New Goals

To go from this:

Or this:


To this:

To remember the beauty of place:

And moments:

To slow down. To breathe. To focus on what and why and how. To keep the details of school and life and choices from crushing me. To recognize hope. To ponder. To pray. To trust.

Oh, and just because all of these pictures are from the recent trip to California, I have to add one more. To always, always respect and honor this:

Woosh

I don't know what it is about the ocean that is so calming. The wind, the waves, the water. The sense of continuity, of eternity. The constant goings-in and goings-out. The feeling of endless possibilities that comes with gazing towards the open sea. The feeling of comfort and safety that comes with the routine of the tide. Contradictions within a comfortable setting. I want to be the ocean.

Sleepy

Guess who's back. Back again.

It's me. I'm back from sunny California. It was an epic and interesting adventure. I'm pretty excited to return to my bed. It's a place of magic and wonder and sleepiness.

Imma gonna talk about my trip tomorrow. Be excited. Be very excited. Be so excited you will pee yourself. PS, Lauren is dictating right now. Continue Lauren. She started out as reading, but soon her brilliant ideas just made their way on to the page. More thoughts from Lauren should be on this blog. Considering Lauren doesn't post on her own blog. Dangit, spell my name right. So yeah, Lauren's awesome. And pretty much the best roommate I've ever had. Make me a sandwich and go to bed. OBEY MY COMMANDS.

Half done Lauren. Half done indeed. The going to bed part. HAHA, SUCKER.

Uh-oh. She knows where I sleep at night.

Sleep afraid. Sleep very afraid. And dream about how your spelling has deteriorated.

The End.

Check-in

Well, there goes the blogging every day in March. It's a little difficult when you're staying at a place with no internet.

So here I am, in California, holed up in Starbucks with a raspberry hot chocolate and my computer.

I'm having a really, really good time.

Yesterday I saw a lot of Rodin, including the original Thinking Man. It pleased me greatly. I also pondered on the manner of going home, of visiting places without regressing to the person you used to be there.

It's interesting.

I like California so far.

I bet I'll like it even better tomorrow. MAGIC MOUNTAIN, Y'ALL.

Guess What?

In seven hours, I'm leaving for sunny California.

Gear up the Zeppelin and the Mamas and the Papas*, cause here I come.

True, I might have killed myself working round the clock this week, getting stuff done days ahead of time so I could go. But worth it? You betcha.

I'm tired. But excited.

*"Going to California" and "California Dreamin'," respectively.

Procrastination

I don't want to write my "Inquiry Paper" (socially acceptable way to say research paper. Ha! I am not so easily fooled).

I love my topic. I love it so much I am nigh unto obsessed with it. Using TV and movies in the classroom? Sign me up! The research process has rocked. If I could do nothing but sit and read articles about television, I would be the happiest girl in the whole wide world. All my findings have organized themselves neatly into a cohesive paper, with my outline practically writing itself and just waiting to burst from my typing fingers. And I'm oh-so-very eager and excited to share my findings and rub the glory of pop culture into snobby elitist faces.

The world of academia, actually, the world in general, never really progresses past playground fights, does it?

Anyway, this paper should be the easiest thing I've written in my college career. Yet here I sit, swigging from a two-liter of Cherry Coke and whining about how I don't wanna do it.

Oh, and procrastinating by salivating over things at outofprintclothing.com. I want them all!

Here are the best, with the selection based less on appearance (though that's a factor) and more on what books I've read. I don't believe in false advertising, and I will not wear a shirt of something I don't support.

This is my favorite, the one I dream about at night:


These are all equally delightful, and I want them:






Out of the those, I'd have to say my top three shirts are Fahrenheit 451, The Song of Solomon, and The Lord of the Flies (or To Kill a Mockingbird). Fitting, since those are a few of my favorite books.

I should really just write a hierarchy of my preference in literary shirts. Can I get a Nerd Alert?

The Loneliest Thing in the World...

... is a single person riding a tandem bicycle. A.k.a. what I saw as I walked home. Poor guy. I felt so bad for him.

In happier news, I survived today! And you know why? Because of the Flaming Lips. That's right ladies and gentlemen, the Flaming Lips saved my life. Not only did they save my life, but they enriched it. I must have listened to "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Part 1" about six times in the past twelve hours. And I'm not ashamed to admit it. Come on! It's incredibly infectious music.

I think this comic from Questionable Content sums it up pretty well:


It's true! You just have to be happy when listening to the Flaming Lips.

To go on yet another small tangent, I had a throwback today. I had to complete a seventh grade writing assignment as if I were a seventh grader. In reality, I completed it like I was a fifth or sixth grader, but I think it evened out, as I was an incredibly advanced writer. Of course. Smarmy smarmy smarmy.

But honestly, it was fun to remember those days. Back then, I was destined to be an author. Writing was my passion, and I thought I was the bee's knees. But my stories were riddled with cliches and crutches. They all involved two girls as the main characters, and their names always started with 'K' and 'C', because my name started with 'C' and my best friend's name started with 'K'. One girl (me) was always a sassy tomboy, and the other would be nervous and shy. And I swear, every story alluded to the main character having a crush on a boy whose name started with 'M' and who played soccer.

Man I was subtle as a kid.

It was fun to relive those days. To turn off my brain and just write as over-the-top and exaggerated as I could. I had talent, I tell ya, pure talent! Or I just read way too much. Sigh. Those were the days.

Couch Monster

Oh the joys of having an animation major as a roommate.

No, really. I love it.

It's always an adventure. Like today, for instance, where I spent an hour getting eaten by a couch for a short stop-motion photo project. Yep, you read that right. I got eaten by a couch.


And no lying, it was the highlight of my day. I think I might have a talent for making barely perceptible motions very slowly, resulting in some awesome flip-book-tastic photos. I wish Lauren had the movie ready already, so I could post it here, but it's not to be. Just believe me when I say that there are some pretty incredible flailing leg actions going on that I am quite proud of. I'm 100% positive that I completely captured the trauma and physical motions that would occur if a couch were to spontaneously eat the occupant.

Also, painstakingly propping up cushions with Xbox games and books was pretty enjoyable, as was manipulating orange ribbon to act as the couch's grabbing arms/tongue. Sometimes I wish I hadn't dedicated myself to being a teacher at such a young age (ten or eleven, to be exact). Who knows, maybe I could have had a lucrative career in film, either as an actor, or director, or props manager, or my secret ambition, a screenwriter.

That last one is actually serious. I still sometimes fantasize about moving to New York or LA and writing for some second-rate sitcom, all while harboring secret dreams and working on a screenplay that would be my magnum opus, something combining the dry wit and drama of the Coens with the indie sensibilities of Wes Anderson, but much more accessible and meaningful.

Honestly, I'm just shooting for Tina Fey here. That's kind of my only ambition in life.

Tired

Not much more to say. I should probably rethink the late Sunday night Walking Dead viewings, but I just love me some zombies.

Imma gonna go pass out now. SLEEP.

I am a sleep zombie.

And so it comes full circle

ZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Woah-oh-oh it's MAGIC!

I don't know how this happens, but I keep finding bags of chocolate chips on my food shelf. Not that I'm complaining. At all. I mean, this is the most magical thing I've ever experienced. A mystical food fairy that keeps hiding chocolate chips? I'll take it!

So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to put those sweet things to good use.

Mm Mm Good.

Hip to be Square

Tonight, I went here:

Drank some delicious hot chocolate, and then wandered over here:
Where I read this:


Which I decided I absolutely, definitely want to teach in my classroom someday. That probably won't fly in Utah (murmur murmur stinkin' censorship murmur), but I've already come up with a few ways that it would TOTALLY work to teach different concepts. Gordy's description of how to read books? The altercation with Mr. P that talks about living up to potential? The wonderful Vince Lombardi quote and the moments with the Coach--applicable not just to sports, but to life. The integration of comic and the interview with the cartoonist at the back? Golden, I say, golden!

This is all my way of saying I have had an absolutely perfect Friday.
I'm a very, very lucky person, when all things are considered.

My Man Harem?

Once upon a time there was a girl. This girl had average looks, average social skills, and above-average intelligence and wit. She was coming off a junior year where she abandoned the identity she thought she wanted, left a group of friends, and was entering her senior year with few ties and great potential for loneliness.

Luckily, this girl happened to love journalism, and was returning to the school newspaper (despite being HORRIBLY slighted the editor-in-chief position) (not that she's bitter) (she's still a little bitter).

Pictured: Masthead of School Paper

That class opened up the girl's world, and was where she made friends that have actually lasted. The girl has been out of high school for four years, her and her friends have all gone separate ways, and contact has been sporadic at best (mostly because said girl is horribly lazy at long distance communication). But the few people she still cares about from high school mostly stem from that class. Jon, Ashley, Kelsey, Paige. These are people I ... I mean, this girl, treasures.

Enough story-telling.

Despite the connections I made, there is one group that holds a special soft spot in my heart, and that is my Junior Boys. The Junior Boys are exactly what they sound like--a group of guys a grade younger than me. But these boys were intelligent, passionate, and most importantly, fun to be around. They challenged my thinking and pushed me to expand my intelligence. They helped build both my knowledge of politics and my resume (thank you, JSA). They introduced me to Scrubs and sat with me through countless Office parties. They helped make my senior year unforgettable.

Tonight I hung out with Kyle and Andy, the two main guys from the Junior Boys. I'm lucky enough to see Andy fairly regularly, and really, he's one of my very best friends and in my top favorite people in the world. But I rarely see Kyle, since he got all pretentious and went to Yale. Hey, you don't want to get made fun of for that, don't get all East Coast. Anyway.

But tonight wasn't about any of that. It was the group, just chilling and talking and enjoying being around each other. I've heard people talk about old times, and kind of understood the phrase, but tonight really felt like that. It felt like old times, a reliving of glory days. And you know what? I don't even care that those glory days involve sitting around a computer, listening to music and mocking each other. The three of us, together again? Magical.

Pst...ahhh

After a long day, the magical hours between two and four roll up. And when those hours hit, I roll on up to the Sonic drive-thru window.

Route 44 Diet Coke with Cranberry, easy ice.

One sip = euphoria.

Happiness.

Don't Stop Believin'

Today, I'm wearing my Journey shirt.

This picture of Rashida Jones in Freaks and Geeks gives you a basic idea of what it looks like. The sleeves are a bit tighter, and I look quite a bit more awesome in it, but the basics are the same.


A Journey shirt day is a distinct and special sort of day. The Journey shirt is comfortable, but only worn sparingly. If I'm wearing the shirt, it's a symbol that I was not fully awake and did not feel like facing a brand new day.

Sometimes the shirt is a comfort, as I revel in it's ability to make me look deliciously hobo-esque, and I strut around all day like an aging rock star. Or like I actually am on Freaks and Geeks, just trying to survive another day with a devil-may-care attitude.

Other times the shirt is an ill omen, a harbinger of bad luck. On those days, I wallow in the shirt, letting it's baggy folds envelop me, hiding in the fabric until I disappear completely. On those days, the shirt serves as protection from the harshness of reality.

Today is the latter type of day. Sigh. I'm so ready to be done with school. Wake me up when it's over.

PS- Can I just say I am really annoyed at the show Glee? I feel like they've commandeered all usage of the song "Don't Stop Believin'" and now I can't use it for anything. I had a struggle naming this post that, but it worked so perfectly thematically I couldn't resist. And what can I say! Some people are just Journey fans! It doesn't mean we are subscribing to a certain over-hyped television sensation! Ugh. Glee needs to die.

And They Call Me...

... the Jackal.

It's time for me to wax eloquent about The West Wing. However, due to the fact that I don't blog until late and I almost always would rather go to bed than do this, I will probably not do it the justice that it so richly deserves.


Let's boil it down to a few main talking points, upon which I might elaborate at a future date.

1. I love Aaron Sorkin. I think his writing is beyond brilliant. The way he creates the most complex, and truly human characters is admirable. Sorkin also manages to mold situations and plot in a way that never, ever ceases to be magical. I just finished the second season, and I am still getting chills from the writing. The fact that I often just stare at the screen, dumbstruck, only able to whisper "this is the most well-written production" should attest to his genius. Also, have I mentioned that the man has an Oscar? Because he does. Aaron Sorkin now has an Oscar. And I have never supported and fully endorsed any win as much as I have his. Aaron, I am genuinely full of joy for you.

2. It has the perfect cast. I never thought I would like Martin Sheen, let alone be so loyal to his fictional president. I would vote for President Bartlet in a second, because (according to his character) he is a good man, with an excellent and supportive staff. He is the kind of president I would be proud of. He has to make the tough calls, but at his core he is a bleeding heart who truly wants the best for every single American. And that's just my opinion of the president! I haven't even started talking the rest of the spectacular cast. Like CJ, the amazingly incredible press secretary, or Toby, whose speeches make me shiver and inspire me, or Sam's idealistic heart of gold, or Charlie's sheer dedication to the president, or Josh. Sigh. Josh. Josh and his fantastic cockiness, his magnificent air of surety and his brusque, yet caring manner. I'm a little bit (a whole lotta little bit) in love with that man.

Basically, awesome cast. I could wax on and on, but I should probably stop before the sheer fandom makes my computer explode.

But what's magical about The West Wing is how it makes you genuinely care about the world. It makes you realized the importance behind those people who work tirelessly at the White House. Are their jobs easy? Not at all. Do they always get what they want? Far from it. But it shows a staff with dedication, with heart and hope and a sense of humor. It inspires me. If they can make those tough decisions, and have their hearts broken time after time after time, and yet still carry on with a modicum of hope, with some deep-ingrained belief that they can make this world better, then so can I. I won't let life break me. I will remain full of passion and inspiration and a desire to do good.

The gospel of Aaron Sorkin. One convert at a time. Join me, brethren.

Scotsman

I literally have nothing to blog about. Also, I have very little desire to blog today. I'm just want to complete this challenge to bog every day in March. It's become a pride issue now. And if there's one thing I am, it's a stubborn son of a gun.

So bring it blog. Considered yourself conquered for one day more. You make take our will, but you will never take our FREEDOM!!!!!!!!!!!!

Also:

Zombies tonight. Be excited.

All The Way!!!!

Today, something truly magical happened. Something fantastic. Something you only hear about in fairy tales and YouTube videos.

I SAW A DOUBLE RAINBOW.


Please ignore the poor photo quality, my phone was not intended for serious pictures. Also, I know you can't really see the second one (it's to the left), but it was there! I promise! And it was incredible.

Life is complete.

Hello, Human Larvae

I'm quite a bit sleepy. It's been a crazy week, one that depended far too much on Diet Coke. But today has been a nice chance to slow down and try to recharge. I love that I finish at eleven in the morning on Fridays- it gives me a chance to glory in weekend earlier than most.

Quick shout out to Mary and her fantastic presentation today. I've never been so interested in the Riot Grrrl movement in my life. Punk! Anarchy! Legitimate art form in zines! I loved it.

You know what else I love? INVADER ZIM. Why has no one shown me this glorious, glorious cartoon before now? It just makes sense that it should be in my life. We complete each other. I haven't laughed so hard in a while. Victory for Zim!


I also stole (ish) a Trogdor sweatshirt today. Life is good.

You can be my philosopher, if I can ride your dinosaur

Today was a complete high school/freshman year flashback. It was glorious.

I've been a little out of it all day. This morning was the worst-- I couldn't keep my eyes open. I sat in my three-hour practicum class, hating life, being completely apathetic to all subject matter, and desperately wishing I could be home in bed. You know when your eyelids really ARE heavy, and even the physical act of keeping them open aches? That's how I felt. Which would have been fine, if I was able to go home and sleep after class. But no, I had to drive to Alta High afterward to drop off some graded essays.

I don't think I've ever been so afraid of a drive. I was so completely exhausted that I was sure I would fall asleep, or turn incorrectly, or make some other ridiculous mistake and end up in a horrific car crash. In an attempt to stave off sleep, I knew I would have to play some crazy upbeat music.

Enter Seve vs Evan.


Oh Seve. How you perfectly embody 2006-2008. Listening to them brought back the oddest of memories. People I used to see all the time, and yet hadn't thought of for years. Things I used to do. Dances I used to dance. The shallowest of feelings and emotions, yet knowing that at the time they were so important. Man I was deep back then. Or something.

But mostly, all I could think about was how INCREDIBLY FUN Seve vs Evan concerts were. I don't think I've danced like that since. Is it good music? That's arguable. But is it dance-your-pants-off amazing? Most definitely. The entire car ride to Alta, I danced that car dance, wiggling in my seat and throwing out air punches. The second I got home, I blasted "Destination Tokyo" and "Once Upon a Sailor" and started skanking with my roommate in the kitchen. Burning carbs! Smiling like a villain! Completely and utterly enjoying life!

It was delightful. I should have throwbacks like that more often.

Gold Against Blue

I like caffeine and coca-cola and cranberries and cravats.

The part about cravats is not at all true. They make me think of Jane Austen, and if there's one thing that IS true, it's my undying, burning dislike of Jane Austen and her works. But I do like alliteration.

I also like TV, eclairs, and the odd mix of coke bottles, salsa, floss and paint thinner that is currently adorning my kitchen table. I have some great people in my life.

Today has been pretty uneventful. It's the kind of day that just rolls on by, big and bright and comfortable. No real moments of revelation. Just pure, unadulterated existence.

This picture is one of the many on my bedroom wall:


Paris Street; Rainy Day, by Gustave Caillebotte. I don't know what it is about this painting, but it calms me. That's what I want my life to be like. Muted colors and shining cobblestones. Sharp company and a blurred world. Seeing life through rain-flecked glasses, head turned outwards while everyone else looks down.

I don't know. It's appealing.

Just like today. Sometimes, you need the gloriously mundane. Then again, there's still several hours left in the day for everything to get shot to Hell. Hopefully I didn't jinx myself.

But it doesn't feel like that will happen. Even if it does, I think I'd just shut my eyes and let today roll on, smooth and unhurried.

Sorrow

I started out today to write a humorous post about my various similarities to my namesake, based mostly on the fact that I, much like cats, enjoy taking naps in the sun.

But right as I logged in to write it, I got a call from my brother John. I love hearing from John, as he is my closest sibling age-wise and I feel like I'm very close to him and his wife. After a few minutes of lighthearted conversation, we started to talk about his brand new, incredibly beautiful baby girl. The baby girl that he and his wife just found out has moderate permanent hearing loss.

It's hard for me to handle hearing the sharp edge of hidden pain in a person's voice. The hint at a sadness that I can do nothing to alleviate. To hear about this beautiful child, who though perfect, still has a problem that has completely altered the world of my brother and his family.

This was heaped upon a pretty odd few days, where I've seen and heard of more people who are secretly suffering, bearing through pain in silence. And it's difficult to want to help, to want to take action, but to be unable to do anything but sit back and pray with all your soul.

So that's what I'm going to do. And just know, everyone out there who is going through trials and hardships, you are not alone. There are people who care about you more than you know. And they will always, always be there for you.

War Games

If there is one thing I detest in this world, it's Mustache March. Yes. Really. I truly do.

Don't get me wrong, I am a huge fan of facial hair on the opposite sex. If there's one sure way to make me swoon, it's having a beard. I love them. I think they are the epitome of manliness and awesomeness and happiness.

List of cool people who have beards:
-Sam Beam (of Iron & Wine)
-Sean Connery
-Cary Brothers
-Indiana Jones
-Clint Eastwood
-Ray LaMontagne
-Jack Black
-Bonnie "Prince" Billy (bonus points for ginger beard!)
-Bill Murray
-Zach Galifianakis
-Gerard Butler in 300
-All of my brothers
-All of the Beatles (at some point or another. I think Paul's was the best)
-Various others

Basically, I love, nay, I respect a good beard.

What don't I respect? Mustaches. They are the red-headed stepchild of facial hair. They're that annoying cousin that no one likes but can't seem to get rid of. It's like a caterpillar died on someone's upper lip, and not the cute cuddly kind of caterpillar. No, the evil poisonous kind that lives in South America and eats babies for lunch. That's what a mustache is. A pure, baby-killing fiend.

Note: There are two exceptions to the evil mustache rule. 1) The incomparable Tom Selleck, and 2) Robert Redford as the Sundance Kid. Because he just plain rocks that.


But overall, mustaches are super, SUPER creepy. Which is why they should not be tolerated. Which is why I was livid when my boyfriend got suckered into participating in Mustache March last night, and showed up today with that thing on his upper lip. I hate it when people have integrity, and won't back out of a promise they've made. Not really, integrity is great and all, but I dislike when it works against my favor.

The past 24 hours have been spent in an epic battle for the downfall of the mustache, and I am proud to say that I emerged the victor. True, it came at the cost of said boyfriend's awesome beard, but it was a sacrifice I had to make. Besides, the beard had already been sacrificed to the evils deities of Mustache March. And you know, sometimes in life you just have to make the tough calls. I'm proud to say that I made them (sort of). I would probably be a great general, if it wasn't for the fact that I have zero strategic ability.

I guess that's one job option I'll put on the back burner for now.

Cuss

My internet went all kinds of crazy last night. And by "all kinds of crazy," I mean "my computer just wouldn't connect to the wireless modem." Oh technology. How I hate you, but can't live without you.

Anyway, I'm just going to post twice today, and one will count as last night, and everything will be right in the world. You hear? Everything. Hunger and genocide and all that jazz.

Moving on.

Last night, I made plans for the future. They are big, and they are scary. But I've also never been more excited in my life. This is going to be a great year. Even if my plans don't pan out, 2011 is my year. And to that, I say Lachaim! Here's to life.

Beaches

I walked those sands and traversed those poppy-filled cliffs. The concrete structures were overgrown, more like intriguing boxes beckoning for exploration, and not the life-saving barracks they served as. It was beautiful. It was peaceful. I breathed in fresh salted air and walked through fields pocked with grassy craters.

The abundance of markers and plaques engraved with names and paper flowers made me remember the gravity of this place, but I didn't grasp the magnitude. I encountered it with the proper solemn demeanor, and yet there was no way I could have appreciated what happened. It had a fascination, but the meaning eluded me.


I think I'll never be able to completely understand what happened in Normandy, but my respect can continually grow. And tonight, I'll admit it, after watching Saving Private Ryan and recognizing landmarks, seeing the gore and grit in places that were so familiar, it hit closer to home.

I am a pacifist to the core. An idealized world is utterly appealing to me, but don't fret. I'm still a realist, and I acknowledge that war is often necessary. The beaches of Normandy were needed. The sacrifices made there were meaningful. And I will constantly feel pride and appreciation for a country and a people who could make those difficult choices, who could face fear and death for a cause that is bigger than themselves.

Contented

Watching Foo Fighters.
Dave Grohl's voice; pure happiness.
Perfect Friday night.

Just the Way I Roll

Sitting in the dark, flipping through the vast array of information that is the interwebs. Overworked from school, tired from work, and appreciating home for the brief respite it is. Welcome to the average roommate bonding time that occurs at Casa de Cat.

But I treasure these moments. The cathartic release that comes from going and going and giving and giving all day. The spontaneous dance parties and random pancake days and occasional bickering and constant appreciation of JEFF BRIDGES. Seriously. He is The Dude, after all.

Still, it's usually just quiet. Music wavering in the background (tonight it's Andrew Bird. Obviously, I got to the speakers first). Separate couches. Too lazy to turn on all the lights, so semi-darkness enfolds us as we sit, lone spots in the haze as computers screens fill our faces with a phosphorescent glow.

It's peaceful. That communal, comfortable feeling of resting, but not being alone.

That, and sharing the occasional gem. I'll play a music video or read some snarky commentary on pop culture, and Lauren will share some Threadless gems. Like this little beauty:


If you don't want that on a shirt, you have no soul.

Dingleberries

"That's how I remember things, anyway. I remember stories. I connect the dots and then out of that comes a story. And dots that don't fit into the story just slide away, maybe. Like when you spot a constellation. You look up and you don't see all the stars. All the stars just look like the big fugging random mess that they are. But you want to see shapes; you want to see stories, so you pick them out of the sky"

-Lindsey, from An Abundance of Katherines by John Green.

I have this habit when I'm with people and get bored or restless. I'll turn to the nearest person, and say "tell me a story."

The success rate of this tactic is less than 0%.

People can't just come up with stories on the spot. They inevitably stare, stutter and ask what the story should be about. How should I know? If I knew what story I wanted, I wouldn't be asking you. I'd be thinking of my own story. But I know all my stories, and just want you to entertain me. Dance, monkey, dance!

See, that's my problem. I can't force people to tell me stories. I can't force something with a plot, with exposition and rising action and climax and a fitting resolution, to just flow forth from people. I mean, I can barely make those connections in my own mind, so what right do I have to expect them from others? Note to Self: the world does not exist merely for my own amusement. Take note. Adjust outlook accordingly.

I've recently decided that the ability to make connections is a sign of real intelligence. Truly and honestly. Taking principles from one area and transferring them to another is what geniuses do. They merely look at the world as a series of interconnected thoughts, and don't let things like subject area or other labels tie them down. Perhaps I made a mistake pigeon-holing myself into English. I totally should have been a mathematician.

Yeah, that would have worked awesomely. Math and I are two separate entities, and never the twain shall meet.

Back to the point. As the opening quote says (basically):
Making connections= Stories= A fulfillment of a basic human desire.

Making connections means that the world makes sense. For a brief, shining moment, everything is clear. Or if not, at least it's more interesting, with brand new possibilities and avenues of thought available. And interesting is really all I ask for.

Tell me a story?

I'm Sorry Your Mom Blew Up

I didn't write a dang thing in February. Not a dang thing.

I am completely OK with that. It's four weeks, they flew by, and I'd rather relish in the glorious life that is happening than be tied down with blog writing.

That being said, I am participating in the Slice of Life Stories thing on that one blog. Like the specifics? Basically, it's a challenge to write every day in March.

To be honest, I don't think I'll go too crazy in the participation. I probably won't link to them, or paste that sticker. I'm doing this more for myself. More to keep me writing, to keep me sane. To see if I still have any creativity left in this withered, school-ravaged shell.

School. schoolschoolschoolschoolschool.

I ask you this-- when will death come? When will I finally be gifted the blessed respite from mounds of homework, work work, busy work, filler work? When will I breath the sweet air of freedom? The answer my friends, is blowin' in the wind. I think it might be following the faint wisps of my future. Silly future, blowing around and gallivanting in such a manner. Who gave you permission to be so flighty?

I think this SoLS is off to an auspicious start, don't you? Well. I guess we'll see if I have anything worth writing about day after blessed day. Here's to a March full of me clogging up your Google Reader. Enjoy, my gentle souls.

Also, who doesn't love John Cusack? He's so delightful! Today's Slice of Life Advice (copyright pending): go watch Better Off Dead. Best chuckles this side of yesterday.