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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

Literary Roses

What makes a good book? There is an unlimited amount of things that can be taken into account: word choice,descriptions,plot,characters....

For example--There is a book called The Historian that I'm fond of. If you just take into account the plot, then I might accept it as okay if a bit dry. The thing that I really enjoy about it is the descriptions of places. The characters travel all over Europe and England and the author goes to great lengths to make sure you can visualize your surroundings. The words enable you to see a Romanian forest in minute detail, down to the moss on logs.

I know that reading is only limited to your imagination. If I was reading a book lacking descriptions then I could easily create scenery of my own to go with it. Probably with ridiculously unrelated decorations, but that's one of the many wonders that accompany fiction. Sometimes it's just nice to be able to let the story teller guide your attention to the warm tile of Venice and the colors of the sunset. Not for plots sake or any particular purpose. Just to stop and smell the literary roses.

A List and Some Books

Alright! *rubs hand together* There are many about to happen.

1. I go back to school Monday.
2. I have band tryouts on the 15th.
3. This is the second semester and as such I need to endeavor not to screw it up as badly as I did the first.
4. I'm going to tell you about some of the books that I read over break.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

A book set in Nazi Germany and narrated by a sentimental misunderstood Death. Death has been carting ( or carrying if you want to be picky) souls to heaven since the beginning of time and sometimes it gets a little overwhelming. He can't just let souls wander around wreaking havoc so he finds an outlet in distractions. His main distraction is the color of the sky. I found it slightly confusing at first, his mentioning random colors, but I finally realized what he was talking about. Most of you will probably pick up on it quicker than I did. Especially if you've read this first...Right. He is reluctantly drawn into the story of Liesel Meminger, The Book Thief.

The story centers around a young girl who is trying to survive in a world of hunger,suspicion, and the terrors of the Nazi Party. Thankfully, it doesn't get hung up on those things. :) The book does make nice political points just by being and showing what it was like, but it doesn't use the girl as an instrument of education by putting her through untold horrors and making her act twice her age.$ My horrible bit of reviewing aside...this was a book worth reading.


A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray

I've put off buying this book for about six months now. I pick it up,look at it, decide it's too cliche, and then put it down. I finally caved and bought the thing so I could get it over with. It's set in the quickly industrializing Victorian age$$. Gemma Doyle is sent to a finishing school in England after the brutal murder of her mother. The murder that she saw in a vision.

The fear of cliche-ness isn't as bad as I had feared, but you do have a group of girls sneaking out to do magic, a finishing school, and other things typical of almost cliched novels. I enjoyed it and plan on reading all three books in the trilogy, but if you can't stand overused plots then I would advise you to keep on browsing...I hate to condemn a book, but there it is. One of the main problems I have with it is how flat the Realms are. --Realms being the secret place they can access through the use of magic.-- You don't meet any interesting characters there that actually have feelings or visit any places that are going to stick out in your mind. Of course, this is a number one out three. The final verdict will be saved until the entire Trilogy has been read...

$This is with vague reference to a certain Nathaniel Hawthorne and The Scarlett Letter. I'm not a big Hawthorne fan and the fact that Pearl was used as a symbol of truth irks me to no end. She was a good thing to use for it to be sure, but she just as easily could have been used to add a little entertainment to it as well. Mayhap then I wouldn't have bored out of my mind reading it...

$$The Victorian Age. Just a random thought to share--Has anyone ever noticed the amount of weird and kinky things that went on with these people? All that sexual repression was probably starting to get to them...Lay back and think of England!