Ya! I know! I wrote this about the same time that I was reading Wuthering Heights in....errr...seventh grade maybe? But I continue. This is a really crappy short story probably written during algebra class.
--Geez! Just because it's crappy doesn't mean you shouldn't read it. Continue on!--
“Mr. Newman, could you please tell the rest of the class why you are NOT PAYING ATTENTION?!” Ms. Fifestein glared and wiped the spittle of her mouth.
Brayden could not in fact tell her what was so interesting. He was doing what all extremely bored and moderately intelligent beings do. Zoning out to the point of incoherence. He could of course tell her that he was thinking, but that would be a complete lie. Not that she would know that. “ I was thinking Mrs.Fifestein.” he lied.
“And why were you thinking Mr. Newman?” She glared a bit more and neglected to wipe the spittle from her face this time.
Ah Well, I should have saw that one coming, thought Brayden. Now he was in a bind. Why was he thinking? Nothing in this environment could have inspired such an activity. The endless repetition of bland facts, the monotonous voice of the harpy up front, the ancient and yellowed posters on the wall. Nope, there was absolutely no reason why he should have been thinking. He glanced the black board and saw only the faint outline of a rather unflattering caricature with an even more degrading caption. No help there. He was on his own to get through this one.
“ I was thinking about the Pythagorean theorem Mrs.Fifestein. “ He gave himself a mental pat on the back. Nice answer, Pythagoras was a smart guy. He probably wouldn’t have told the geography teacher that he was thinking about Geometry during her class. He took back the mental pat.
“ Mr. Newman take your stuff and remove it to the hallway for the rest of the period so maybe tomorrow you’ll remember to keep your mind on this class!” Her glare was fairly murderous by now and a small puddle of spit had formed on one of the front desks.
Well, that went over rather well, he thought with some asperity. He grabbed his books and shoved them all haphazardly into his ragged book bag. He saw a title one of the books out of the corner of his eye Wuthering Heights. He had been conned into reading it by his girlfriend ( A friend that was a girl, not his significant other.) and had to admit that he had enjoyed it. Then the idea struck him. Would Heathcliff have taken this? No, he would have given his teacher the what for. Then, right in the middle of class, he lost it.
He saw red. If you’ve ever saw red you know the feeling of complete helplessness that overcomes you as you sit back and watch the not so rational part of your brain take over. You, the rational part, are sitting in the back of your head thinking “ Oh dear.” While the slightly evil and more than slightly entertaining part of yourself takes the most rash course of action. Be it slugging the quarterback for cutting in line, keying the car that took your parking spot, or, in our heroes case, forgetting for a moment that your not HeathCliff and giving your ancient crab like teacher a piece of your mind.
“ I’m leaving Mrs.Fifestein, but first I want you to know something. This class is the biggest waste of time I have ever had to endure. I sit here day after day learning facts about landscapes that I will never see. Will I ever need to know the average percent of rainfall in Bulgaria? I think not, Mrs.Fifestein. I will not stand another minute of this vile and grotesque torture. You, wrinkled prune that you are, can do nothing to stop me. ” He looked about the room with finality and turned his face toward a nonexistent moor. “ And I’m taking Catherine with me!”
Brayden swept out of the class room and marched down the hall. The rational part of his mind had conveniently died from mortification so he was now free to do as he chose. As he walked the thirty four miles to his house the rational part came to just enough to wish he had chosen to remember he didn’t have a car.
What you just read was supposed to be humorous. If you didn’t find it funny then I suggest you go back, read it again, and think funny thoughts while you do so.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Emo Poems
What is in an emo poem? What makes a poem emo?
Since we're on the subject...What the heck is an emo?! A darker more emotional version of a large flightless bird perhaps.
Here is my list of tentative requirements for emo poems. Feel free to add your contributions to be later posted.
For a poem to be considered emo it must be/have:
1. Vaguely depressing...and if it doesn't vaguely depresss you then you at least know that they were attempting to be maudlin.
2. Be so poorely written that all attempts to be written in typical emo-maudlin fashion have made there work slightly hilarious.
*To see a typically badly written poem feel free to visit my badly written emo poem blog-->http://www.brokendespair.blogspot.com
Since we're on the subject...What the heck is an emo?! A darker more emotional version of a large flightless bird perhaps.
Here is my list of tentative requirements for emo poems. Feel free to add your contributions to be later posted.
For a poem to be considered emo it must be/have:
1. Vaguely depressing...and if it doesn't vaguely depresss you then you at least know that they were attempting to be maudlin.
2. Be so poorely written that all attempts to be written in typical emo-maudlin fashion have made there work slightly hilarious.
*To see a typically badly written poem feel free to visit my badly written emo poem blog-->http://www.brokendespair.blogspot.com
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Looking Glass Wars by Frank Beddor
Okay, the characters are static, the action scenes are crap, and it's completely unbelievable...Still, it was so good it took me less than a day to read it. Have I mentioned I'm a sucker for fantasy?
While reading it you feel like you're sitting in the cinema. Have you ever read a book like that before? It's like the author wrote it because they eventually wanted it to be a screen play. So you really don't get in depth with any of the character's feelings. You just get these nice flat people whose reactions are always the same.
Alice is unsure. Hatter Madigan is stoic. Bibwit Harte is scholarly. Dodge is out for revenge.
There you are character wise. But the ideas...The mirror system (The Continuum) which is tantamount to sky diving while on shrooms. The Cheshire cat is a part human assassin. Beddor is taking a young children's book and turned it into a violent, bloody, action filled book for everyone who isn't a young child. Bravo, Mr.Beddor. I applaud your ideas if not your characters.
With the exception of Hatter Madigan who is just freak to the awesome. I leave you with a quote from the book.
"No amount of Millinery training could have prepared Hatter for getting sucked through the Pool of Tears. Having somersaulted out of a puddle and landed on his feet with the agility of...well, of a cat, he let his instinct for self-protection take over. His backpack sprouted its usual array of weaponry. His steel bracelets popped open and spun in propeller-like action. He reached for his top hat but it was gone, which was bad news. Really bad news. The top hat was his signature weapon, the one he had worked the hardest to master. And he was probably going to need it, judging by the shocked and alarmed faces all around him. He had emerged from the exit portal in Paris,France, 1859, and found himself standing in the middle of a wide thoroughfare known as the Champs-Elyse`es."
"Who was this strangely attired man with knives and over-sized corkscrews jutting out of his backpack and rotary blades on his wrists?"
So, I recommend this to other suckers for fantasy and definitely to those who enjoy Alice in Wonderland.
While reading it you feel like you're sitting in the cinema. Have you ever read a book like that before? It's like the author wrote it because they eventually wanted it to be a screen play. So you really don't get in depth with any of the character's feelings. You just get these nice flat people whose reactions are always the same.
Alice is unsure. Hatter Madigan is stoic. Bibwit Harte is scholarly. Dodge is out for revenge.
There you are character wise. But the ideas...The mirror system (The Continuum) which is tantamount to sky diving while on shrooms. The Cheshire cat is a part human assassin. Beddor is taking a young children's book and turned it into a violent, bloody, action filled book for everyone who isn't a young child. Bravo, Mr.Beddor. I applaud your ideas if not your characters.
With the exception of Hatter Madigan who is just freak to the awesome. I leave you with a quote from the book.
"No amount of Millinery training could have prepared Hatter for getting sucked through the Pool of Tears. Having somersaulted out of a puddle and landed on his feet with the agility of...well, of a cat, he let his instinct for self-protection take over. His backpack sprouted its usual array of weaponry. His steel bracelets popped open and spun in propeller-like action. He reached for his top hat but it was gone, which was bad news. Really bad news. The top hat was his signature weapon, the one he had worked the hardest to master. And he was probably going to need it, judging by the shocked and alarmed faces all around him. He had emerged from the exit portal in Paris,France, 1859, and found himself standing in the middle of a wide thoroughfare known as the Champs-Elyse`es."
"Who was this strangely attired man with knives and over-sized corkscrews jutting out of his backpack and rotary blades on his wrists?"
So, I recommend this to other suckers for fantasy and definitely to those who enjoy Alice in Wonderland.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Little Brother by Cory Doctorow
Yet another review done for my school paper.
Little Brother by Cory Doctorow
Terrorists can attack open society, but governments can abolish it. (WWW2.Piratepartiet.se/the_pirate_party)
Little Brother follows Marcus, a 17 year old senior in San Francisco chaffing under constant surveillance of the school system. So, when the school isn't watching he becomes W1n5t0n, figuring out how to evade the newest security measures that have been put into effect. From putting rocks in his shoes to avoid gait recognition to nuking the tracking cards on his library books, he's got it covered.
He is with three of his friends in downtown San Francisco when the worst happens. A mushroom cloud rises over the ruins of Bay Bridge as people trample each other trying to get away from the destruction. Terrorists have bombed California. In the aftermath that follows Marcus and his friends find themselves prisoners. When he refuses to let his captors have access to his phone and computer passwords he is tortured and humiliated for answers that he doesn't even know. No, not by Al-Qaeda or political extremist. Marcus has been taken into the custody of the Department of Homeland Security. A week later he is released. " But from now on, you belong to us. We will be watching you. We'll be waiting for you to make a misstep. Do you understand that we can watch you closely, all the time?"
Outraged and afraid of what the government is becoming Marcus does the only thing he can. He starts a revolution. A secret one. Using his Xbox he makes a spy proof system that even the government can't crack. He also earns the following of other kids like him who don't want to be watched. So starts the underground revolution of Xnetters.
Little Brother a great read steeped in American Culture --odd considering Doctorow's Canadian--. It's the hippie movement and 1984 both applied to a more technological world. You'll be able to recognize allusions to Emma Goldman and other heroes of the 60's and 70's. Not to mention the "Don't trust anyone over 25" slogan floating around throughout the book. Don't let the Orwell influence dissuade anyone from reading it, though. It's fast paced and directed at a teen audience so you're not going to be bored half way through. Just take into account that this is a book of science-fiction and shouldn't be taken seriously...yet. It could easily double as a handbook for the paranoid, but even you less paranoia prone guys will probably enjoy it for the different gadgets Cory Doctorow introduces. So, unless you absolutely can't stand conspiracy theories this is a must read.
--> This was indeed a good book that I can recommend without shame that you read. I didn't like that how much of the technological stuff went WAY over my head, but that may be due to my lack of technological savvy-ness.
Neil Gaiman wrote a review for it saying that he wished it could be in the hands of all thirteen year olds...I say no to that. It does casually mention sex and drugs throughout it. I wouldn't want my thirteen year old kid reading a book that portrayed sex and drugs as an acceptable recreational activity. Now fourteen...Heh. Just according to how mature your thirteen year old is I guess, but I was impressionable at thirteen. (Take into account that I'm only seventeen. I'm just saying that if my hypothetical kid was thirteen I wouldn't want them reading it. Thirteen year olds please do not be offended...but if you insist feel free to bite me. ;) )
When reading this you might want to keep in mind who it was written by. Cory Doctorow has some slightly extremist views on things. So, take the book with a grain of salt. Much like you would our pessimistic friend, Mr.Orwell.
Little Brother by Cory Doctorow
Terrorists can attack open society, but governments can abolish it. (WWW2.Piratepartiet.se/the_pirate_party)
Little Brother follows Marcus, a 17 year old senior in San Francisco chaffing under constant surveillance of the school system. So, when the school isn't watching he becomes W1n5t0n, figuring out how to evade the newest security measures that have been put into effect. From putting rocks in his shoes to avoid gait recognition to nuking the tracking cards on his library books, he's got it covered.
He is with three of his friends in downtown San Francisco when the worst happens. A mushroom cloud rises over the ruins of Bay Bridge as people trample each other trying to get away from the destruction. Terrorists have bombed California. In the aftermath that follows Marcus and his friends find themselves prisoners. When he refuses to let his captors have access to his phone and computer passwords he is tortured and humiliated for answers that he doesn't even know. No, not by Al-Qaeda or political extremist. Marcus has been taken into the custody of the Department of Homeland Security. A week later he is released. " But from now on, you belong to us. We will be watching you. We'll be waiting for you to make a misstep. Do you understand that we can watch you closely, all the time?"
Outraged and afraid of what the government is becoming Marcus does the only thing he can. He starts a revolution. A secret one. Using his Xbox he makes a spy proof system that even the government can't crack. He also earns the following of other kids like him who don't want to be watched. So starts the underground revolution of Xnetters.
Little Brother a great read steeped in American Culture --odd considering Doctorow's Canadian--. It's the hippie movement and 1984 both applied to a more technological world. You'll be able to recognize allusions to Emma Goldman and other heroes of the 60's and 70's. Not to mention the "Don't trust anyone over 25" slogan floating around throughout the book. Don't let the Orwell influence dissuade anyone from reading it, though. It's fast paced and directed at a teen audience so you're not going to be bored half way through. Just take into account that this is a book of science-fiction and shouldn't be taken seriously...yet. It could easily double as a handbook for the paranoid, but even you less paranoia prone guys will probably enjoy it for the different gadgets Cory Doctorow introduces. So, unless you absolutely can't stand conspiracy theories this is a must read.
--> This was indeed a good book that I can recommend without shame that you read. I didn't like that how much of the technological stuff went WAY over my head, but that may be due to my lack of technological savvy-ness.
Neil Gaiman wrote a review for it saying that he wished it could be in the hands of all thirteen year olds...I say no to that. It does casually mention sex and drugs throughout it. I wouldn't want my thirteen year old kid reading a book that portrayed sex and drugs as an acceptable recreational activity. Now fourteen...Heh. Just according to how mature your thirteen year old is I guess, but I was impressionable at thirteen. (Take into account that I'm only seventeen. I'm just saying that if my hypothetical kid was thirteen I wouldn't want them reading it. Thirteen year olds please do not be offended...but if you insist feel free to bite me. ;) )
When reading this you might want to keep in mind who it was written by. Cory Doctorow has some slightly extremist views on things. So, take the book with a grain of salt. Much like you would our pessimistic friend, Mr.Orwell.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Campaign Crap
Anyone else tired of seeing Obama and H. Clinton's face? That's what I thought.
I'm going to be turning eighteen just in time for elections so I've been following the race pretty closely, but I'm just sick of all the crap. All I ever see is Hillary and Obama on the TV saying derogatory things about each other. The occasional picture of them drinking and a couple of low blows to H's love life. This is ridiculous. Should we really care about this? DOES anyone care? I highly doubt it.
I mean, yeah, these are our candidates and as such they are subject to scrutiny, but I don't think the fact that Hillary gets a little teary sometimes or Obama enjoys a beer every now and again is going to change who they are. Let's see some real issues folks! Let's hear about what there going to do about the war, economy, immigration, etc. The rest is superfluous.
Some of the best known politicians in history have had terrible personal habits. J.F.K, adulterer extraordinaire. Thomas Jefferson, rumoured to have small colony of illegitimate African children...Think of a political hero you have. Go research them --a little extensively if you please--. Chances are that they were substance abusers, adulterers, or just overall crappy people to know personally.
So, I appeal to whatever Patron Saint/Deity that controls these media people. I ask only that we cover a little less of this superfluous information and get down to the things that are going to be affecting our nation and consequently the world.
* Small afterthought: Whatever happened to McCain? Come on Republicans. We at least need the semblance of a party choice.
**Slightly larger afterthought: Is Nader running this year? If there was any chance of him getting in I would so vote for that guy. What persistence.
***Since I don't like reading about the campaign I'll try to make this the last post that I write about it. At least until something significant and blog worthy comes up.
I'm going to be turning eighteen just in time for elections so I've been following the race pretty closely, but I'm just sick of all the crap. All I ever see is Hillary and Obama on the TV saying derogatory things about each other. The occasional picture of them drinking and a couple of low blows to H's love life. This is ridiculous. Should we really care about this? DOES anyone care? I highly doubt it.
I mean, yeah, these are our candidates and as such they are subject to scrutiny, but I don't think the fact that Hillary gets a little teary sometimes or Obama enjoys a beer every now and again is going to change who they are. Let's see some real issues folks! Let's hear about what there going to do about the war, economy, immigration, etc. The rest is superfluous.
Some of the best known politicians in history have had terrible personal habits. J.F.K, adulterer extraordinaire. Thomas Jefferson, rumoured to have small colony of illegitimate African children...Think of a political hero you have. Go research them --a little extensively if you please--. Chances are that they were substance abusers, adulterers, or just overall crappy people to know personally.
So, I appeal to whatever Patron Saint/Deity that controls these media people. I ask only that we cover a little less of this superfluous information and get down to the things that are going to be affecting our nation and consequently the world.
* Small afterthought: Whatever happened to McCain? Come on Republicans. We at least need the semblance of a party choice.
**Slightly larger afterthought: Is Nader running this year? If there was any chance of him getting in I would so vote for that guy. What persistence.
***Since I don't like reading about the campaign I'll try to make this the last post that I write about it. At least until something significant and blog worthy comes up.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Final Draft Evil and Misquoted Titles
I'm just sitting here at 1:00 a.m. finishing up the last bits of my final draft for a paper I've not been working on for ages...You would have thought I'd learned my lesson with the rough draft. Think again suckers! No amount of painful frantic stress will teach me a lesson! Observe the resilient tendencies of procrastination.
I was just staring at my blog. With it's nice Through the Looking Glass title and thought to myself, " Oh haha. You have the title Through the Looking Glass, but your quote is from Alice in Wonderland. Bravo."
Back to the paper.
I was just staring at my blog. With it's nice Through the Looking Glass title and thought to myself, " Oh haha. You have the title Through the Looking Glass, but your quote is from Alice in Wonderland. Bravo."
Back to the paper.
Monday, April 21, 2008
It's a NEW DAY!
Spring is gross. It's wet, soggy, and filled with mosquitoes. Ants attack everything I lay down and there's flies waiting in a queue to get in my house. Allergies make it impossible for me to breath and leave me with attractively blood shot eyes.
But, oh, how I LOVE it! Everything is green and flowers are coming out. I was just out walking around and our dogwood trees are in bloom. The apple blossoms smell wonderful. There was even enough daisies to make a bouquet. I love you Earth.
Spring always makes me have epiphanies. The same epiphanies, but I'm surprised every year. If I fail at life, if I don't become an English teacher or a publicist. If I'm left bitter and alone because I'm caustic and unpersonable...There's still Spring, and it is wonderful. I don't understand how anyone can't believe that there is a God during spring time. Whatever deity you believe in. Spring must make them apparent.
So, come all ye victims of seasonal depression and rejoice! Spring is here and it is a new day.
But, oh, how I LOVE it! Everything is green and flowers are coming out. I was just out walking around and our dogwood trees are in bloom. The apple blossoms smell wonderful. There was even enough daisies to make a bouquet. I love you Earth.
Spring always makes me have epiphanies. The same epiphanies, but I'm surprised every year. If I fail at life, if I don't become an English teacher or a publicist. If I'm left bitter and alone because I'm caustic and unpersonable...There's still Spring, and it is wonderful. I don't understand how anyone can't believe that there is a God during spring time. Whatever deity you believe in. Spring must make them apparent.
So, come all ye victims of seasonal depression and rejoice! Spring is here and it is a new day.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
This is a New Day
New Day --Melee
Morning sunshine come light my life like you said you can.
With the windows open, all the spirits fly away.
Pull the wings off a bird who cannot fly ,
And I'll make you feel the pain where she lies .
'Cause this is a new day for broken hands and breaking backs.
This is a new day for lovers' hands and fighting hands .
To finally be set free from tragedy.
Morning sunshine come light my life like you said you can,
And i'll give you all the time that we need now.
To figure out where we can go just to be alone,
And I'll watch you wash your body clean,
of all the things you wish you'd never seen.
I cast these stones upon my broken hands.
I cast these stones upon my back ,
I cast these stones upon my soul .
My ghost will carry me home,
Carry me into a brand new day.
Morning sunshine come light my life like you said you can.
With the windows open, all the spirits fly away.
Pull the wings off a bird who cannot fly ,
And I'll make you feel the pain where she lies .
'Cause this is a new day for broken hands and breaking backs.
This is a new day for lovers' hands and fighting hands .
To finally be set free from tragedy.
Morning sunshine come light my life like you said you can,
And i'll give you all the time that we need now.
To figure out where we can go just to be alone,
And I'll watch you wash your body clean,
of all the things you wish you'd never seen.
I cast these stones upon my broken hands.
I cast these stones upon my back ,
I cast these stones upon my soul .
My ghost will carry me home,
Carry me into a brand new day.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Say, "AHH!". Then repeat.
Oh, haha. I've had a research paper assigned for about four weeks now. It's due Thursday. Have I started it? No. Have I got the sources? No. *hysterical laughing here* Now, if you want to know what's going on in my head I'll show you. Here's a little exercise.
First, scream the words, " ARG FREAKING BLEEP FREAKING NO!"
Okay, good job. Now repeat.
Keep going.
Well, your still not there, but we'll settle for now. You've got an e for effort! xD
But, even with the paper looming over my head I manage to read my required dose of fiction.
Fairest by Gail Carson Levine
Aza has hair as black as a raven, cheeks whiter than snow, and lips the color of a dragons tongue. To round her appearance off nicely she also has pulpy cheeks and a waist the size of a tree-trunk. Gail Carson Levine manages to take an old fairy tale and make you fall in love with it all over again. Fairest is a great remake of Snow White complete with poison apple, but has so many new elements that you don't feel as if your having to read the same story for the thousandth time. Which oft happens in those remakes.
Slightly more angsty than Ella Enchanted, but stil lovely and appropriate for young children and fairy tale loving adults alike. It's a boon to all the girls --you guys might like it too-- out there who were ever ridiculed for their appearances.
I liked the book, but wasn't nearly as emotionally attatched to the characters as I was in The Two Princesses or Ella Enchanted. You just don't get enough time with anyone to care too much.
An extremely disturbing aspect--> One of the characters( one of the romantic characters I'm afraid to say.) is mentioned to have abnormally big ears. My band director has big ears. Therefore, whenever it talks about the book character I keep seeing Mr.Denton. Disturbing? You betcha.
First, scream the words, " ARG FREAKING BLEEP FREAKING NO!"
Okay, good job. Now repeat.
Keep going.
Well, your still not there, but we'll settle for now. You've got an e for effort! xD
But, even with the paper looming over my head I manage to read my required dose of fiction.
Fairest by Gail Carson Levine
Aza has hair as black as a raven, cheeks whiter than snow, and lips the color of a dragons tongue. To round her appearance off nicely she also has pulpy cheeks and a waist the size of a tree-trunk. Gail Carson Levine manages to take an old fairy tale and make you fall in love with it all over again. Fairest is a great remake of Snow White complete with poison apple, but has so many new elements that you don't feel as if your having to read the same story for the thousandth time. Which oft happens in those remakes.
Slightly more angsty than Ella Enchanted, but stil lovely and appropriate for young children and fairy tale loving adults alike. It's a boon to all the girls --you guys might like it too-- out there who were ever ridiculed for their appearances.
I liked the book, but wasn't nearly as emotionally attatched to the characters as I was in The Two Princesses or Ella Enchanted. You just don't get enough time with anyone to care too much.
An extremely disturbing aspect--> One of the characters( one of the romantic characters I'm afraid to say.) is mentioned to have abnormally big ears. My band director has big ears. Therefore, whenever it talks about the book character I keep seeing Mr.Denton. Disturbing? You betcha.
Friday, April 04, 2008
The Somnamnbulist
Another shameless review that I did for my school paper. --What?! I wrote it therefore it still counts. Plus, it's nice to see that I've got a start on what I want to become blog devoted more to reviews and less to dreary posts.--
The Somnambulist by Jonathan Barnes
Ah, the dimly lit aisles of a book store swim before my eyes as I squint at many a title. For the past three hours I have been searching for one decent book to do a review on and have only come away with dozens of cliché captions. The standards for publicists have obviously reached an all time low. The standards for authors aren’t so hot either. --I was still annoyed with one of the smart eleck clerks when I wrote this*--
Finally I came away with The Somnambulist. Edward Moon is a washed out magician who used to be famous for his ability to solve crimes, but now is past his prime. Boredom is starting to get to him when one day he gets a visit from Inspector Merryweather who needs help with a new case. “This one’s special,” the man insisted. “There’s something queer about it, someting grisly and gothic and bizarre. So you can see why I thought of you.” Gothic and bizarre describes most of the book.
Moon is pulled deep into the twisted world of Victorian England as he searches for answers. Along the way he encounters a bearded woman**, the human fly, a man who lives backwards in time***, and his faithful sidekick The Somnambulist. What seems to be a straight up murder mystery in the beginning quickly changes into a humor-filled quest for answers as Moon and The Somnambulist uncover a cult whose goal is to take down London and rebuild it using the pantisocratic plans of the poet Coleridge.
What I still don't understand is why it was called The Somnambulist. The title character is in fact only a minor type that shadows Moon around. A tall, bald, golem like guy that communicates by writing on a slate and has a passion for milk. There are several vague references about him resembling Gog and Magog the last of Englands giants, but beyond that his origins aren't elaborated on. The most remarkable thing about him is that he can be impaled, slashed, and sliced with nary a drop of blood being shed. Well, I didn't say he wasn't odd. He just isn't featured enough to warrant the book being titled after him.
It’s somewhat confusing in places, but for the most part it’s funny enough that you won’t care. Never fear though, by the last three chapters everything is resolved quite nicely and all the odd pieces stitched together. If you like dark Victorian books with random bits of humor thrown in...this is a must. If you are easily grossed out by descriptions of gore and the occasional just plain gross, then it’s a must not.
--> Back to me--> This book was pretty decent considering that it was J. Barnes's first. It's funny in places and very confusing in others, but does have that nice 1800s feel to it with a large dash of fantasy. Who can resist, eh?
* The book store that I usually frequent has this really annoying know-it-all clerk. When ever I ask him questions he sneers at me. I know! Though, since I assosciate him with books I'm slightly fond of the jerk.
**A bearded whore actually. There's a really REALLY odd scene involving a place of ill repute and disfigurment.
***A man living backwards in time? Does this ring of T.H. White's Once and Future King or is it just me?
The Somnambulist by Jonathan Barnes
Ah, the dimly lit aisles of a book store swim before my eyes as I squint at many a title. For the past three hours I have been searching for one decent book to do a review on and have only come away with dozens of cliché captions. The standards for publicists have obviously reached an all time low. The standards for authors aren’t so hot either. --I was still annoyed with one of the smart eleck clerks when I wrote this*--
Finally I came away with The Somnambulist. Edward Moon is a washed out magician who used to be famous for his ability to solve crimes, but now is past his prime. Boredom is starting to get to him when one day he gets a visit from Inspector Merryweather who needs help with a new case. “This one’s special,” the man insisted. “There’s something queer about it, someting grisly and gothic and bizarre. So you can see why I thought of you.” Gothic and bizarre describes most of the book.
Moon is pulled deep into the twisted world of Victorian England as he searches for answers. Along the way he encounters a bearded woman**, the human fly, a man who lives backwards in time***, and his faithful sidekick The Somnambulist. What seems to be a straight up murder mystery in the beginning quickly changes into a humor-filled quest for answers as Moon and The Somnambulist uncover a cult whose goal is to take down London and rebuild it using the pantisocratic plans of the poet Coleridge.
What I still don't understand is why it was called The Somnambulist. The title character is in fact only a minor type that shadows Moon around. A tall, bald, golem like guy that communicates by writing on a slate and has a passion for milk. There are several vague references about him resembling Gog and Magog the last of Englands giants, but beyond that his origins aren't elaborated on. The most remarkable thing about him is that he can be impaled, slashed, and sliced with nary a drop of blood being shed. Well, I didn't say he wasn't odd. He just isn't featured enough to warrant the book being titled after him.
It’s somewhat confusing in places, but for the most part it’s funny enough that you won’t care. Never fear though, by the last three chapters everything is resolved quite nicely and all the odd pieces stitched together. If you like dark Victorian books with random bits of humor thrown in...this is a must. If you are easily grossed out by descriptions of gore and the occasional just plain gross, then it’s a must not.
--> Back to me--> This book was pretty decent considering that it was J. Barnes's first. It's funny in places and very confusing in others, but does have that nice 1800s feel to it with a large dash of fantasy. Who can resist, eh?
* The book store that I usually frequent has this really annoying know-it-all clerk. When ever I ask him questions he sneers at me. I know! Though, since I assosciate him with books I'm slightly fond of the jerk.
**A bearded whore actually. There's a really REALLY odd scene involving a place of ill repute and disfigurment.
***A man living backwards in time? Does this ring of T.H. White's Once and Future King or is it just me?
Gemma Doyle Trilogy--Pt. III
Umkay, this is going to be my final say on the series and then I shall mention them in my blog no more.
--A review that I did for my highschool paper and am now shamelessly posting on here.--
At first glance, A Great and Terrible Beauty appears to be just another cliche book lurking in the Teens section, but if you take out the time to pick it up it's actually worth a read. Gemma is a girl stuck in the Victorian age with the unfortunate afliction of independent thought. After the suicide of her mother she is sent from her home in India to Spence, a boarding school for young ladies, where she has to deal with petty girls and the unwanted attention of an Indian boy who followed her from home. She can also conjure a door of light that leads to a place called the Realms. While there she finds out that she is descended from a line of priestesses that governed the mysterious Realms and is the only one who can restore their secret society called The Order. At every turn there is another reason to question who she trusts and more people waiting to thwart her efforts at harnessing the magic.
The book captures the struggle of being a free spirited woman in a time when society wanted your body and mind both corseted. It also manages to throw in a classic batch of good versus evil in the form of ancient magic. A decent introductory book into the Gemma Doyle trilogy, it's followed up by Rebel Angels and The Sweet Far Thing. Both of which are much better than the first. It's dark and angsty, so if you don't do that sort of thing I would pass it by, but for all the rest of you...I would definitely go get myself a copy.
Back to me --> I know. Trying not to throw in exactly what I think complete with petty thoughts is almost physically painful, but I must restrain myself. They'd just get edited out of the paper anyhow. xD
I did REALLY like this series and to finish up this review I give you a comment from Wonder Duck --Which I just now noticed while scrolling down to see what I'd written on Gemma-- It really sums it up much more nicely than I can. Hopefully she doesn't mind.
DUDE. I love those books! And it's funny, because I had the same reservations as you did when I started reading them. Even the COVER of the book looked cliche, forget the description on the back. But the more I read the more I liked it. Couldn't figure out why at first, but I finally realized after I finished the second book that it's because of the characters. They're REAL girls. They're not all angels with a few token flaws to make them seem like real people. As much as I love the novel, they're not like the girls in Little Women, who do something naughty but always learn the moral at the end of the chapter. They're not always selfless and strong and particularly kind. They do snotty things and make bad decisions, and sometimes I find myself downright disliking them. But that's what makes them REAL. It's what makes them human. I've never met someone who never had a selfish thought or didn't ever do something with selfish intentions. It's the human condition. But even through the hefty character flaws, they still have zest and personality and vulnerability that's relatable. You can still find things to like about them.
--A review that I did for my highschool paper and am now shamelessly posting on here.--
At first glance, A Great and Terrible Beauty appears to be just another cliche book lurking in the Teens section, but if you take out the time to pick it up it's actually worth a read. Gemma is a girl stuck in the Victorian age with the unfortunate afliction of independent thought. After the suicide of her mother she is sent from her home in India to Spence, a boarding school for young ladies, where she has to deal with petty girls and the unwanted attention of an Indian boy who followed her from home. She can also conjure a door of light that leads to a place called the Realms. While there she finds out that she is descended from a line of priestesses that governed the mysterious Realms and is the only one who can restore their secret society called The Order. At every turn there is another reason to question who she trusts and more people waiting to thwart her efforts at harnessing the magic.
The book captures the struggle of being a free spirited woman in a time when society wanted your body and mind both corseted. It also manages to throw in a classic batch of good versus evil in the form of ancient magic. A decent introductory book into the Gemma Doyle trilogy, it's followed up by Rebel Angels and The Sweet Far Thing. Both of which are much better than the first. It's dark and angsty, so if you don't do that sort of thing I would pass it by, but for all the rest of you...I would definitely go get myself a copy.
Back to me --> I know. Trying not to throw in exactly what I think complete with petty thoughts is almost physically painful, but I must restrain myself. They'd just get edited out of the paper anyhow. xD
I did REALLY like this series and to finish up this review I give you a comment from Wonder Duck --Which I just now noticed while scrolling down to see what I'd written on Gemma-- It really sums it up much more nicely than I can. Hopefully she doesn't mind.
DUDE. I love those books! And it's funny, because I had the same reservations as you did when I started reading them. Even the COVER of the book looked cliche, forget the description on the back. But the more I read the more I liked it. Couldn't figure out why at first, but I finally realized after I finished the second book that it's because of the characters. They're REAL girls. They're not all angels with a few token flaws to make them seem like real people. As much as I love the novel, they're not like the girls in Little Women, who do something naughty but always learn the moral at the end of the chapter. They're not always selfless and strong and particularly kind. They do snotty things and make bad decisions, and sometimes I find myself downright disliking them. But that's what makes them REAL. It's what makes them human. I've never met someone who never had a selfish thought or didn't ever do something with selfish intentions. It's the human condition. But even through the hefty character flaws, they still have zest and personality and vulnerability that's relatable. You can still find things to like about them.
Review, Review, Review!
Alright! I've finally decided to sit down and write a review on a couple of books. I really like recommending books I read to other people and then lending them out. Sharing books gives me a warm fuzzy feeling of, " Ah, share the knowledge." --As much knowledge as my predilection for fiction/fantasy allows anyhow.--
It's very unlikely that I will do a review on a book I don't like. I mean, come on, those are easy to find and I've never understood why magazine's/newspaper's write them. The only exception being if I REALLY don't like it and feel it imperative that everyone else avoid it. ;)
It's very unlikely that I will do a review on a book I don't like. I mean, come on, those are easy to find and I've never understood why magazine's/newspaper's write them. The only exception being if I REALLY don't like it and feel it imperative that everyone else avoid it. ;)
Thursday, March 20, 2008
To Slog
WARNING! This is one of those dreary posts that I oft feel obligated to write. So, if that's not your thing read no further.
Slog--To make (one's way) with a slow heavy pace against resistance.
O, to slog my days away. Through solemn December and blooming May. Who am I slogging against you ask. Well, I shall tell you, my friend. I slog against time. Against stupidity. Against MYSELF! Yes, at every turn and I am thwarted by none other than the own denizens of my mind. They revolt constantly and never agree with my decisions. Therefore I slog.
My entire life seems to be a giant quagmire right now. I have to push through all of this thick foggy stuff in order to interact with other people and sometimes it's just not worth it. Unfortunately it's finally gotten to where I have to push through to talk to myself. I know! No wonder I never make any sense. My mind spends so much time in inactivity that it's started to stagnate. Which means that when I do need to pull something out of it it's usually covered in pond muck and barely discernible.
Of course, the thick foggy stuff may just mean I need glasses.
Slog--To make (one's way) with a slow heavy pace against resistance.
O, to slog my days away. Through solemn December and blooming May. Who am I slogging against you ask. Well, I shall tell you, my friend. I slog against time. Against stupidity. Against MYSELF! Yes, at every turn and I am thwarted by none other than the own denizens of my mind. They revolt constantly and never agree with my decisions. Therefore I slog.
My entire life seems to be a giant quagmire right now. I have to push through all of this thick foggy stuff in order to interact with other people and sometimes it's just not worth it. Unfortunately it's finally gotten to where I have to push through to talk to myself. I know! No wonder I never make any sense. My mind spends so much time in inactivity that it's started to stagnate. Which means that when I do need to pull something out of it it's usually covered in pond muck and barely discernible.
Of course, the thick foggy stuff may just mean I need glasses.
Across the Universe
Finally! I've been waiting forever to watch Across the Universe and now I have. It was even better than I had anticipated. Definitely my new favorite movie. So I thought I'd get on here and tell everyone to go watch it and maybe do a movie review, but then I said to myself,
' Starr, you don't do MOVIE reviews. You hardly do book reviews...I suppose you could try.'
'I suppose your right. I don't do movie reviews...or book reviews. Why did I bother starting this post again?'
' Promoting something....'
And now here I am. In order to encourage you instead of scare you off, I shall leave you with a list of words instead of a review.
Bono.
Beatles.
Dancing.
Irish Accent.
Hey Jude.
Yeah, I know you want to go watch it now. Tootaloo.
' Starr, you don't do MOVIE reviews. You hardly do book reviews...I suppose you could try.'
'I suppose your right. I don't do movie reviews...or book reviews. Why did I bother starting this post again?'
' Promoting something....'
And now here I am. In order to encourage you instead of scare you off, I shall leave you with a list of words instead of a review.
Bono.
Beatles.
Dancing.
Irish Accent.
Hey Jude.
Yeah, I know you want to go watch it now. Tootaloo.
Monday, March 10, 2008
O Book Review!
I'm back my peoples! With me I bring the reviewing of some books.
Gemma Doyle Trilogy by Libba Bray
An entire series of books! Yes, I've already did a bit of a rough review on A Great and Terrible Beauty and said that I would save my verdict on the book until I finished the trilogy....Well, the verdict is in. I liked it. Yes, indeed. Go read it. Now.
Gemma Doyle Trilogy by Libba Bray
An entire series of books! Yes, I've already did a bit of a rough review on A Great and Terrible Beauty and said that I would save my verdict on the book until I finished the trilogy....Well, the verdict is in. I liked it. Yes, indeed. Go read it. Now.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Bibliophilic Vermin
Oh ho! No school for me today, apparently the rain was freezing on the mountain so all of they county schools were called off. Why is this important you ask. Well, I'll tell you, my friend. Today makes the fourth day off from school. Indeed! You may well gasp in terror. Four days is much too long a weekend when your not expecting it.
I had no books lined up and my sad lack of vehicle makes it impossible to leave the house. So, I got to stay at home. By myself. Now, don't get me wrong. I have no issues with staying at the house by myself, I'm 17 for goodness sake, but if left without proper stimulation for more than three hours my imagination will get carried away with itself. I start seeing people out of the corners of my eyes, people walking past my door, unfamiliar reflections in the mirror, and that oh so cliche tapping on the window. By the time four hours have passed I'm jumping around corners brandishing a serrated kitchen knife and screaming at inanimate objects.
After about four and half hours I've decided that a nap is called for. So, I put all pointy objects back in their drawers and make my way to my bedroom. A safe haven if there ever was one. My room is largely occupied by books and large piles of clothes. A sneak attack through there is impossible. I would be alerted when they stumbled over strategically placed pile of suitcases. --These would be old empty suit cases. Great for keeping random unorganizable clutter in.--
Five and a half hours have passed alone when the crunch crunch of disturbed papers wakes me. Ha ha! So, my fear of the unknown is justified. Something has found it's way into my room. I sit up and listen carefully, positive that I HAD heard something. Once again, I hear the sound of paper crinkling. Yet, I see no one. Perhaps there is a friendly spirit that's doing my overdue Chemistry homework. Afraid not, the Chemistry book is sitting forlornly on my desk waiting to be neglected some more. The origin of the sound seems to be coming from one of my bookshelves, so I grab a flash light and walk over to investigate. I get down on the floor and there it is. An adorable shiny black eyed mouse.
It was just a piece of a mouse, less than half the size of my palm.-- Guess of course. I did NOT pick the disease ridden thing up.-- After the mandatory second of, " Aren't you just a cute mouse?!" I was forced to decide on an action.
I could:
A. Toss it some cheese and hope that it decides not to procreate.
B. Set up some nice catch and release traps.
C. Smash it with a hammer!
My decision was taken from me when it whipped itself around revealing twice it's body length in long bald tail. **Insert grossed out shivering here.** That sucker had to die. I picked up the nearest long thrustable object which happpend to be a ridicuously heavy and blunted sword. --Note to self: Look into long spears.-- I had the light trained on it's beady little eyes when it blinked. Drat. For some reason I associate blinking with the communication.
Now my straight forward plan of seek and destroy had been thwarted by the fact that it as obviously trying to tell my something. That was all it took to restart the imagination drive that had been turned off when my baser cave man instincts kicked in. --" Ung. Me want kill mouse."--
Maybe the mouse wasn't a mouse at all! Mayhap it was the reencarnated spirit of some ancient philosopher. It was attracted to the irresistable smell of books and was now trying to tell me who it was. Once an inkwell was provided it would obviously be able to provide me with the meaning of life written in small mousey scrawl. It was quite clear that it was up to me to preserve this furred fountain of knowledge.
I was trying to decide if it resembled Aristotle or Descartes more when it decided to scurry UP the bookshelf. Oh snap. Not only did my rodent friend possess ancient philosophical strategy, it had also been bitten by a radioactice spider. The advantage higher ground was now on it's side and jumped back with, "EEk! EEk!" clearly racing through my mind. All thoughts of preservation were now off. The want to help a defensless creature had now turned to outmaneuvering a spidey-power endowed philosophizing rat.
I got it cornered between two bookshelves and did a one handed stab at it through the crack. Swordmanship is obviously not my forte because I hadn't even stunned it. It was now blinking up at me in one last attempt at intelligible communication. I had already figured out this was just another ploy of the mouse race to incite mercy. You can not fool me again! I positioned the light and put both hands on the sword this time, steadying my aim. I struck down! Right before I reached it I had a thought of how gross actually stabbing it was going to be. Plus, I would get mouse gore all over my carpet. So, instead of a death lunge it was more of a creepy caress that said, " There, there, Mouse. Why don't you go nibble on Tolkein. It's full of fine quality paper."
So, the mouse got away. I've resorted to locking all three of our cats in my room and hoping for the best. The moral of this story? If you don't constantly feed your brain new information then it will TURN on you.
Spidey Mouse indeed.
I had no books lined up and my sad lack of vehicle makes it impossible to leave the house. So, I got to stay at home. By myself. Now, don't get me wrong. I have no issues with staying at the house by myself, I'm 17 for goodness sake, but if left without proper stimulation for more than three hours my imagination will get carried away with itself. I start seeing people out of the corners of my eyes, people walking past my door, unfamiliar reflections in the mirror, and that oh so cliche tapping on the window. By the time four hours have passed I'm jumping around corners brandishing a serrated kitchen knife and screaming at inanimate objects.
After about four and half hours I've decided that a nap is called for. So, I put all pointy objects back in their drawers and make my way to my bedroom. A safe haven if there ever was one. My room is largely occupied by books and large piles of clothes. A sneak attack through there is impossible. I would be alerted when they stumbled over strategically placed pile of suitcases. --These would be old empty suit cases. Great for keeping random unorganizable clutter in.--
Five and a half hours have passed alone when the crunch crunch of disturbed papers wakes me. Ha ha! So, my fear of the unknown is justified. Something has found it's way into my room. I sit up and listen carefully, positive that I HAD heard something. Once again, I hear the sound of paper crinkling. Yet, I see no one. Perhaps there is a friendly spirit that's doing my overdue Chemistry homework. Afraid not, the Chemistry book is sitting forlornly on my desk waiting to be neglected some more. The origin of the sound seems to be coming from one of my bookshelves, so I grab a flash light and walk over to investigate. I get down on the floor and there it is. An adorable shiny black eyed mouse.
It was just a piece of a mouse, less than half the size of my palm.-- Guess of course. I did NOT pick the disease ridden thing up.-- After the mandatory second of, " Aren't you just a cute mouse?!" I was forced to decide on an action.
I could:
A. Toss it some cheese and hope that it decides not to procreate.
B. Set up some nice catch and release traps.
C. Smash it with a hammer!
My decision was taken from me when it whipped itself around revealing twice it's body length in long bald tail. **Insert grossed out shivering here.** That sucker had to die. I picked up the nearest long thrustable object which happpend to be a ridicuously heavy and blunted sword. --Note to self: Look into long spears.-- I had the light trained on it's beady little eyes when it blinked. Drat. For some reason I associate blinking with the communication.
Now my straight forward plan of seek and destroy had been thwarted by the fact that it as obviously trying to tell my something. That was all it took to restart the imagination drive that had been turned off when my baser cave man instincts kicked in. --" Ung. Me want kill mouse."--
Maybe the mouse wasn't a mouse at all! Mayhap it was the reencarnated spirit of some ancient philosopher. It was attracted to the irresistable smell of books and was now trying to tell me who it was. Once an inkwell was provided it would obviously be able to provide me with the meaning of life written in small mousey scrawl. It was quite clear that it was up to me to preserve this furred fountain of knowledge.
I was trying to decide if it resembled Aristotle or Descartes more when it decided to scurry UP the bookshelf. Oh snap. Not only did my rodent friend possess ancient philosophical strategy, it had also been bitten by a radioactice spider. The advantage higher ground was now on it's side and jumped back with, "EEk! EEk!" clearly racing through my mind. All thoughts of preservation were now off. The want to help a defensless creature had now turned to outmaneuvering a spidey-power endowed philosophizing rat.
I got it cornered between two bookshelves and did a one handed stab at it through the crack. Swordmanship is obviously not my forte because I hadn't even stunned it. It was now blinking up at me in one last attempt at intelligible communication. I had already figured out this was just another ploy of the mouse race to incite mercy. You can not fool me again! I positioned the light and put both hands on the sword this time, steadying my aim. I struck down! Right before I reached it I had a thought of how gross actually stabbing it was going to be. Plus, I would get mouse gore all over my carpet. So, instead of a death lunge it was more of a creepy caress that said, " There, there, Mouse. Why don't you go nibble on Tolkein. It's full of fine quality paper."
So, the mouse got away. I've resorted to locking all three of our cats in my room and hoping for the best. The moral of this story? If you don't constantly feed your brain new information then it will TURN on you.
Spidey Mouse indeed.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
To Not Review
**SIGH**
I know that last post was just a giant pile of pettiness and grudge holding, but I am a petty grudge holding jerk. First step to recovery...;)
On a less personal note --not so much of less personal as less "Look at me! I'm a teen who can't let go of things that happened years ago."-- I just finished the Abhorsen Trilogy by Garth Nix. It was good. Go read it.
I'm not going to do a review on it--I can hear your sigh of relief from here-- right now. Haha! Thought you were going to get out of it. Suckers. I don't want to do any reviews for this blog until I get my newspaper book review done. I can't decide what book to do it on. Sigh.
I mean, what is high school paper appropriate? I was going to do The Book of Lost Things, but decided that it was maybe too disturbing for a high school paper. Well, with the heart eating Rumplestiltskin and graphic child decapitating scenes it IS a bit disturbing for young peoples. Then I moved on to The Book Thief. I don't know, I just don't want to do another review on it. --Reason why I'm not doing a review on here: Because then I don't want to do it again for the paper. I might decide to review Garth Nix's books for the paper, therefore you don't get to hear about it.-- Also thought about doing Libba Bray's A Great and Terrible Beauty, but decided that the books were aimed too much at young women. I hate labeling books, so I'm NOT going to call it Chick Lit. I'm sure if some guy could get past his over inflated ego to read it, he has just as much chance as I do at enjoying it. I live in Tennessee. The guys have southernized over inflated egos.
So, what to review? I dunno. I was asking you.
I know that last post was just a giant pile of pettiness and grudge holding, but I am a petty grudge holding jerk. First step to recovery...;)
On a less personal note --not so much of less personal as less "Look at me! I'm a teen who can't let go of things that happened years ago."-- I just finished the Abhorsen Trilogy by Garth Nix. It was good. Go read it.
I'm not going to do a review on it--I can hear your sigh of relief from here-- right now. Haha! Thought you were going to get out of it. Suckers. I don't want to do any reviews for this blog until I get my newspaper book review done. I can't decide what book to do it on. Sigh.
I mean, what is high school paper appropriate? I was going to do The Book of Lost Things, but decided that it was maybe too disturbing for a high school paper. Well, with the heart eating Rumplestiltskin and graphic child decapitating scenes it IS a bit disturbing for young peoples. Then I moved on to The Book Thief. I don't know, I just don't want to do another review on it. --Reason why I'm not doing a review on here: Because then I don't want to do it again for the paper. I might decide to review Garth Nix's books for the paper, therefore you don't get to hear about it.-- Also thought about doing Libba Bray's A Great and Terrible Beauty, but decided that the books were aimed too much at young women. I hate labeling books, so I'm NOT going to call it Chick Lit. I'm sure if some guy could get past his over inflated ego to read it, he has just as much chance as I do at enjoying it. I live in Tennessee. The guys have southernized over inflated egos.
So, what to review? I dunno. I was asking you.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Condescension and a Fun Noodle
So, this is my first week sitting in my new chair--Saxophone chair--. This chair happens to be in the front row of two. This means that I get first part now. Unfortunately, we've been working on some songs for about two weeks now and this is the first time I've seen my new part. Therefore, I am behind.
This normally wouldn't be a problem. I would practice, get the part, move on. Yet, there is a little snag in my process. Third chair.
**Brief interlude for violent swearing.**
She, almighty saxophonist that she is, has been leaning over next to me to listen. When we get to a hard part she plays very loud and pointedly at me. This, from any other person, would be grudgingly welcomed. Third chair, on the other hand, is decidedly unwelcome to say anthing to me. She is a backstabbing decomposing piece of crap. She stole boyfriend freshmen year. She stole my best friend at the beginning of this year. She is not to be trusted. Most of all, she is not to EVER correct me. I just started playing the part, it's going to take a couple of days for me to get the hang of the new one.
She will not correct me with impunity!! The next time she says something, or does her little lean over and play routine, I'm going to take HER saxophone and beat her over the head with it!
Fine, fine, violence is not a solution to my problems. There will be no beating...Well, maybe I could just get one of those fun noodle floats you put in pools and hit her a couple of times. Just a few times...not even that hard...Fine! No fun noodle either.
The condescension must stop. The only way I can see to end it is to get better than her. This means more practicing. I have a horrible feeling that scales are becoming a habit.
She has already asked me to challenge her so that she can turn me down and be automatically moved down a seat. This is so she can sit next to her boyfriend. Well, I laugh at her and her intentions. I don't plan to challenge her at all. If I challenge anyone it will be second chair! If I have a place in my section it will be earned, not given to me.
This normally wouldn't be a problem. I would practice, get the part, move on. Yet, there is a little snag in my process. Third chair.
**Brief interlude for violent swearing.**
She, almighty saxophonist that she is, has been leaning over next to me to listen. When we get to a hard part she plays very loud and pointedly at me. This, from any other person, would be grudgingly welcomed. Third chair, on the other hand, is decidedly unwelcome to say anthing to me. She is a backstabbing decomposing piece of crap. She stole boyfriend freshmen year. She stole my best friend at the beginning of this year. She is not to be trusted. Most of all, she is not to EVER correct me. I just started playing the part, it's going to take a couple of days for me to get the hang of the new one.
She will not correct me with impunity!! The next time she says something, or does her little lean over and play routine, I'm going to take HER saxophone and beat her over the head with it!
Fine, fine, violence is not a solution to my problems. There will be no beating...Well, maybe I could just get one of those fun noodle floats you put in pools and hit her a couple of times. Just a few times...not even that hard...Fine! No fun noodle either.
The condescension must stop. The only way I can see to end it is to get better than her. This means more practicing. I have a horrible feeling that scales are becoming a habit.
She has already asked me to challenge her so that she can turn me down and be automatically moved down a seat. This is so she can sit next to her boyfriend. Well, I laugh at her and her intentions. I don't plan to challenge her at all. If I challenge anyone it will be second chair! If I have a place in my section it will be earned, not given to me.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Almost, But Not Quite
Try outs have came and gone and the verdict has been given. Fourth. Fourth out of sixteen saxophones. Ah ha! I didn't fail at life completely.
**polite applause** "Thank you, thank you."
The entire day of try outs was spent in queasy anticipation of my imminent downfall to completely worthless. I got absolutely no school work done and by the time three o'clock rolled around I was just about to burst into a fit of hysterical screaming complete with changing octaves.
All of the saxophones were in the band room waiting for their turn at self inflicted torture. Some were standing idly by and chatting and others --me-- were playing their prepared pieces over in over in hopes of last minute improvement. As the other players walked to the storage cabinet I slunk back into my chair, trying to avoid notice so that I could get those extra two minutes of practicing in. Finally, my turn was fast approaching. After the next person I was up...
You'll never guess what I did. I dropped my saxophone. Dropped it. On the floor. Oddly enough, this is the first time I've dropped the thing. It's the first time I've dropped any saxophone. Ah, but here's the highlight. Not only did I drop it, I bent several of the keys. This made it impossible for me to go any lower than a G. Shiva weeps.
Thankfully, one of the sophomores let me borrow their saxophone. Bless you benevolent sophomores! Just in time too, as I pushed my mouth piece on Mr.Denton walked out the door scythe in hand. Beckoning to his next victim. "Oh, me you say?"
I walked into the storage closet--You know how I feel about those.-- and was pleasantly surprised to realize that this one was larger than last years. Seconds later it dawned on me that there was no low lying fog or dim lighting. Thank goodness!
Even with the lack of fog etc. I was a nervous wreck playing on a foreign saxophone and did not do my best, but he didn't say anything--He usually takes out time to correct us during try outs. This is not a good idea considering how close I am to hysterical during these things.--and I didn't stay in there longer than I had too.
So, for now I must for fourth, but I will be challenging. Hopefully, by the time challenges roll around I'll have my saxophone fixed. Fifth chair has already said that he's challenging me. Well, I like my chair and he can't have it. Now let some more practicing ensue...
**polite applause** "Thank you, thank you."
The entire day of try outs was spent in queasy anticipation of my imminent downfall to completely worthless. I got absolutely no school work done and by the time three o'clock rolled around I was just about to burst into a fit of hysterical screaming complete with changing octaves.
All of the saxophones were in the band room waiting for their turn at self inflicted torture. Some were standing idly by and chatting and others --me-- were playing their prepared pieces over in over in hopes of last minute improvement. As the other players walked to the storage cabinet I slunk back into my chair, trying to avoid notice so that I could get those extra two minutes of practicing in. Finally, my turn was fast approaching. After the next person I was up...
You'll never guess what I did. I dropped my saxophone. Dropped it. On the floor. Oddly enough, this is the first time I've dropped the thing. It's the first time I've dropped any saxophone. Ah, but here's the highlight. Not only did I drop it, I bent several of the keys. This made it impossible for me to go any lower than a G. Shiva weeps.
Thankfully, one of the sophomores let me borrow their saxophone. Bless you benevolent sophomores! Just in time too, as I pushed my mouth piece on Mr.Denton walked out the door scythe in hand. Beckoning to his next victim. "Oh, me you say?"
I walked into the storage closet--You know how I feel about those.-- and was pleasantly surprised to realize that this one was larger than last years. Seconds later it dawned on me that there was no low lying fog or dim lighting. Thank goodness!
Even with the lack of fog etc. I was a nervous wreck playing on a foreign saxophone and did not do my best, but he didn't say anything--He usually takes out time to correct us during try outs. This is not a good idea considering how close I am to hysterical during these things.--and I didn't stay in there longer than I had too.
So, for now I must for fourth, but I will be challenging. Hopefully, by the time challenges roll around I'll have my saxophone fixed. Fifth chair has already said that he's challenging me. Well, I like my chair and he can't have it. Now let some more practicing ensue...
Saturday, January 12, 2008
The Storage Closet of Doom
Oh holy nine gates of hell! I have try outs Tuesday. Tuesday. I have two days until try outs. I feel queasy just thinking about it.
Try outs are, without a doubt, the bain of my existence. You see, I have had many a try out and all of them were accompanied by a horrific nightmare-ish quality. It's like a really old detective movie where they're sitting in the interrogation room. Mr.Private Detective is sitting behind his desk cooly waiting for you to break under the pressure of his deductive skills. Meanwhile, you're sitting there using a slightly yellowed handkerchief to wipe away your perspiration. Exactly like that.
My first try out was held in the sixth grade. I had been playing the saxophone for a year and was no doubt behind the others that had been playing for two. Mr.C (Short man with red hair who has a tendency to look flushed) is sitting in his office. By office, I mean small closet that has been converted into a dimly lit extremely cramped room of torture. I don't remember much of it. What I do remember seems to be filled with flickering lights, shaking papers, and fog. Yes, fog. I think he brought in dried ice for the occasion. The sicko.
But, I'm not here to tell you about then. I'm here to tell you about now. The past two years I have had to try out for the high school band director, Mr.Denton. My extreme fear of Mr.C has obviously carried over to Mr.Denton with interest. Freshmen year try outs involved a darkly lit chorus room. Sophomore try outs were moved into small storage room. This years try outs...I fear they may be moved into a even smaller and dimly lit storage room. Oh blast.
Band directors and small dimly lit storage closets must be feared. Freud has something to say about early childhood traumas effecting you later in life. See. I'm not crazy. Ask Freud.
I should be frantically practicing, but if I practice then I'm forced to think about the you-know-what. So I'm going to safely avoid any type of thinking by reading. Yeah.
I wouldn't be worried so much, but this is the last year I have to get first chair. I don't want anyone else to have it, therefore I must get it. If this means using sabotage and unchivalrous poisonings...duty isn't always pleasant you know.
Wish me luck and safe sabotaging. I'm off to conquer a room of dusty band equipment.
Try outs are, without a doubt, the bain of my existence. You see, I have had many a try out and all of them were accompanied by a horrific nightmare-ish quality. It's like a really old detective movie where they're sitting in the interrogation room. Mr.Private Detective is sitting behind his desk cooly waiting for you to break under the pressure of his deductive skills. Meanwhile, you're sitting there using a slightly yellowed handkerchief to wipe away your perspiration. Exactly like that.
My first try out was held in the sixth grade. I had been playing the saxophone for a year and was no doubt behind the others that had been playing for two. Mr.C (Short man with red hair who has a tendency to look flushed) is sitting in his office. By office, I mean small closet that has been converted into a dimly lit extremely cramped room of torture. I don't remember much of it. What I do remember seems to be filled with flickering lights, shaking papers, and fog. Yes, fog. I think he brought in dried ice for the occasion. The sicko.
But, I'm not here to tell you about then. I'm here to tell you about now. The past two years I have had to try out for the high school band director, Mr.Denton. My extreme fear of Mr.C has obviously carried over to Mr.Denton with interest. Freshmen year try outs involved a darkly lit chorus room. Sophomore try outs were moved into small storage room. This years try outs...I fear they may be moved into a even smaller and dimly lit storage room. Oh blast.
Band directors and small dimly lit storage closets must be feared. Freud has something to say about early childhood traumas effecting you later in life. See. I'm not crazy. Ask Freud.
I should be frantically practicing, but if I practice then I'm forced to think about the you-know-what. So I'm going to safely avoid any type of thinking by reading. Yeah.
I wouldn't be worried so much, but this is the last year I have to get first chair. I don't want anyone else to have it, therefore I must get it. If this means using sabotage and unchivalrous poisonings...duty isn't always pleasant you know.
Wish me luck and safe sabotaging. I'm off to conquer a room of dusty band equipment.
