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Saturday, November 20, 2010

Pronounced "JIN-juh"

The common redhead, or flavus humana rubra, has hair natually varying from a deep burgundy to bright copper. Approximately 1% to 2% of the human population is affected by this rare anomoaly, which appears in people with two copies of a recessive gene which causes a mutation in the MC1R protein. Gingerism is associated with fair skin color, lighter eye colors (gray, blue, green, and hazel), freckels, and senstivity to ultraviolet light. Cultural reactions have varied from ridicule to admiration, with many existing stereotypes regarding redheads.

Commonly known as coppertops, fantapants, gingarians, ginga ninjas, ginge-tinges, carrot tops, rust heads, and copper knobs, these fiery fellows have been walking the earth for about 50,000 years. Throughout history, their presence has left a mark upon society that can be found through literature and art. During the midieval ages, red hair was thought to be the mark of beastly sexual desire and moral degeneration. Montague Summers, in his translation of the Malleus Maleficarum, notes that red hair and green eyes were thought to be the sign of a witch, a werewolf or a vampire.

(A fresco of a red-haired THracian nonble woman in the Otrusha Mound in central Bulgaria, 4th century BC.)

There are two kinds of redheads existing in our world today, the first of which bein
g the ginger, or sapien flavus rubra. This creature is typically shy, self-concious, intelligent, and socially awkward. Gingers have a certain inclination to wear shades of purple or pink that clash magnificently with their frizzy mane of fury. They enjoy spending their time meticulously practicing the piano, knitting socks, and singing to themselves. Clingling to familiar habitats, gingers can be found in various dark places such as their mother's basement or a cassette rental store. Once fully grown and matured (a feat requiring at least 30 years), gingers usually end up owning either:

a) A large, successful company,
b) A steady supply of prostitutes,
c) A creepy shack full of cats.

The common ginger is not to be mistaken wit the Cohors hominis spectantia flavus rouge, or gang-dwelling ginga, which is a whole seperate species of redhead. Gingas have an extreme terperament which matches the flaming color of their foreign hair. They are stubborn, demanding, critical, easy to upset, clever, competitive, violent, loud, sarcastic, and hot-headed. A ginga never forgets, and a ginga never forgives.

Gingas are identified as cap-busting, kitten saving, well rounded people. "Do not mess with gingas; they are thugs who don't show if from their skin or hair, but are likely to carry a Glock
without you ever expecting it. They ain't afraid to kick your [booty]." (Anonymous classmate)

Gingas are oft found relaxing at classy piano clubs, arguing with brunettes, or fighting Gingerism hate crimes with piercing intellect and strenght as a minority group in the American community. They enjoy good music and creativity, and are not afraid to get sassy on anyone--white freckly-kid style.

Redheads may be commonly mistaken for hall passes, road construction signs, basketballs, carrots, pumpkins, and road cones. No matter how hard it seems, you must never confuse redheads with these items.

Here in America, film and television programs often portray school bullies as having red hair; for example, Scot Farkus from A Christmas Story, the O'Doyle family in the movie Billy Madison, or the bully character Caruso in Everybody Hates Chris. However, children with red hair are often themselves targeted by bullies; "Somebody wit hginger hair will stand out from the croud," says anti-bullying expert Louise Burfitt-Dons.

Although they may be different from the rest of the world, gingers are people too. They enjoy
long walks on the beach and evenings with their ginger-haired sweetheart and a glass of wine, just like any other person. Redheads even feel pain--recent studies have shown that gingers need twenty percent more anesthetics to loose their pain reflexes than the average brunette or blonde. So next time you pass a ginger--or ginga--by on the street, stop for a moment to appreciate the rare genetic mutation. They add a little more diversity to our lives. And they're pretty dang funny to watch.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Feeling Self-Concious

After reading my last post, one might be confused as to the state of this blog. Have I completely abandoned it in the past five months? Talk about a complete reversal... The filthy hypocrite!

Maybe it's because school started. Whenever I get into a very... involving... english class, I have to be writing so often that my brain does a complete flop and I can no longer write outside of boring essays arguing controversies that no one has heard of. Gosh, listen to me now. I'm not even coherent, and I've stuttered over five months to be able to build up to this.

Yes. I have written about a dozen or so posts. They are currently residing in the lovely place where saved drafts live on the blogosphere. But everytime I open one of them up to edit/publish it, I feel like a total idiot for writing it in the first place and I feel like it doesn't represent me at all because it's too silly or too depressing. So pretty much, I'm a bipolar freak who has trouble staying in one emotion over time when writing. You know. Ha. I'll probably hate this tomorrow.

That, and I feel completely scrutinized for my work. It's as if there is some hawk-of-an-AP-Lang teacher staring over my shoulder, diving too deep into concepts, being too opinionated, and absolutely shutting my warrants down. Like some mean, destroying machine. Killer of children and small, furry animals.

I can't even THINK for myself anymore! Any deeper, philosophical thought that I might have relates to some discussion that we've had in class, and I suddenly feel self-concious like I have something to say and I want to say it, but I can't unless I am 100% sure it's impressive. I feel like I could argue over anything. I feel like I can't talk about anything. It's like I'm stuck in some monkey-hell limbo. That was a Mighty Boosh reference.

I may have to do a post on that show.

So.... You may or may not be able to imagine how I've forced myself to trudge through the past weeks, ignoring that tantalizing picture of blueberry-cake-whatever-it-was-after-all (which, as a matter of fact, was not too successful at persuading me to post as soon as I should have).

You know what, grammar? You suck. Nobody likes you. You have no friends.

*Smacks forehead*

I don't know how to write _ _ _ _ anymore. I cannot. It's as if somebody threw a rice bag over my head and threw me into a lake.

Haha, that would actually be fun.

No, dangit. It wouldn't!

*Smacks forehead*

It's so strange to think that it was JULY last time I posted on here. Now, it's mid-November, we're preparing for Christmas in dance, and there's snow on the ground. Eff.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

[Untitled]

It's crazy to think that last time I posted on here, it was summer.

I've been having some conflicting feelings, as of late. Mainly, it's all about balance: When to do this, when to do that. If a joke is appropriate. If it's over the top. If it's underrated. This is a completely fine assessment, I know, for a teenager to be going through. It's just... I don't know. Not harder, per se, but more interesting than I thought.

Yesterday, a rather self-absorbed girl leaned over to me during French III. "Oh-mi-gosh," she said. "I just LOVE pop. It's my favorite genre." I honestly had nothing to say to her, having no visible way of either agreeing pitifully or shooting her down truthfully. I just managed to raise my eyebrows at her for a moment and returned to the lecture. But honestly, is this what we've come to? Thinking that A: POP is a genre and B: You are then inclined to just like what everyone else is liking? That's what pop is--what's popular. It's pretty disappointing...

The whole image of reputation and popularity is such a fickle concept. Honestly, it's so immature. Will we ever grow out of it? I still find myself frowning when I see adults who are so self-conscious and oriented around others. I kinda feel badly for them, really. It's not a fun position at all. But it's not a big deal to just walk away from that whole conception and be able to see the greater perspective of, I don't know, being friends with everyone. It must have been hard for them in high school.

I used to be one of them. I was so unhappy, though. I remember it still: there was always so much drama, and even if you were in the popular group, there were many divisions within. Bad feelings, back stabbing, gossipping... all of it was there. I don't hate these people--no not at all. I just know that they are so much better than that.

Can't we all just... be more classy? More sportsmanlike? Those kind of people are so much more attractive; I mean this in the literal meaning of the word.

Whatever, I have the best friends in the world.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Sometimes I feel sarcastic. Deal.

After many weeks of intense pain, misery, and a pinch of gut-twisting agony, I have decided that I no longer feel the need to always have reason to post on my blog.

So, like, scratch that last post.

I mean temporarily. C'mon, you don't expect me to be regular at anything, right?

As a first note of business, I would like to inform you that our intelligent German Shepard Maggie has been sneaking onto my mom's computer for the past few months. Luckily, we learned that she has only managed to create a Facebook account, and give my email address to some really spunky spammers who insist that I'm the "SOPHIE" they're looking for.



Her main page... I'd recommend clicking on these pictures to see them full size.



Her interests and such.

Although we've managed to restrain her from the computer for the time being, (a process involving a harness, choke chain, fence post in the middle of our backyard, and a set of new passwords on any electronic device we own, and one trip to the hospital) Maggie wishes that I inform you all that she is willing to be friends with anyone who sends her an invite.


Second, I'm debating as to what my next created t-shirt made shall be. Here are my options:

1. A llama with a wicked unicorn horn. No words included. It's a fantastic beast anyway.

2. Big bright, tag words that say GINGA FO LIFE

3. A high-contrast Spock holding his hands up doing the Vulcan greeting thing with some sick headphones on. Maybe a tape player.

My third bullet point of the day is... goodbye iPod. We shared some cosmic days together, but now it's time to separate. Apple deserves a cruel Achilles-tendon clipping for the pain that they have caused you and I by not covering water/liquid damage in the warranty. You were the first iPod that I bought myself, and the last. I'm afraid that I am now broke and lack the ability to save money. I have finally been able to admit this to myself.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

My Personal Posting Process (how quaint!)

Probably the main source of persuasion for me for semi-regular blog posting is the fact that I've set my blog as my homepage. It adds this nice, guilt-inducing, pain-in-the-neck type feel to my Internet surfing experience. When I do post, I usually like to embed a picture somewhere within my text so that each day as I click that little 'e' icon, I can see that same picture over and over, until I'm driven to tears and eventually dread and avoid this stupid DELL, being compulsed to perform my maniacal, time wasting activities elsewhere.

So, with my marbles lost and my brain batty, I unconsciously begin to brainstorm. Usually I have small thoughts or portions on my mind that don't have enough fluff to make a long enough post (see my many accounts of "bullet-pointed, conjoined posts") or ideas that when I actually WAKE UP 7 or 8 hours later I realize they are boggles.

What's up with my vocabulary today? Maybe it's because there's no food in this house and I'm surviving off a multitude of blueberry muffin-cake that my mom made two evenings ago for my sister-in-law's arrival from Seattle. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, baby!

I think I'm going to vomit.

Anywho, after several weeks, I stop dreading the Internet--specifically my homepage--and face this fiery dart head on. I finally make a post that will let my panging guilt romp free.

I write about how OH, WOE-BE-GONE me has SO MUCH TO DO, which I certainly don't deny but you've got to be getting as sick of it as I am... It's without a doubt easier to hint or allude to recent quote-unquote DRAMAS (how dramatic.) going on in my WOE-BE-GONE life than actually fessing up. Hey, it's the world wide web. I getta do whatever I want!

Then for some reason, I can never figure it out, but after I write that one post, I feel the need to change or edit it a ba-gillion times for virtually no effect. And THEN I have TONS of ideas that seem to flood in to every pore of my consciousness and harass my very existence. My one point of verdict is the fact that I don't like it when you publish two posts in one day and the date gets taken off of the second one because it's unnecessary.

Finally, once I quench my many yearnings to publish countless posts in a single mad minute, I see that pretty much, I don't know, NO ONE feels the need to comment on one until 2 weeks later out of pity. This is particularly despicable because people find it acceptable to TELL ME they read my blog in PERSON but "don't know how to comment" my EYE--and yes, Maria, I'm pointing at you. Look, if I WANTED to talk to you in person I WOULD but OBVIOUSLY I'm posting on my BLOG instead. Suck on that.

As you may have already found, I started this blog when I was a measily, knee-knobbing seventh grader. I apparently felt the need to use as many exclamation points as possible--a need that I believe has transferred into the insane amount of commas I post with--along with being extraordinarily schizophrenic. I can see why nobody read this baby. Wow. Pretty much, I just posted a picture on and screamed about it or demanded that people vote on some who knows what poll. How miserable. Gosh, I was an obbessive child.

Then, I believe (I don't actually have the stomach right now to go back and clarify this) I turned into some emotional, sarcastic, meat-loving, not as crazy poster--as in one that posts. Thank goodness you can see that I've matured and actually SEEN MORE OF THE WORLD. Let me say that TWILIGHT IS A DISGRACE TO THIS BLOG and I CANNOT BELIEVE I SAID THAT I LOVED ALL POP SONGS TO THE EXTENT OF KNOWING EVERY WORD. I was more shallow than I can ever believe, even in eighth grade which was my best year. I really am going to puke.

Anyway, I hope now I've seen the light. Maybe one day I'll look back on this and feel the need to defenestrate my past, but c'est la vie for now. There's nothing more I can do here.




DANG IT ALL. I just thought of the best post.

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Let me introduce myself.

Because we all know that the first time wasn't up to par.



Pretty much throughout my life, I’ve been known as Caroline’s sister; usually it’s because we’re only a year apart in school. See, we’re 22 months and one day apart by birth but are side by side grade-wise, she being very old for her grade, and I young. As a result of this happy coincidence she is usually the one who blazes the trail for both of our educational experiences.


I’d gladly accept a chance to introduce myself before the literal school year begins so we can just skip those painful pauses in class where the teacher will either (A) Call me Caroline by mistake and force me to correct them in front of everyone or (B) Silently stare at me for a time while trying to decipher exactly who I am. Occasionally, I get the rare (C) where teachers who shall remain anonymous will actually start a conversation with me whilst under the impression that I am, indeed, my sister (“Wait… no, yeah you’re the other one, right?”). It’s not like I hold a grudge against them or anything because they have a couple hundred names to memorize each year, but after 12 years of this cycle you can’t blame me for feeling a little worn and withered.


Me, Hannah Hollberg, who am I? I, to put it simply, am a high school student. We are hormonal… dramatic… and we do completely unnecessary things that are apparently “life essential”. We overreact, we whine, we protest. “Nobody understands us,” but that’s not true at all. The only misunderstanding going on is of ourselves. I’m not going to admit that I have everything figured out right now, or claim that I can see my future clearly now. No, the rain must be gone first—whether that be hormones, immaturity, or blatant stupidity. Probably the latter.


Now I hope you can better understand the tumbling mental turmoil that shakes my delicate teenage emotional balance: I want to be someone,—no, I want to be myself, but I have no idea who the crow that is right now. To an extent, at least.


At this current juncture, I am a passionate dancer, addicted to music, an amateur blogger, a compulsive reader, a competitive soul who is intrigued by physics, I’m a straightforward, sarcastic, yet hopeful spirit. I might be childlike and immature, but I am an active lover of arguments, a conservative who listens of NPR. My step-father describes me as precocious, but my mom dislikes the word because it sounds “snotty.” She prefers “bright.”


When I say that I’m a lover or arguments… well, that’s truer than most people will assume. I definitely do not let others shape my beliefs, but I develop them on my own from applicable and respectable resources. Call it pigheaded, and I’ll call it sophisticated. I believe an education, in virtually all matters, is essential to the survival of a nation because once you have a dull and gullible people, a dictator can use whatever means he or she wants to use to manipulate and destroy them. Yep, I’m a fiery red head.


I spend most of my time outside of school dancing: ballet and modern dance are my preferré because they are the yin and yang balance of my life. Modern is the raw, dynamic expression of the emotion inside me while ballet requires self discipline and rigid adherence to form; it’s the constant in my life that everyone needs in some form or another when things get difficult. Both are necessary and they help me look upon the small dramas of life with a more open and composed perspective.


I also enjoy spending some of my extra-curricular in theatre. Oh, I suck big time at it, trust me. But it’s so incredible! Take 5 is one of my favorite events of the year (cheese ahead) because you learn so much from each other and get so close to so many people. Sure, there are numerous times where you cringe and wonder who in the world decided that high school students could accommodate an acting program, but any of these thoughts are eradicated by the sheer joy of performing work (if not well, then communally) to an audience. It reminds me of dance, my ultimate passion, in this way.


To sum it all up, I am a lover of life. I love people, art, creation, activity in mental, physical, and spiritual matters. I appreciate the sciences and realities in existence, and when someone accomplishes the seemingly impossible. I may not have found out exactly who I am yet but in all honestly, I can’t help falling in love with life.

Me, Hannah Hollberg, who am I? I, to put it simply, am a high school student.


You may never know what results come of your action,
but if you do nothing there will be no result.
-Mahatma Ghandi

Monday, June 28, 2010

Virus.

I'm ill. Really, please lock me up.

Ha, no this post isn't going to be the same as the last few--ranting on about my social life--but moreover explaining myself, yeah? Try to keep up.

So... how do I start? How DID it start?

I think I was babysitting or something. I saw it on TV. It was sixth grade, so I think Nickelodeon was still cool back then. Not only that, but I think I might have heard some mojo about it in class. Avatar this, Avatar that. It kinda made me frustrated, like sometimes people do when they don't know what the big deal is about a new TV show and that everyone who is quote-unquote OBSESSED with it is lame...? Yeah. But then I saw it--hated to admit it, but I loved it! Dude: cheesy jokes, wicked ninja moves, and pretty good animation... That's my ballpark.

I'm just joking; really, it's great.

Anyway, I remember last year around this same time and I was at the midnight showing of Harry Potter 6 when I saw this pre-movie ad. I was just like.... no............ It can't be. Dude, that would be...... no.......... there is no way.........



This was the first teaser--the exact one that I saw.

Once it got to the part where he took his hood off and you could see the arrow, I unconciously stood up (almost knocking over a plethora of candy) and just about yelled, "NO WAY!" but for the intent of the rest of the theatre patrons, I was reined in my dear friend Franny with much yanking and some violence.

I had no idea they were making a movie. Man, that was overall a great night. I was and still am really skeptical about M. Night Shyamalan, but I hope against hope that it's going to be as great as the series was. But, if he DOES manage to botch it all up, I will personally ensure that his entrails shall become his extrails.

So, you have no idea how excited for Wednesdsay night I am when I'll be going to the midnight showing of The Last Airbender. I've shown pretty much my entire family the series, and they want to see the movie too when it comes out. Even my military soldier, macho-insiting brother-in-law
Gerritt wants to come with my friends and I to the midnight showing. My sister Caroline (18), who I got involved in the series is super excited too. I'm not even joking--we love it! Seriously.

So if you're going, see you there when it previews around the world. I'll be the one yelling nonsense in the theatre.


If you have no idea what Avatar is, watch this:

The lady is a bit obnoxious but she covers it well. You'll get used to her.

Btw, this was the REAL AVATAR--> so no blue aliens involved. The movie originally was going to be called Avatar like the series but then Cameron came and messed things up so it's The Last Airbender now.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Reflections

I guess I should talk a bit about the end of the year and all.... because I sorta feel like I have a lot that I can't say or express.

So let's force it!

The end of the school year... wow. Completely different from any other yearbook day that I have ever experienced. I have felt regret like crazy! I don't really even know what it is... Okay that's a lie. I know what it is, exactly. Maybe I'm not going to go into details here, even though I may have let it on that I would, but I feel like I could have done so much MORE, you know? Like, I'm feeling kinda sick that over the summer I might lose the friendships that I made over the 2009-2010 school year, and I feel nauseous (I know, isn't that pathetic?) to think that things will be different next year.

I don't want to lose anybody else.

Sure, a select few people might know to a pinpoint what I am beating around here. You have to understand, though. I am happy for those few seconds on yearbook day--that was so much more than I could have ever asked for, really. Now I know though that I'm going to TAKE THE INITIATIVE this summer. I am NOT going to loose anything. I think I'm going to plan a movie day or scavenger hunt down at the City Library (those are SO fun) and invite just a ton of people. Seriously. This is going to happen! I'm going to flood my social life to and extent that I become sick--the good kind of sick though, not this regret eating me now.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

You'll never believe what I found...

Yesterday, at my dance studio, I saw the most unbelievable thing. Absolutely couldn't comprehend my luck.

I was in the upstairs studio, taking a break for a second. I was looking out the open window at the leaves on the trees as they blew in the wind, the cars passing the Blue Plate Cafe.... etc. When I saw a little old Chinese man wearing a white apron holding something and walking out to the parking lot. I didn't really see what he was holding, but I assumed he was from the Chinese restaurant next to us. I hadn't acknowledged him conciously at all pretty much until he reached the dumpster. There I saw him fiddling around with something, trying to fit something else in---something cardboard. For some reason that I don't even want to think about, I was able to zero in on him from 60+ feet away, and what he was holding.

It was a cardboard cutout of someone.

And I was 90% sure I knew exactly who it was.

That's the part that slightly disgusts me.

Anyway, I called my sister.

"Caroline-- I'm pretty sure I just some short, old Chinese man holding a Taylor Lautner life-size cardboard cutout. He just put it in the dumpster."
"WHAT? You better get that or I'll kill you."
"Carrie, I thought you got over the whole Twilight fetish four years ago or something when people actually started to know what it was."
"I did. But can you not imagine the possibilities we would have with that thing?!"
"Fair point."
"Go get it."

I didn't want to look like a complete idiot by myself (dumpster diving around fried eggs and rice to get Taylor Lautner's torso) so when Caroline came to pick me up I had her help me out. We whistled extremely subtley and ran nonchalantly to the dumpster. Graciously, the cut-out was at the top.

So... now we have this thing in our house. It is actually REALLY FREAKY. You keep thinking it's really someone (he looks like a stalker!) Surprisingly, my mom has been approving of it--yeah she still screams when she sees at first, like we all do (FREAKY.) but today she actually suggested that we put it on the front lawn to welcome my sister, uncle, and step-dad home from church. It's been non-stop pranking for the past 24 hours. This morning Caroline went in to take a shower, but when she drew back the curtains, there HE was, glaring at us with his 'scorching, fierce eyes.'

I'm pretty sure I'm going to now:
(A) Ask someone to the dance with it.
(B) Put it in a friend's house with help from their family.
or (C) Continue to frighten my family with it.

So friends. Beware.

Family, it gets even scarier with time.

If you see a shadow looming over your bed.... Hey, that's actually a really good idea! Yes.... sleep with one eye open.

I'll get you a picture of it.

You know, the thing I'm STILL wondering is why did the wrinkled old man have it in the first place?!

Friday, April 30, 2010

Gotta Keep Your Face Up

STRESS RELIEF!
Definitely needed.

#1 TINY TIM. You actually have to see to believe.


#2 Where the Dirty Hipsters Are (Wild Things Spoof)



#3 Your Mother, Minesweeper--The Movie, or The Legend of Link's Distractions (sorry, they disabled the embedding feature so you'll have to click) From College Humor. I love these guys so much! Look them up.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Keeping On.

As you can see, I've been procrastinating posting on here for quite some time. I've been a bit nervous, see, because it's the big 100 post. Usually people make some big flashy deal about how cool they are, how they love blogging, and thanking their nonexisent fans...but I decided it should be just like any other post. I don't blog for publicity, or for "AdSense" or because everyone else is doing it. I do it to get stuff off my chest, to enter a world where I can just blab and bemoan others while sitting in sweats in the comforts of my own home. I do like my soccer sweats.

So in some patriotic, individualistic way of going against the status quo, I'm going to bore you all to tears.

I think different, don't I? Not quite sure myself how I came to that conclusion.

A lot of things have been going on recently. I guess a good portion of that has too do with the fact that it's spring. Things that confuse you, overwhelm you, disgust you, all that is included in that grand package life gives you called "high school." Those simple pressures and seemingly meaningless communique wear you down after a day or two of hopeless drama. Not that I involve myself in drama, of course.

Gah.

I'm such a sucker.

And there are those days and times where you look at yourself with revulsion. Look at me, I'm so cliche, and all that crap. Or when you talk to your friends and can't bear to say things out loud because it's then when they become somehow more solid, and very real. Those deep thoughts that float around in your head that you almost subconciously block. One question from a childhood friend and it can all come spilling out. You end up writing six page notes on physics graphing papers that you want to burn, tear, and mutilate in any way possible the minute they leave your hand. That leaves you sitting on the ground with your hood up during a thunderstorm thinking "Gosh, I really am such an idiot."

It's not like anyone expected to like electricity, or pain so much.

Except everyone before us.

But even through everything, there is always something that you can look at during the duration of what people call the day. That one thing that you could stare at unblinkingly for hours on end. Whether it be the flames licking the tiles in a fireplace, drops of dew on blushing tulips, or the tendons on your hands, that one thing captures your mind like the brush of a feather--and everything is erased. You take it willingly, let it occupy the space. No thoughts pass through during this period, rather you are frozen in cold light.

I think the perfect cure for submersion is sitting outside under a patio and in the rain, wearing your most comfy sweatshirt and reading a deep book. There is so much going on right now for me, that this is a paradise. Don't go on Facebook. Don't itiner-ate your life away. Just sit. Smell the rain. Breathe.

I also think that it's really important to keep the main picture of things in mind. It's only homework, no you're not really going to die, yes you should forgive them... Just step back, run your hands through your hair, put on RayBands (this really helps me feel less vulnerable when I'm thinking), and look at your life from the outside. If possible, involve the others around you. When you feel swept away, grab someone else and ask them what's on their mind lately. Tell them they look nice. I know that my mom works a ton, all cooped up in her office downstairs. She worries a lot. Being a designer, she is very critical of her surroundings from an artistic point of view. She whines and fiddles around with stuff in our house, trying to get the perfect arrangement of candles you can't light (?) on our mahogany mantle piece. So today after school, I pulled her out of yet another email and brought her outside onto our driveway. There was a brief break in the rain, in that gorgeous part of the day where the sun breaks through dense, silver-lined storm clouds... and you feel all clean and stuff. Well, everything in our front yard was exploding with color in bright green leaves against maroon branches, or hundreds of fresh color-schemed tulips, or a gently rusting iron crane fountain... It was all very elegantly arranged--an obvious product of my mom's nit-pickyness. Anyway, so I towed her out to our still wet driveway and faced her towards our house.

"Look Mom, you have a beautiful house."

She smiled. Then I smiled.

I'm glad I helped.

So just remember, while the sheets of water are coming down so thick that you could draw it aside like a set of curtains, remember to be undisturbed by life.

And..... Happy 100th post, anyway.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Spring is Coming!

I'm really quite the winter person, but lately I've been extremely sick of the random blizzards that keep cropping up every time the thermometer reaches at least 55 degrees.

It happened twice today--flash blizzards. Then it was in the 50's for the rest of the day. I mean, what the heck?!

These are some herbs we're growing on our window sill in the kitchen.

Our circle is looking slightly better.... at least there's not six inches of snow anymore.

Here's a paper crane of hope that I made for my cousin with leukemia. It's just chance that it's pink.... I put it on here because, well, because spring is hope too, I think?

Some flowers Caroline got from Junior Prom. "Fuuuur CUTE!" *gag* Inside joke.

Moving on.
Little purple buds...
Don't they look so smooth, like you could just reach out and touch them...?

This reminds me of that recent post by Franny... 4 Little Trees (or something)

It's almost spring!

And now because it's spring, we have (in our possession now) a new camera, and my kitties were looking too fluffy luscious to pass up, I'm now going to post some pictures of them and Maggie like a crazy old lady. Anyway, here's Mowie basking in the sunlight.

This is how fat she really is...
That's exactly the face he wears about everything.

This is taken right as Caroline walked in wearing only spankies. Maggie is clearly mortified.


Kakoa looking too smug and content for my liking.
Mowie!
Close up of her little nose... a little overwhelming when in full size.

If you click on this picture, it's really cool because it looks like you can just reach out and pet her fur.

Maggie looking forlorn.

I don't exactly know what look Maggie was giving me here, but it was hilarious so I'm putting it on anyways. Caroline says she looks like a moose. If you know the story behind our last dog and how he saved my mom's life, you'll find this ironic. Especially seeing as my mom doesn't like Maggie.

"I'b so excited for spwing!"

You can clearly see our dead grass in the backyard. Revive, dangit! It's warm!

Some brand new, tiny buds in the front yard.

Tulips!
Grow some leaves, willow tree!

Come back alive, climbing roses!

Don't look so depressing, asparagus!

The sage is actually looking pretty good considering it snowed thirty minutes before this was taken.

Look! The grass is actually growing!

Oh crap. I think it's snowing again.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Someone gag me.

I very recently realized that I blab at night. And it doesn't help if I've OD'd on sugar, either.

To my firends, I am desperately sorry. My pitiful being apologizes for my shameless prattle.

To myself....... uh, yeah I probably shouldn't really let myself go like that. Yes, I WOULD rather bottle it up and hide it.

To everyone else--those who have no idea hat I'm talking about: You are blessed.

Golly, I'm such an idiot.

That is all.

I shouldn't post this.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Catching Up.


I can't believe it's snowing. I was wearing shorts with a sweatshirt yesterday -- it was almost 60 -- and I was planning on wearing them again today but Mother Nature decided to play a hilarious trick on everyone's emotions and dumped wet snow on all of our sprouting tulips.

Oh well. I guess that's the norm for spring in Utah.

Did you know that they're thinking about bringing the Olympics back here again for 2022? Bejiing and Torino and especially Vancouver have all been flops compared to the viewership we had here. It's great because we have an international airport just thirty minutes from most of the venues, a major city next to 14(?) ski resorts, a city rail system, and the best snow on earth. It says so on all of our liscense plates--Vancouver couldn't even compete because they actually had to truck some of the US's snow up there for the Olympics (that's embarrassing). We even have the stars from the Sundance Film Festival.

Did you also know that the earthquake in Chile was so big that it actually knocked the earth a fraction (of a fraction) off it's axis? Now our days are one milisecond longer. That's closer to summer!

It feels like lately everyone has been gone. Flan is on a foreign exchange in Indonesia, Amber is on one in Turkey, Olivia is leaving next year on one probably to Italy... At least Emma is coming home today from modeling in Paris for the past two months. I bet she doesn't even remember what real mountains look like. That'll be a shock when she flys over Cottonwood Canyon--I know what it's like when you drive up there to get to my cabin; it's sort of like claustrophobia because the cliffs from the prehistoric glaciers are so close to you on either side, and so jagged, and so dangerous (even the infamous Devil's Spine sticks out of nowhere as soon as you assume that Provo Canyon is more like collective hills). Just like my stepdad when he first moved here from the east. Ha. He deserved it for doubting.

I learned how to make paper cranes last night. Our community is making 1,000 for my cousin who has lukemia, along with all the other patients in the nearby hospital. Doing the origami is fun, but it's a little impulsive and addicting. There are stacks and stacks of little colored squares ready to fold and the minute you're done with one, there's this irrepressible urge to make another.

Maybe that's just because I'm OCD.

By the way, dreams are weird.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Sometimes, I want to cause a person bodily harm.

Them: "The official story of 9-11 is full of holes. Take the --"

Me: "Please, stop, because seeing this happen to you is making me die inside.
Conspiracy theories represent a known glitch in human reasoning. The theories are of course occasionally true, but their truth is completely uncorrelated with the believer's certainty. For some reason, sometimes when people think they've uncovered a lie, they raise confirmation bias to an art form. They cut context away from facts and arguments and assemble them into reassuring litanies. And over and over I've argued helplessly with smart people consumed by theories they were sure were irrefutable, theories that in the end proved complete fictions. Those Moon Landing people, the 'Dumbledore's Still Alive' groupies, the Perpetual Motion subculture--can't you see you're falling into the same pattern?!"

Them: "Wait, you don't seriously believe we landed on the moon. Do you?"

Me: *Flees*

Saturday, February 20, 2010

The Onion News Network


Anonymous Philanthropist Donates 200 Human Kidneys To Hospital

I love the Onion. My sister found a book written by them today at the library.

In case you didn't know, the ONN is a fake news website that looks completely legitimate. It's really funny to fake people out with it. My dad was seriously confused for a while when he first saw the website and the bogus titles that were on some of the most recent articles. I'd definately reccomend the video section. :)

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

A Word Against Posting Song Lyrics as your Facebook Status

Yeah, you might want to actually THINK about what you post on there. Not just because your grandparents are on there, but because the whole world is on there too. And face it--inside jokes DON'T WORK when you share them with the world.

And SONG LYRICS. Oh, gosh. Please, no more.

You'd be interested to know that my step-dad actually called the police on somebody in another state because of their Facebook status. No joke. He was searching around trying to find old classmates from back east when he found the daughter of one of his friends on there; she had posted something along the lines of "goodbye world" as her status. With good reason, my step-dad reported it. Later the next day the status had changed to a long explanation that she did not hate life and those were just song lyrics. Nice.

That, and it's extremely cliche.

Please, for the world, don't be a poser.

** How you get little kids to eat dinner whilst entertaining yourself.



FEEL FREE TO SKIP FORWARD 20 SECONDS.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Glitter Puke

I have too many music videos and I need to share some.

So here you go.

FLIGHT OF THE CONCHORDS -- YES.




This one's closer to rock.... ? Norwegian alternative. Adorable. I love Sondre Lerche -- you may know his music from Dan in Real Live; he did all the music for it.



If you prefer more indie styles and tastes, check out Five Years Time by Noah and the Whale.





Going for more Electro Pop?




If you count Andy Samberg as an artist.....




And of COURSE I'm going to put in Lollipop by Korean BIGBANG and 2NE1. Classic.

Don't believe me? Check out the 9 1/2 million views on this YouTube video. Suck on that, Fred. (wretched show.)





And, finally, one of my favorites. One that will surely crack you up. Ok Go is hilarious, and this is another one of their live (even the band is live in this one) music videos that are taken in one shot.


video

If that doesn't work, go here.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

The Mountain

The weather strip crinkles against the floor as the door swings shut. I grimace at the iced world around me, standing on the porch and feeling altogether too much like a marshmallow. I know what's ahead of me. Why I keep doing it is still a mystery, even to me.

Every year at my family's cabin, I journey up our mountain to create what I feel is certainly the world's longest sledding run. What was originally a deer trail becomes a perfect half pipe of snow in the winter. It was embraced originally in the sixties by my mother and her siblings, and again when my cousins and I discovered it back in 2003 or 4. It became a tradition for us, and now me, alone. Trek the mountain. Sled down. Repeat. Just because.

A lot easier in words than in practice, I think to myself as I step warily off the porch and into the mounds of snow. Immediately, I sink into the famous Utah powder to my mid-thigh. I force one leg to push forward about six inches, the tip of my tongue protruding from my mouth in effort. Step. Sink. Repeat.
I continue trudging like this through the woods. Our cabin slowly disappears from sight as I distance myself from it. Past the point of no return, I chuckle to myself, and immediately the song from Phantom of the Opera is stuck in my head. Great.

I've brought the sled with me, and I figure out how to use it somewhat as a life raft. It works surprisingly well.

Finally, I make it to the clearing where the end of the luge spreads out. I flop down in the snow, trying to catch my breath. In the distance I hear a familiar little voice calling though the woods. It sounds far enough away to be all the way back at the cabin.

"Hannah! Hannah? HANNAH! Wh'ay-ow awh yoooo?"

It's my four year old nephew, Max. I answer, "Max? Hold on, I'm coming buddy!

And I begin my trek back.

At least it's easier this time because I've already made somewhat of a path--if that's possible in powder, at least.
When I finally get back to the cabin, I see Max just barely standing off of the porch, looking as much a marshmallow as I feel. He earnestly tells me that he wants to come with me, along with some nonsense about having ears (?). I grab his oversized glove over his hand and begin to tow him along.

As I make it off of the road and begin to climb the buildup of snow the plow makes between the woods and our driveway, I hear a second cry of my name. I look behind myself to see Isabelle, a niece. She's big enough to come along herself, I decide, and turn back to my path. For a third time I turn around to hear my name being called. Out of the cabin comes Oliver, Isabelle's 3 year-old brother, and Hudson, Max's 2 year-old brother making their way towards me. I try to grab a hold of each of their little hands, but the effort is so entirely and completely in vain that I give up. The powder is utterly inmanuverable. They wouldn't be able to go down the sledding hill anyway, so the action is pointless. I leave them to play in the front yard snow, which is a bit more compacted. I just work on getting myself, Isabelle, and Max through.

On the way to the clearing, I feel the weight on my hands change. That coupled with a muted thud behind me makes me look around. It seems that Max has completely fallen to the ground and is letting me literally pull him along the surface of snow with a glazed, unabashed look on his face. Whatever.

It takes about twenty minutes to make it back to the clearing. By that time, Max's mom Emily has come out from the cabin and has easily caught up with us. She only has jeans and a parka on along with her Uggs (crazy!) and my grandpa's-ever-present inheritance gift (an expensive camera) that was supposed to go to my mom, but Emily likes to think that she "is borrowing". For 8 months now. :)

Feuds aside, she tells me now about how she plans to get some pictures of us going down the sledding hill. Luckily, when I heard Max first calling me I was wise enough to leave the sled behind. I find it now.

It begins to snow as I look at the luge. There is no flipping way I'm going to get these kids up here when I can't even take them across a level, already treaded path without encountering some sort of mishap.

But you've got to start somewhere, eh?

So I climb.

I make sure to tell the kids to stay behind though. I don't plan on going up the whole mountain right away (that would be MURDER), I just hike up about 30-40 feet and go down to be able to compress some snow into the beginnings of a track. Then I go to the point where I previously stopped, pass it by 30-40 feet, then go down again. That way, I will be able to get more riding time in, and most importantly I won't kill my lungs by trying to force my way all the way up the mountain in one go, then have a sucky ride down. Plus, the compaction makes it easier to climb anyway.

But I'm only working on the first 30-40 feet right now, with the kids and Emily at the base of the clearing.

I don't know why each checkpoint is specifically a checkpoint, but it's been like that for years and I stop instinctively when I see the first one. It's where the little kids start for their own section of the hill.

Here we go.

The first run always stinks. I know that, and expect it. You have to compact the snow well enough the first two times to really get going from then on.

When I make it down, I automatically turn around and head back up. Nobody argues. My family knows the two-run rule. It makes a huge difference.

The second time is a lot better.

When I glide into the clearing, immediately the kids start jumping around--as much as possible in powder--yelling that it's their turn. I grab Max because he is closest and start to pull him up the slope.

After much slipping and sliding, we reach the first checkpoint. I huff as I drop the sled in front of us, struggling to keep it from slipping down the slope on it's own. Originally, I arrange Max in the front of the sled with me behind. Better pictures of Emily's kid, right? I realize, though, that there is nothing keeping the kid from: A. Sliding right off of the sled and B. Keeping the sled itself from shooting down the run. His heavily shrouded hands render him helpless, so I have no choice but to hoist him behind me and tell him to hold on to the best of his ability. I pray that either of us don't break anything. Ironic.

After some pretty good air and decent speeds we come out alive, Max grinning from ear to ear. Emily is a little disappointed that he must sit behind me, but she knows it's the only option. Isabelle looks ready to wet her pants from excitement, so I quickly motion to her to come along up the luge. She eagerly jumps to action. I, on the other hand, feel a little more wary.

The run with her is nice, as before with Max, but with a few changes. It takes longer for us to accelerate, but the speed is a lot better. My mind begins to drift to physics and Newton's 1st law, but I quickly snuffle the thought; procrastinating my homework, of course.

We continue sledding like this for a little while longer. Max goes again, then Isabelle, and while I pile Max on the sled for a third time, I hear down the slope Emily call to me that Isabelle is going inside, and that she herself might as well soon.

The snow has packed down surprisingly well; we shoot down the slope surprisingly fast and I find it hard to slow down and resist banking on the curves. When we are almost at the bottom, we hit a root (or maybe a previously snow buried branch of a tree). Max flies off of the sled while I barrel on, unable to stop. There is a sharp pain in my left middle finger. After I slow down in the clearing, I look back up to find Max somewhere on the track. He is a little shaken, but seems alright enough. Emily attempts to climb up after him in her Uggs and jeans while I stand up. I immediately know some thing's wrong with my finger; I can't move it and it's numb from shock I suppose. I don't say anything for two reasons. First, my family has had WAY too many injuries to comprehend. And, coincidentally second, because of that many injuries to deal with, my family has strangely become way more skeptical when determining who's hurt and who's not. Sadly, when there are mistakes in judging honesty it's usually ME who gets picked as the liar. When I should have had surgery, I was told to just dance the performance 3 days after the initial injury. When I should have gone directly to the hospital, I was taken reluctantly to the Insta-Care (even the name is bad news) where many "doctors" there misread my X-Rays and admitted it, I don't know.... a YEAR later? So I decide to play it down. Don't bring it up. If it turns into something, then I'll give them something to deal with. It's embarrassing if you whine about it in a skeptical family and it's really nothing.

Because it was numb, I decide to ignore my finger. It's not like I could move it a lot in my glove before. Same difference right?

Ha ha.

Wrong, I soon realize.

But, as persevering as ever, I gingerly stand up and get Max down from the rest of the luge with Emily, only putting weight on my right hand. Max was fine on the run, but he did prefer to be taken inside now. Emily takes him by the arm and begins the journey back. I still am baffled at how she's only wearing jeans. No wonder she wants to go in.

Now it's solo time.

I pass my previous checkpoint and continue up the mountain. I almost forget what it's like to have to dig your way through feet of snow, but *luckily* I am given the quick opportunity to reassert it once more.

I come to a stop where I know to. This time, when I set down the sled I make sure none of my fingers are curling around to the bottom of the sled. I keep my left hand palm-down and gingerly slide it under one of the hand straps. Ready?

This time is a lot more fun. I've reached one of the more steep parts, and when I soar down on the surface of the powder, it's literally like those fancy ski commercials where snow sprays everywhere. It's so light that it feels like a strange mix of waterskiing and flying. I smile naturally, and am dissapointed when I reach the bottom. But I can feel something growing inside me now, some memory. Why I do this. It's a litle closer to resurfacing.
I turn back to the hill and head up. This time when I reach the next point, I have to fall down and lay in the snow for a while. My heart is pounding so hard against my ribs I can not only audibly hear it pounding, but can see my light turquoise ski coat shivering along with it. An ominus and slightly creepy thought. The high elevation is hard on even us Utahns.

I look at the snow around me and wonder for a while. There's just so much of it, it's hard to understand. It just won't...go away. It's perfectly immune to melting, no matter how I push it or shift it around. I'm close enough to the flakes to see a peculiar pattern on them today. Normally powder flakes are very small and dry. Today, the top of the snow is strangely glazed over with larger pieces of the thinest ice you've seen, much more thin than glass. Like little ribbed scales. I tell myself to ask my sister-in-law photographer Megan to get a picure of them before they melt back into the norm.

I know I'm close to the top. So I worry less when I see the end of the track approaching. I can enjoy the run instead of dreading the next walk up.

Finally, I reach the summit of our track. I look down the mountain. Our cabin is somewhat in a small bowl between close mountain ridges I see the opposite mountains looming at me. I remember living in New York, and how the people there couldn't understand the jagged, ruggedness of the authentic Rockies. The only word I think to describe them is "majestic" which is unbearably cliche and cheesy, but hey, it's cheesy for a reason right? People use it a lot because it's good. And besides, it's my own thought process, so butt out.

The numbness in my finger has gone, and it's been throbbing since the last three runs. When I move it, sharp pains jab all along my middle knuckle, which I bet is swolen and bruised. I know I've probably caused myself needless extra pain by doing this, and I hope it's worth it. But instead of calculating chances, I focus on the view. It's incredible.

Our cabin is at the very base of the valley, a tiny pinprick of grey tin roof and an organic light green. I cannot fathom how there are many people sitting and talking in there, even smaller than a pinprick. The sky is a perfect, highly sought after light blue. High above in the atmosphere are whiffs of cirrus clouds, untouched by jet planes or factory pollution.

I take a deep breath and look down the track. It's really pretty steep here, and I know that this will be one wild ride.

I settle onto the sled.

One.

Two.

Bliss.

I laugh openly and freely, something I haven't done in a while. My disposition is bubbly and childlike. My finger doesn't hurt, and all of my mundane worries are left at the top of the mountain, forgotten. I can't remember feeling like this for so long.

I only think word as I reach the clearing and bank against buried trees.

Yes.

.....


As one of my favorite writers once said, "I think that there is a metaphor here, but I will let it go unsaid."