, really, rather sad.

Actually, I lied. The hundred on my physics test was the highlight. According to snapgrades, I have the highest average in the class (this would put me ahead of Tybalt, which always makes me happy).

Speaking of Marsh, last night, I went to dinner at my grandparents' house. My grandmother, Anne, is practically computer illiterate, so she's been taking classes at the senior center. She is, however, very proud of herself for being skilled enough to skip Computer 101, and isn't even the bottom of her class! Anyways, she's been considering getting some extra lessons to learn how to do online shopping, and a couple of the other little old ladies (well, my grandmother is almost my height, and hardly little, but I'm sure the rest of them are smaller) said she should hire this lovely high school boy named- well, I can't say it here, but it's Marsh's first name, as well as John's and Garrett's. Because I know a handful of them, I wanted to know the last name, and she went to get the little pamphlet, which was basically composed of lots of little computer pictures, brightly colored font, and a little note saying that his own grandmother could attest to his teaching abilities. (Isn't that just so sweet? said Gramma Anne). I was thinking either Garrett or someone I didn't know, because, really, who can imagine old ladies taking to Marsh of all people? Julie came up for a good word for describing why, and I can't remember what it was, but it was rather funny and fitting. Anyways, if you know any old ladies in need of computer help- Marsh to the rescue!

Vroom

I just read Lock and Key, by Sarah Dessen. Below is a passage from said book:

"'Again,' he said to me, pointing at the book with his pencil, 'remember the power rule. It's the key to everything you're trying to do here.' ... 'The power rule,' Olivia recited, flipping her phone open. 'The derivative of any given variable (x) to the exponent (n) is equal to product of the exponent and the variable to the (n-1) power.'"

Maybe I'll actually be able to remember it now.

So far, I have been on two driving excursions by myself. Yesterday, I went to Trader Joe's. After I parked, I got out of the car and walked around it, checking to make certain that it was straight. A man walking past gave me a questioning look. "Is your taillight out?"

"No, I just got my license this morning, and I'm making sure I parked alright."

"Really? Congratulations." He came over and gave me a high five. "Just don't go parking anywhere near my car, alright?"

I laughed. "Sure."

Today, I went to Staples (the office supply superstore) and bought some at-home binders for physics and english, as well as some notecards to replenish my rapidly dwindling stash. I drove the pick-up truck there, with the windows wide open, classic rock blasting to the extent that I ever blast music, by which I mean that it was barely audible, singing along and grinning uncontrollably despite the fact that I was only going about thirty miles an hour.

Driving is fun.

Haiku

A Classic:

Haikus are random

and sometimes they don't make sense

Refrigerator

My Variation:

I have a license

Jurassic Park is boring

Minor stuffy nose

Sighting

Now that OFM is over, I am going to have to continuously struggle to prevent myself from simply using this blog as a medium to record Mario sightings and the various short, pointless conversations that ensue.

In fabulous news, I made pit orchestra for Guys and Dolls! I'm so excited. I'm sharing the piano part with Harry (I'd apparently nicknamed him already. Who knew?). I'll have to talk with him to decide who gets to play what. Getting him to talk should be interesting to say the least. He isn't exactly gregarious. The whole "I'm now going to have to talk to this guy I don't know" situation reminds me of last year, when I first started taking the train with Mario and was regularly freaking out over how awkward it was.

Also, I've begun studying SAT words. My word for today is disparage, which means belittle. For instance, after hearing that Rachel was going to the dance with Mario, I made many disparaging comments about her, trying to make her seem less important.

My funny story is actually from a few days ago. Actually, I lied, it was only yesterday. I was walking with Avon and someone else (I think it was Red, but that doesn't really make sense, since she isn't in Spanish, so it may have actually been someone else, but I really think that it wasn't Julie or Gretchen, and I'm not sure who else I would have been walking with, since it was definitely a girl) after Spanish. We were headed towards the bridge. I had my weird Mario-is-nearby sensor go off a little bit, but I assumed it was a false positive (considering the fact that it hasn't been wrong yet, I should probably stop doing that). Then I realized that I had a physics test next period and was walking in the wrong direction. I did a 180 and headed back towards the stairs and lo and behold, Mario was actually behind me. We both said hi, I passed him, and then about a millisecond later, I ran head on into a senior girl who gave me a very dirty look.

Sex-Ed in the 70s

For my health class, we had to ask our parents about what sex-ed was like for them. I went to interview my mother, and her response was that there wasn't any. However, I had to get a full 3/4s of a double spaced page, so I dragged it out a lot and talked to my father as well, producing the following literary gem:

My mother had no sex-ed in high school. The only thing she remembers is that in fifth grade, they separated the boys and the girls into two different classrooms and watched a movie about puberty and development and getting your period and stuff like that. It was probably the same animated movie that we watched in fifth grade. She doesn’t recall having any classes in high school about health, sex, sexually transmitted diseases, alcoholism or drug abuse. There was nothing. They basically had to learn everything on their own. They didn’t even the many resources available on the internet today. They had to rely on what their friends told them and what they read in magazines. “We were clueless,” Mom says. She also didn’t learn anything at all from her parents.

My Dad also didn’t have sex-ed in high school. If he did have it, he has completely forgotten about it because it was so ineffectual. He does remember that they had something in sixth grade. They called it some sort of health class, and it definitely wasn’t sex-ed. They pretty much had a couple of classes with a guy teacher while the students were segregated into two classes. The guys got to watch movies. He thinks that he watched Reefer Madness, which was about the dangers of marijuana as a gateway drug. He also watched one movie about STDs. He’s fairly certain that while the boys were watching the movies, the girls were learning about menstrual cycles and stuff like that.

Conclusions

Conclusions are my least favorite part of writing a paper. However, it doesn't mean I can't draw them over the whole Mario/Rachel incident, because continuing at this stress level would be detrimental to my health. I'd be like one of those type A people I generally try to hold myself back from becoming.

Anyways, I think Nyx put it best."it doesn't really matter whether she goes with him to counties or not. first off, you said you weren't even sure if you wanted to go anyway, and second, counties certainly does not define a relationship. you will have plenty of opportunities for mario-time in the future. so he's tied up for one day. there's heck of a lot of other days!"

Because really, when it comes down to it, the idea of large school dances freaks me out. That many people, and all the loud noise, and the sheer awkwardness of dancing in front of people I actually know... I mean, really, I should be glad that he's going with Rachel, because if I was going with him, I would be freaking the fuck out for an even longer period of time and at an even worse frequency than I am now, and really, at least he won't start dating her. At least, I hope not, because the mental image of that makes me want to retch. And cry. And then curl into a sad, lonely ball and surround myself with nice, comfortable pillows.

Plus, this way I can freely participate in anti-counties activities without beating myself up over being too chicken to ask Mario. For instance, spending an evening in my basement and playing stupid video games and talking about all the shit people in our grade are getting into at the time sounds like a lot of fun.

Please note that this doesn't mean that I don't want to hear any and all further developments on Mario's life (romantic or otherwise). After all, the crush isn't going anywhere, I'm just going to stop thinking about the crush in terms of some silly, pointless school dance. I will become one of those girls who lifts her nose and scorns those who go batshit crazy over the goddamned things.

Grumpiness

As you may have noticed, for the past, erm, 13 days, I have been studiously avoiding writing about a certain someone. As you may also have noticed, I have been largely unsuccessful, and have decided to mark PFM (or whatever we've been calling it) as a total flop.

Now, many of you may also have heard of Counties, which is a girl-ask-guy dance that takes place in- say it with me- January. Not October. Not November. Not even December. January. However, for some strange reason that is mostly unknown to me, the girls of our grade have decided to start asking people. Within of a week of starting school, it was suggested by three different people that I should ask Mario. I decided that there was no way in hell that I was going to do anything in September.

Certain other people, however, decided that they would. This is the crux of my post: as of right now, Mario is set to go to counties with Rachel.

Rachel. Rachel. Seriously, Mario, what the hell?

I spent most of the afternoon freaking out over that question. It was only recently (right now) when I received a news update from Kathrya (courtesy of Krystal, the elevator-taking gossip fiend in my English class), who says that Rachel asked him in front of a large crowd, and he doesn't actually want to go with her, and Krystal was planning on telling Mario to tell Rachel that he has a girlfriend who goes to another school, but I have a feeling that he won't, and that he just didn't want to hurt her feelings, and it's all like a twisted death spiral of awful doominess.

Ahem. Anyways, the idea of Mario and Rachel has left me severely grumpy for most of the afternoon. Operation Forget Mario has been rendered void due to severe jealousy on my part. Pity, that.

The Victim

Every English class has one. He (and the victim is typically male) doesn't pay any less attention than anybody else, but, invariably, when there is silence, he is pegged as someone who isn't paying attention and gets called on, and which point he stumbles out a response and goes back to trying to hid from the teacher.

Last year, the victim was Richard. We had four demo teachers, but the problem didn't truly become evident until the third one, who singled him out, calling on him repeatedly, trying to get him to talk. When the fourth one came, he eventually asked a question that no one knew the answer to, and he looked out at the class for someone to answer it. "How about you?" he asked, looking at Richard. The entire class burst into laughter. The poor teacher was very confused.

This year, the victim is Lyle (I don't know if this helps, but he's friends with Jeff and isn't related to Lisa (Lisa is a famous person, not a nickname) and was in all of my core classes in eighth grade). I'm fairly certain that Ms. Seltzia has called on him while he wasn't raising his hand once per class this year. To contrast, I have yet to be called on while I'm not raising my hand. Usually, he says "can you repeat the question?" before managing a half-hearted response. Today, she had put our next essay assignment up on the projector.

"... polire- that's Latin. I'm not sure if I'm pronouncing it right. Does anyone here take Latin?"

"Lyle does!" somebody said.

"Lyle?"

"Huh? Yes."

"How would you pronounce this?"

He squinted at the board. "What?"

"P-o-l-i-r-e."

He looked confused. "That's Latin?"

The class laughed.

"Yes. But how would you-"

Ariadne couldn't contain herself any longer. "It's Polire! You're right!"

Lyle nodded. "Yeah..."

Chicken

Another narrative piece for English.

I take his plate from in front of him and shift my hand to keep the gruesome, putrid, picked-apart chicken carcass from contaminating my skin. My grandfather, Papa, has miraculously managed to strip every shred of flesh from the bones. I’m amazed that he’s managed to fit the bites in between the endless stream of praise for Kosta, the oldest, wisest, celebrated grandson.

I carry the defiled chicken remains to the trash and turn the plate sideways, trying to slide them off. A bit of splintery bone catches on the edge and sticks. I push

it off with the tiniest tip of my finger before thrusting my hand under hot water to remove any traces of grease. I slip past my grandmother as I returned to the table. She, despite her broken wrist, is transferring asparagus into a container to put in the fridge. Papa is still at the table. He’s picked a scab on his wrist and is catching the blood on his grimy napkin, but has finally moved on to praising my younger cousins.

“We’re going to be seeing Kat in a few weeks. She’s gotten very thin, very pretty. You know, when she was born, she was so fat. I was worried that she was going to be one of those awful overweight girls.”

I pick up the last of the dishes and walked to the sink to get a sponge. Papa stands. “Well, Anne, girls, I’m tired. I wanted to get to bed early. I’ll see you next week.” He opens his arms for a hug.

I don’t want to hug him. I don’t want to have to wait until he leaves to wipe his slimy kiss off my cheek. I don’t want to pretend that I want to see him next week.

I want to tell him what I think. “Kosta is not praiseworthy. When Kosta, artistically stunted as he is, assistant taught an art class at his college, he gave bad grades to the geeky-looking guys he didn’t like and the girl who didn’t shave her armpits. Kosta may be good a baseball and have a pretty girlfriend, but he’s an ass.” I walk towards the sink, towards Papa, as I speak. “Listening to you praise him makes me almost as sick as the chicken you make us eat every time you visit.” I pause, take a breath, and rest my hand on the counter next to the stack of greasy plates. “Kat has a black belt in tae kwon do, is in the gifted and talented program at her school, and is outgoing, fun, and wonderful. Praise her on that, not on her weight. After all, I certainly hope that you’d love her even if she weighed a hundred pounds more.” I clutch a platter of left over lumps of meat, trying to support myself as the rage spews forth. “Praise your granddaughters on something other than their appearance! Stop being sexist! Your wife has devoted her life to cleaning up after you, ironing your clothes, cooking your meals. The least you could do are the goddamned dishes!” I hurl the plate at him. It shatters. In my mind, I finish my diatribe and run out of the room.

In actuality, I say nothing. I hug him as if I want to. I wait until he leaves to wipe his slimy kiss off my cheek. I pretend I want to see him next week, when I, coward that I am, will stay as silent as always.

Lazy

am I. Tired am I. Yoda am I.

I was going to post a clip from glee, but, unfortunately, I can't find it.

So, Tea and Caleb converse

Caleb: what course are u doing?

Tea: hopefully cytoskeleton

Caleb:o boy

that course was...interesting to say the least

Tea: hmm

that's not good?

Caleb: the teacher is a nutjob

Tea: gaaaahhh

Caleb: it wasn't bad

Tea: did you learn much?

Caleb: just straight lecture though

Tea: I don't mind that

so long as it's intersting

Caleb: i kinda didn't pay much attention

and it requries looking at pics of diseased people

Tea: ewww

I have issues with diseased people

there's a reason I decided to do shp instead of mrt training

Caleb: ?

mrt?

Tea: medical response technician?

I think

they work on ambulances

what are you signed up for?

Caleb: IDK

Tea: haha

Caleb: bacteriology or black holes?

Tea: bacteriology is AWESOME

ahem

just saying

Caleb: really?

what makes it AWESOME?

Tea: if was fun!

it

not if

it was about an hour of lecture

then a lot of waiting for gels to run

and centrifuges

to

uh

centrifugate

Caleb: hmm

interesting

Tea: and we got food the last day

i like oreos

a lot

they're delicious

Caleb: ooo organic chem is fun

all we do is hang out in a lab

and we got food EVERYDAY!

Tea: yeah

but you don't learn anything!

Caleb: u took it?

Tea: no

but that's what ______ and ______ said

Caleb: o

haha

that's what i said too

Tea: and you then

but still...it was totally worth it

Caleb: i burned myself badly in that class

Tea: why?

ouch.

how?

Caleb: i was retarded

because i didn't realize that after placing a beaker on the flame, it would get hot

i put it on the table w/ forceps

...and then proceed to pick it up w/ my hand

Tea: ow

at least you didn't try to put out something that caught on fire by dumping it in ethanol

Caleb: o genius

nah i used gasoline

Tea: much more effective, that

someone did that in bacteriology last semester

though

and the whole beaker went up in flames

it was really really cool

Caleb: ...

u use fire in bacteriology?

Tea: to sterilize stuff!

we have bunson burners lit at ALL TIMES

Caleb: WHOA

im totally gonna take it now

do we work in lab groups?

Tea: brb

haha

yes

kind of

we pick

lab partner

s

but then people don't show up

so I worked with a couple of girls on one table

and then one week they both didn't show

so I basically moved permenantly to another table and worked with someone else

but yes

it is all groups

oh and haha about taking it now

so, in what way is the cyto teacher scary?

I want to be prepared

Caleb: well..she's SO energetic

and LOUD

Tea: sounds like my little sister

Caleb: u'd expect her to hop away

Tea: ?

Caleb: o and she has an incredibly short attention span

Tea: eh

whatever

I'm sure I'll manage

it beats a painfully long attention span

anyways

this whole conversation was full of long, excruciating pauses. Then, after this, he just STOPPED RESPONDING. Jerk.

then we just stopped talking. it's odd.

The Mummy

which I just watched, is a very good movie. Bit scary, though. I'm clearly not cut out for the horror genre. I was rather fond of Evie, though. It's always nice to see one of those action movies where the damsel in distress actually makes an effort.

Now, to go off on a tangent, I've recently noticed that boys grapple with their own insecurities. While we worry over Counties, they have their own fear.

Phil: So, last month I started doing EMT stuff, (I think he said EMT stuff, but it might have been something else, since EMT has absolutely no relevance to the rest of the conversation, although he does have a tendency to bring it up all the freeking time)

Richard: Uh-huh.

Phil: and anyways, the first day I go in, there's this big guy.

Richard: big?

Phil: Yeah, you know, like, big (he spread his arms in a wide gesture indicating weight)

Richard: Okay.

Phil: And he's like, I can lift you. I can lift more than you- two hundred pounds.

Richard: Wow. That's a lot.

Phil: I know, right? And then he's like, oh, how much can you lift, and I'm like twenty (as he said twenty, his voice went all squeaky and high)

Richard: Haha. That's why I hate fitness center.

Phil: Yeah, I can't lift, like, anything. It's so embarrassing.

Freewrite

A piece of narrative writing with an implicit theme.

My sister Genie and I were squished together in the tiny changing room. “Where’d my tank go?” she asked.

“I think it’s under the dress,” I said, unclipping a pair of capris from their hanger. It was August, and we were doing our back-to-school shopping for the year. I slid into the pants. “What do you think?”

“They’d look better on me.”

I laughed. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

“No problem.”

I pulled a face at her, and she grinned before pulling her shirt over her head. I watched as she fit her arms into the sleeves of the embroidered red tank top. She jiggled a bit, and I reached out and poked a bit of fat above her hip. I was about to make some comment, but I remembered everything I’d read about how a single comment about weight could destroy someone’s self-confidence and said nothing.

She paused and looked at me, confused.

I smiled vacantly. “Hip bone,” I said, by way of explanation.

“What?”

“Hip bone.” I poked her again, this time deliberately aiming for the little bony ridge.

This time, she laughed and poked me back. “Hip bone.”

“Hip bone.” I poked her again.

“Hip bone.”

“Hip bone.”

We dissolved into giggles, continuing to poke each other until we were laughing so hard that I overturned the rickety chair that took up what little free space in the dressing room.

The next week, we were in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. I washed, Genie dried, and our younger sister Shelby cleared. When I reached over to pick up the fancy metal platter Mom had used to serve hamburgers, my shirt rode up my side. Genie paused in her drying and leaned over to poke my hip.

“Hey,” I recoiled, annoyed, but she just grinned at me.

“Hip bone.”

I began to laugh as well and poked her back. “Hip bone.”

“Hip bone.”

“Hip-” I gave enough of hiccup-y laugh that my words were cut off, but she caught my meaning and poked me again.

When Shelby brought her next small stack of plates over, she found us laughing so hard we were near tears. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” I shook my head, still giggling.

“Tell me!”

I chuckled again. “It’s an inside joke, you wouldn’t get it.”

“Yes I would, just tell me!”

“It doesn’t matter anyways,” said Genie. “Did you wipe the table yet?”

“You never tell me anything,” Shelby whined.

“Of course I do. Go wipe the table.”

“No, you don’t!”

“It’s not our fault you spill secrets,” I said, joining the argument.

“I don’t know any secrets to spill because you don’t talk to me.”

“Maybe if you’d actually help with the dishes I’d talk to you.”

“Yeah,” said Genie. “Go wipe the table!”

"You’re so mean!” Shelby yelled.

“I’d be nicer if you helped!” said Genie.

“Could you two just stop fighting and get back to work,” I added, my voice low and angry.

“You don’t love me,” cried Shelby.

“It’s not a matter of loving you, it’s a matter of getting things done. I don’t want to be here all night, so could you please just clear the damn table?” I was yelling.

“I hate you!” screamed Shelby, and she slammed the plates down on the counter and ran out of the room.

I grunted and punched the edge of the sink. “Ow.” I shook my hand out.

Genie laughed.

State of the Tea

74% of my facebook friends are female. To be honest, I'm surprised that is isn't more of them.

For English, I'm supposed to write a one page narrative with an implicitly made argument. Is that like I theme? Doesn't all writing have a theme? I am not at all certain what to write, so I can't really do it tonight, but I'm not going to have much time tomorrow, and it's all horribly annoying. All I really want to do is eat dinner and then spend a few hours curled up with my book before I go to sleep. Unfortunately, this seems highly unlikely, as I still have a pile of ASR work to do, as well as a bit more math.

In somewhat better news, Ariadne got into SHP. I didn't even have to ask her, she asked if I was is in. I had a feeling that she was, because the second day of school, she was about to say something but decided not to, and I figured that was it.

I got called "honey" by the school principal the other day. Unfortunately, I didn't notice until I was far enough away that it would have been weird to turn around and yell at him. I mentioned this to my dad this morning, and he told me to confront the teacher in question if it happens again. Thanks, Dad, I never would have thought of that one on my own.

Diaries

I just spent about forty minutes reading these. Highly enjoyable.

Today in ASR, I was sitting at my table with my assigned biweekly seating group. I sit across from Elle, who friended everyone in the grade on facebook before starting ninth grade. Next to me is Angela, one of only two sophomores in the class, who always seems to have the lost wide-eyed expression that makes me want to help her. Across from her is Lumiere (I can have a weird nickname every now and then if I want to), who says that he's already gotten into a college that sounds suspiciously like Stanford, probably on an athletic thing, because how else could anyone know where they're going already (*cough* stupid fucking jocks *cough cough*).

Anyways, Dr. Verona was talking and talking about something that was fairly interesting, but not quite interesting to devote my full attention to. I believe it had something to do with the wonders of using Google Docs for creating scientific diagrams, which he claims is extremely easy, but I actually find it rather difficult. Due to boredom and general confusion, I pulled out my handy-dandy sharpie and my assignment planner and began doodling on the back. As I completed my first very pretty spiral, my pinky smudged it, so there was a little gray sticky-outie bit. I paused and began to glare at it, extremely upset. Lumiere and Elle started cracking up. "That's just awful!" said Elle, continuing to laugh. I giggled a bit, but I didn't really think it was that funny. Angela looked lost and confused, per usual. I corrected my doodle by doing a cool little wave pattern thing, and when I finish the back (assuming I don't smudge it again) it should turn out alright.

Later on, in that same class, we were working on the computers, so I decided to check my email. I had one from Vicky that was about a certain someone who she is really not supposed to be writing to me about. However, I read the whole thing, then abruptly realized that that same someone was sitting all of three feet away from me, and immediately clicked away, hoping that no one had been reading over my shoulder.

Also awkward: I now know precisely what underwear my math teacher, Mrs. James, wears. (Green with pink polka-dots panties thinner than mine but wider than a thong, for anyone who cares). Beautiful as the green skirt she wore today is, she really ought to be more careful. Aside from the underwear, though, do you think I could just steal her clothes? Because I really do like a lot of them. This is as opposed to Ms. Martie, my health teacher, who owns one pair of pants in two different colors, from what I can tell. According to Kathrya, however, most of the guys in our grade would like to get into said pairs of pants.

Ew.

Barnes and Noble

I made a book buying trip, yet again, and came home with three books: The Reluctant Heiress, by Eva Ibbotson, in which the protagonist has the same first name as yours truly, The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, by e. lockhart, who I typically enjoy, and whose book Fly on the Wall contains a memorable categorization of, well, guys' butts, and finally The Singing, which is the fourth book of Pellinor, by Croggen, and I actually screamed a little bit when I saw it because I was so excited.

That was a horrible run-on sentence, by the way. My apologies.

Budget Cuts

I'm really not fond of the Connecticut Post. Now, I will admit that I haven't read a particularly large amount of it. However, I know that the Republican grandfather I don't like swears by it, and he and my grandmother keep dropping by and 'accidentally' leaving a copy on our kitchen counter. I think they're hoping that I'll read it and become hopelessly brainwashed. Up until now, I'd mostly managed to avoid reading said newspaper. However, my American Government teacher, Mrs. Hirten, who talks a lot like Sarah Palin but with more 'likes' and a greater knowledge of U.S. policies and laws, assigned that we read this article and write a page-long, four paragraph summary of it for class on Tuesday.

I did not like this article. I did not like this article for multiple reasons, but mostly because I think it's very impartial journalism. It includes bushels of quotes by republicans insulting the dems, accusing them of being unwilling to accept reality and of being "unable to resist the temptation of pork-barrel spending." They are even "insult[ing]" the economic crisis and grasping the state legislature in "a stranglehold." They then make a brief mention that the democrats are trying to save non-profit funding and health and humans services programs and other lovely things. That doesn't sound like strangling to me- it sounds more like trying to help our state do something for its residents. After all, like we learned in gov last week, Americans are unique in that we want to know what our government can do for us, rather than just letting it do whatever. I am going to restrain myself from ranting about how untrue this is.

This article is also prone to statistical warping and scare tactics. Apparently, there is "a new tax rate for the state's wealthiest that's 33 percent higher than the current 5 percent." Oh my gawsh, 33 percent! That's a third! That's a lot! I just can't afford that, wealthy as I am! Well, if you actually look at those numbers, the rate is going from 5% to 6.6%, which is hardly a huge leap. Aside from that, they don't mention what this is 5% of- income? property taxes? It's very unclear. Also, everyone keeps going on about how we're raising the budget by $900 million. Well, according to Wikipedia, the U.S. has a 4.20 annual inflation rate. The total budget, minus that 900 million, is 36.7 billion. That's 36700000000. Now, lets multiply that by .042, giving us about 1.5 billion. 900 million is less that 1.5 billion. Therefor, our budget is increasing by less than the inflation rate, and is therefore in effect decreasing! So why can't everyone be happy that we're cutting anything and stop yelling at each other about it!

Also, why on earth would the state senate start a 2.5 hour meeting at midnight? I mean, seriously, a lot of those state senators are old. It would be stressful to their delicate sensibilities to pull all-nighters.

Well, I feel a bit better after that rant. Maybe I'll actually be able to write an impartial summary. If the article in question has a conservative bias, is my summary impartial if it is conservative? or is it impartial if it is moderate? What a fascinating consideration.

Today, the New York Times had this little snippet in the back of it's Week in Review. I think I'm quite capable of forming an opinion. I may have become a socialist for U.S. honors, but there is no way in hell I'll become a Republican for American Government. It just ain't happenin.

Bad Blogger!

I forgot to post yesterday! What on earth was I thinking? How could I be so forgetful?

Actually, I know good and well why. I was at school, and then I had my science research meeting, and then I was tired, and then Nyx came over, and then I watched Chocolat with my family, and then I went to sleep, and then I woke up at nine this morning and ate breakfast.

Oops.

As far as school goes, I'll share a story about yesterday's lunch. I was eating with Cammie, Julie, Gretchen, and Vicky, but they'd all gotten there before I did.

"Nice rolled-up green pants," said Julie as I walked over.

"Thanks," I responded. "They're hand-me-downs from my little sister."

"Your little sister?" Cammie asked. "And how, might I ask, does that work?"

"Well, she's growing curves, and I'm growing height. Well, I'm not really growing height at this point, I suppose, but-"

"Your sister has scoliosis!" Vicky exclaimed, with the sort of tone that accompanies an exclamation of "OH MY GAWD!"

Everyone started laughing.

"What?"

"Curves, Vicky," corrected Gretchen.

"Yeah, curves, scoliosis," said Vicky, looking confused. She mimed a little scoliosis 's' in the air.

"No," Cammie laughed. "Curves. Like," she mimed an hourglass in the air.

"Oh! Well, I thought she said curved."

"Why would scoliosis make her grow out of pants?" asked Julie.

"I dunno, I just thought she meant scoliosis."

Biographical Poem

We had to write these for health class. Our teacher, Ms. Martie, is a recent college graduate and she's trying to use 'fun' curriculum. However, I'm pretty sure the curriculum was designed for elementary school students. Not that I'm complaining- last class, all we did was draw giant flowers that had our similarities in the middle and our differences on the petals. I was labeled "Math geek," since other people in the group had my standard plays piano, plays guitar, likes art, loves science, hates sports, and rarely watches TV.

Tea, Tea is her name

Tall, unique, yet entirely the same,

Loves her sisters, Genie and Shelby,

Feels emotions, sad and happy,

Needs her food and gives birthday presents,

Shares the planet with foxes and pheasants,

Fears the bloodsucking violent mosquitoes,

Likes to see movies and concerts and shows...

The last two lines are about my town and last name, but I figured that I ought to take them out. I'm so fabulously creative, no?

Also, speaking of our town, as you may or may not know, we have our own magazine. Well, I can't find the article online, but Dino is on the cover (along with 9 other students, including his older brother). I may have to bring it in and show it around a bit. Were you aware that he's a rising star of Paperclip High School? And his academic record is such that we should already know of him?

Whoever was researching clearly didn't realize the sheer number of students at PHS with academic records just as good as Dino's.

Operation Forget Mario

I have decided that this ridiculous crush thing is going to stop right here. I am sick of all the blushing and other ridiculousness, and I am moving onto greener pastures. Well, I'll move onto greener pastures eventually. I suppose that'll have to be phase II, assuming the phase I trials go well.

Anyways, my plan is to excise him from my mind and life for the rest of September (the life removal bit is made more difficult by having two classes with him, but I have faith!). I will not bring him up in conversation. If any of you attempt to tease me, I will hit you or ignore you, depending on my mood. Please don't point out the blushing, since I'm hoping that it'll go away if I stop thinking about it. I'm not going to write about him either, here or in my journal. I will even try not to think about him, although that really didn't work to well last fall. This will be an entirely Mario-less month. After 30 days, on October 1st (HALLOWEEN! (that is a joke directed at Tierra, who doesn't actually read this, but whatever)), I will stop and reevaluate.

Don't wish me luck. That would be a reminder.

First Day

Link: Dora, check it.

Guess what, everybody- I survived. I am totally and completely intact. My dentist even said that my tooth is totally fine, and Mom and I were overreacting. I just spelled overreacting wrong, but spell check caught it and fixed it.

I've been infected with the blushing disease, which is, to say the least, highly annoying. Mere days after I decided that I don't really like Mario as much as I did last year, I start turning beet red when talking with him, about him, or when Vicky endlessly teases me about him. To make matters worse, he's in two of my classes this year (health and science research), so he might even notice! AAAAAAAaAaaahhhhh! I'm so embarrassed, I'm just going to start blushing more. This blushing reflex is very, very annoying, and Julie tells me that absolutely nothing I do is going to make it go away, which is highly annoying.

All of my classes today were fine except for English. I was the first one in class, so I picked my seat and sat down. Unfortunately, both the seats next to me remained empty. I swear, guys, I don't bite and I don't cheat. Also, the class size was really small, and Ms. Seltzia even remarked on it. When I told her that Gretchen couldn't get in the class, she seemed really put out, and wanted to know, specifically, who wouldn't let her into the class. Gretch, if you're still interested in switching (and I don't know if you will be), talk to her. She might be willing to pull a bit of leverage to get you in. Failing that, continue to pester the guidance counselor for the remainder of the drop period. If anyone drops out, I'll tell you, and you can go to her armed with that bit of information. Just, if I have to spend all year there, I think I'll cry. It's oh so very lonely. I was in such a good mood all day, and then, after that, it was just gone, poof, just like that.

It was quite tragic.