You all know me far better than I'd like to admit, and it's no secret that I'm not a very secretive person about my life. Okay, maybe it was, but it isn't any more. See?
However, I have changed quite a bit recently. It's pretty incredible the way stress affects people. I've already posted on the different ways I hate people, so I won't do that again. I thought about posting all the ways that people annoy me, but I realized that would end up being offensive and hurtful, and generally lose me a lot of friends. So instead, you get a collection of words that detail the ways in which I'm a bit obnoxious.
I'm really ready for college. I mean, sure, I'll miss my friends, and don't get me wrong, you guys are great in many different ways. I'll leave out the part where some of you are not so great in many different ways, because I'm attempting to be sentimental right now. But really, I'm ready for new friends. I'm ready for a new start. This isn't going to be as difficult for me as I thought it would. There are a few (two or three, at the most) people whom I will pine for every day of my existence, but I can deal with it. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm not really going to miss a whole lot about high school at all. Well, no, actually it isn't that hard for me to admit at all. It's just the truth.
I get attached to people really easily. Not just people, I get attached to almost anything really easily. But I also don't find it very difficult to break off connections. I'm going to warn everyone about this right now, so that you aren't offended later, but I'm absolutely crap at staying in touch. I'm not going to write you letters, I probably will only Facebook chat you very occasionally--and other than the people who I am extremely close to and have known for a long time, I probably will lose touch altogether. This is just a personality trait. Don't take it too personally. I'll probably cry at graduation. I'll probably be incredibly excited and happy the very next day.
I don't know exactly what the purpose of this post was, other than just to give you all a heads-up about a side of me you might not have seen coming (or maybe you have, in which case, kudos). Maybe I'm extremely selfish, as someone in my English class suggested, but really, I don't have that much of a problem with that. I'm okay with myself, finally, after all this time. I may not be confident about myself, but I've reached a point where my personality is something I can deal with, at the very least. Maybe that's awful--maybe you think I'm not really living. Well, truth is, I'm not really living. For a while now, and probably in the future, I'm just going to have to be content with getting by.
Monday, January 04, 2010
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Dream Post #1: Drinking, Pocket Watches, and The Bear.
Time to do what I do best: copy other people. I had a pretty crazy dream last night, as detailed below.
I'm getting a ride back from musical rehearsal. Since, of course, my house is on the other end of the universe, we have been in the car for two hours when the car breaks down somewhere in Seattle. We are in a neighborhood that is a "bad" neighborhood. I do not know where this neighborhood is actually located, nor do I know if it actually exists, but for the sake of my dream, there was a "bad" neighborhood, with "bad" houses, and sketchy looking people walking around.
For some reason, I was not scared by the "bad" neighborhood, and also for unknown reasons, it was assumed that we would have to spend the night in said neighborhood, because there was no way we could get like, a cab or anything. We walked into the house that the car had broken down in front of. It just so happened that the people in this house got a lot of situations like this, and they were perfectly happy to rent out a room to us for the night, provided that we could pay for it. I opened up my wallet and gave them money. I think it ended up being $1000 dollars for one night, but the money was all made out of toothpicks, so it was okay.
We went upstairs to our room. This is the point where who "we" are becomes unclear, because at some point it ended up being only me. I'm not quite sure who "we" were to start with, but there was definitely some other person in the car with me, because even in dreams, I don't have my license. When I got to the room, there was one girl sitting in the corner. She was around 12 or so, and she had in iPod headphones. I didn't want to disturb her, so I looked around. There were two more girls on the bed, who were around my age. They were making out. It didn't occur to me in the dream to be awkward, so I just observed them for a few seconds and then sat on the edge of the bed.
At some point, they asked me if I wanted to join them. This was still not awkward, so I started making out with one of them (the hotter one), and the other one looked a little lost. Then there was a knock on the door, so we stopped making out, and the door opened to reveal a large woman. They called her mom, even though she was black and they were white, and I'm pretty sure she wasn't their actual mom. This was intuition--they didn't tell me so, but I just knew. I also knew that she was not to know about us making out, so I kept my mouth shut. She yelled at them about something, and then she left.
Eventually, it became dark, and we decided that it would be really fun if we ordered some drinks. For some reason, there was some kind of liquor delivery service, like pizza delivery, so we called them and ordered a lot of vodka and rum and other such things. We were very much underage, but the person on the phone didn't bother to check. Finally, the doorbell rang, but the girls' "mom" answered the door. She got very angry at us, because we were not supposed to be drinking. At this point, she suddenly became my mom too. She started saying things like "what would your father say?", etc, and it was gathered that my father (and theirs) was dead. We all were looking for a pocket watch that he had supposedly left behind, since this pocket watch was the key to all knowledge or something.
Finally we opened a safe where they had stored all his belongings, and found many cool things, like a miniature christmas tree. At the very back of the safe was a pocket watch. We all rejoiced. Then, we walked out the front door of the house.
When we walked outside, we realized that we were in Red Square. Suddenly, the people I was with were gone, and it was just me in Red Square. I realized it was time for math class. I went into Allen-Gates and sat down in the classroom (which was actually the OChem classroom). Mr. Kresser came in and looked at some faceless boy and asked him for his homework. He gave it to him. I was worried, because I hadn't done the homework, having been on a quest to find a pocket watch. However, he didn't collect any more homework, and instead started reviewing a problem on the board. I was very curious about how to do this problem, since I hadn't understood it on the homework (that I had suddenly attempted). He was in the middle of his explanation when, alas, I was awoken by my father, informing me that it was noon.
Curses! I guess we shall never find out the answer to the problem, nor shall we get to drink the liquor we ordered or finish our make out session. Or get home from rehearsal, for that matter...
I'm getting a ride back from musical rehearsal. Since, of course, my house is on the other end of the universe, we have been in the car for two hours when the car breaks down somewhere in Seattle. We are in a neighborhood that is a "bad" neighborhood. I do not know where this neighborhood is actually located, nor do I know if it actually exists, but for the sake of my dream, there was a "bad" neighborhood, with "bad" houses, and sketchy looking people walking around.
For some reason, I was not scared by the "bad" neighborhood, and also for unknown reasons, it was assumed that we would have to spend the night in said neighborhood, because there was no way we could get like, a cab or anything. We walked into the house that the car had broken down in front of. It just so happened that the people in this house got a lot of situations like this, and they were perfectly happy to rent out a room to us for the night, provided that we could pay for it. I opened up my wallet and gave them money. I think it ended up being $1000 dollars for one night, but the money was all made out of toothpicks, so it was okay.
We went upstairs to our room. This is the point where who "we" are becomes unclear, because at some point it ended up being only me. I'm not quite sure who "we" were to start with, but there was definitely some other person in the car with me, because even in dreams, I don't have my license. When I got to the room, there was one girl sitting in the corner. She was around 12 or so, and she had in iPod headphones. I didn't want to disturb her, so I looked around. There were two more girls on the bed, who were around my age. They were making out. It didn't occur to me in the dream to be awkward, so I just observed them for a few seconds and then sat on the edge of the bed.
At some point, they asked me if I wanted to join them. This was still not awkward, so I started making out with one of them (the hotter one), and the other one looked a little lost. Then there was a knock on the door, so we stopped making out, and the door opened to reveal a large woman. They called her mom, even though she was black and they were white, and I'm pretty sure she wasn't their actual mom. This was intuition--they didn't tell me so, but I just knew. I also knew that she was not to know about us making out, so I kept my mouth shut. She yelled at them about something, and then she left.
Eventually, it became dark, and we decided that it would be really fun if we ordered some drinks. For some reason, there was some kind of liquor delivery service, like pizza delivery, so we called them and ordered a lot of vodka and rum and other such things. We were very much underage, but the person on the phone didn't bother to check. Finally, the doorbell rang, but the girls' "mom" answered the door. She got very angry at us, because we were not supposed to be drinking. At this point, she suddenly became my mom too. She started saying things like "what would your father say?", etc, and it was gathered that my father (and theirs) was dead. We all were looking for a pocket watch that he had supposedly left behind, since this pocket watch was the key to all knowledge or something.
Finally we opened a safe where they had stored all his belongings, and found many cool things, like a miniature christmas tree. At the very back of the safe was a pocket watch. We all rejoiced. Then, we walked out the front door of the house.
When we walked outside, we realized that we were in Red Square. Suddenly, the people I was with were gone, and it was just me in Red Square. I realized it was time for math class. I went into Allen-Gates and sat down in the classroom (which was actually the OChem classroom). Mr. Kresser came in and looked at some faceless boy and asked him for his homework. He gave it to him. I was worried, because I hadn't done the homework, having been on a quest to find a pocket watch. However, he didn't collect any more homework, and instead started reviewing a problem on the board. I was very curious about how to do this problem, since I hadn't understood it on the homework (that I had suddenly attempted). He was in the middle of his explanation when, alas, I was awoken by my father, informing me that it was noon.
Curses! I guess we shall never find out the answer to the problem, nor shall we get to drink the liquor we ordered or finish our make out session. Or get home from rehearsal, for that matter...
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
I'd love to...get to know you.
Let's do a measurement of how much college is screwing me right now.
This is how much I would be screwed anyways:
----------------------------------------------
This is how much I'm screwed when college is added:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Woooooooo!
I hate this. A lot.
Not going to talk about it anymore.
If anyone is curious, I finished the tune for that last song I posted (so exciting!).
Also I saw Avatar. It was great. It was like a massive drug trip...IN 3-D!!
Why did I start this post? I don't really have anything to talk about. I'm going to take some random quizzes on blogthings so that I can procrastinate a little bit more, and then post the results here.
What Kind of Beauty Are You?
Answer: You are a natural beauty!
(This is code for: you are no kind of beauty)
How Evil Are You?
Answer: You are 40% evil.
(This is code for: you pretend. A lot.)
What Hairstyle Are You?
Answer: You are dreads.
(This is code for: LOL)
What Age Do You Act?
Answer: You act like you are 22 years old.
(This is code for: you are entirely average in every way. Don't worry 'bout it.)
What Kind of Art Are You?
Answer: You are a drawing.
(This is code for: see above.)
Well, that was fun. What have information have we gleaned about me? We now know that I am completely average in every way. This is a great thing to find out while trying to describe (sell) yourself to college.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Now let us look at this article:
http://flavorwire.com/57909/stereotyping-people-by-their-favorite-indie-bands
From this article, we can learn even more about me! Here is what we now know describes me:
Bros vaguely interested in listening to music and very interested in having sex with their girlfriend.
Hopelessly patchy beard growers.
People who think that world hunger could be assuaged with four part harmonies.
Gorilla Vs. Bear readers.
People with self-esteem issues and probably hate Ben Gibbard.
Frequent transcendental experience havers.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Okay, now what do we know about me? That I am a stoner, that I have a beard, that I am interested in solving world hunger, that I hate Ben Gibbard, that I have self-esteem issues (truth), that I am vaguely interested in listening to music, that I am a bro, that I am very interested in having sex with my girlfriend (maybe truth).
The process of writing this post has been an educational experience. I now feel better equipped to describe myself to college. See the above paragraph. That is what I will say.
This is how much I would be screwed anyways:
----------------------------------------------
This is how much I'm screwed when college is added:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Woooooooo!
I hate this. A lot.
Not going to talk about it anymore.
If anyone is curious, I finished the tune for that last song I posted (so exciting!).
Also I saw Avatar. It was great. It was like a massive drug trip...IN 3-D!!
Why did I start this post? I don't really have anything to talk about. I'm going to take some random quizzes on blogthings so that I can procrastinate a little bit more, and then post the results here.
What Kind of Beauty Are You?
Answer: You are a natural beauty!
(This is code for: you are no kind of beauty)
How Evil Are You?
Answer: You are 40% evil.
(This is code for: you pretend. A lot.)
What Hairstyle Are You?
Answer: You are dreads.
(This is code for: LOL)
What Age Do You Act?
Answer: You act like you are 22 years old.
(This is code for: you are entirely average in every way. Don't worry 'bout it.)
What Kind of Art Are You?
Answer: You are a drawing.
(This is code for: see above.)
Well, that was fun. What have information have we gleaned about me? We now know that I am completely average in every way. This is a great thing to find out while trying to describe (sell) yourself to college.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Now let us look at this article:
http://flavorwire.com/57909/stereotyping-people-by-their-favorite-indie-bands
From this article, we can learn even more about me! Here is what we now know describes me:
Bros vaguely interested in listening to music and very interested in having sex with their girlfriend.
Hopelessly patchy beard growers.
People who think that world hunger could be assuaged with four part harmonies.
Gorilla Vs. Bear readers.
People with self-esteem issues and probably hate Ben Gibbard.
Frequent transcendental experience havers.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Okay, now what do we know about me? That I am a stoner, that I have a beard, that I am interested in solving world hunger, that I hate Ben Gibbard, that I have self-esteem issues (truth), that I am vaguely interested in listening to music, that I am a bro, that I am very interested in having sex with my girlfriend (maybe truth).
The process of writing this post has been an educational experience. I now feel better equipped to describe myself to college. See the above paragraph. That is what I will say.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
OH MAN
OH MAN GUYS. I wrote a song. This song has actual music for the chorus. This is super exciting. I am choosing to ignore the fact that it will hardly be a minute in length. Whatever. Repeating verses is always an option. Here is my song:
Clever fingers meet your eyes,
At the crinkled corners just inside
We’ll hold your hands away, yeah
Black lines are drawn across your arm
The children are inside, the children are inside
Clearly marked with thrilling charm
The children stay inside, inside, inside
Clear away your classic songs
From the table where they remain
Remove them from my shaking arms
My blank eyes are to blame
My eyes take all the blame
Clever fingers meet your eyes
At the hardened corners just inside
Stay on the floor where I belong
You cleared away your classic songs
Multi-colored lights are shown
Above the trees, where grass is grown
I’ll lie awake on every night
Wondering where you’ve gone
Since you took all your songs
Cradled head in icy arms
Hold your head in breaking arms
Hold your head in silent arms
My eyes take all the blame
Yeah, that's my song. The temporary title is "Classic Songs", which may need to be changed. Also what may need to be changed is the verse beginning with "multi-colored lights", because I don't like it. It sounds like it was written by 10-year-old-me. Overall, this is not great, but it is not bad. Right? Right? And yes, I did write this song when I was supposed to be doing something else. That's okay. Right? Right guys?
Clever fingers meet your eyes,
At the crinkled corners just inside
We’ll hold your hands away, yeah
Black lines are drawn across your arm
The children are inside, the children are inside
Clearly marked with thrilling charm
The children stay inside, inside, inside
Clear away your classic songs
From the table where they remain
Remove them from my shaking arms
My blank eyes are to blame
My eyes take all the blame
Clever fingers meet your eyes
At the hardened corners just inside
Stay on the floor where I belong
You cleared away your classic songs
Multi-colored lights are shown
Above the trees, where grass is grown
I’ll lie awake on every night
Wondering where you’ve gone
Since you took all your songs
Cradled head in icy arms
Hold your head in breaking arms
Hold your head in silent arms
My eyes take all the blame
Yeah, that's my song. The temporary title is "Classic Songs", which may need to be changed. Also what may need to be changed is the verse beginning with "multi-colored lights", because I don't like it. It sounds like it was written by 10-year-old-me. Overall, this is not great, but it is not bad. Right? Right? And yes, I did write this song when I was supposed to be doing something else. That's okay. Right? Right guys?
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Some Whinging
Why do some people spell the word "whining" as "whinging"? Is it a typo? Why have I seen it so many times?
Today I was angry. Why, you ask? Why are you angry, Marvelous Narvel? I just asked myself that question, and then I answered myself.
I don't know. I don't know why I'm in a bad mood. I don't know why I feel like punching everyone in the face. Maybe it's because everyone just needs to be punched in the face. It's more likely that I just need to be punched in the face.
I think I am having a mid-life crisis. If this was my mid-life, it would be pathetic, but I am suffering from all of the symptoms of a mid-life crisis. NOTHING INTERESTS ME ANYMORE. IT ANGERS ME. EVERYTHING ANGERS ME. Anger Bear, that's me.
Because I made the above statement (the mid-life crisis one) with almost no justification or knowledge of what the actual symptoms were, I looked them up. Thanks Google! Turns out I actually do suffer from many of the symptoms. I want to change direction. I desire free-flowing movement. I suffer from irritability and anger. I want to run away from everything. I have a desire to get in shape. I excessively look back to my childhood. A sidenote: what are they defining as childhood? Am I still a child? Aren't these supposed to be my "best years"? That sucks, it really does. All it tells me is that all the other years are worse.
WORSE? IS IT POSSIBLE?
Yeah, it probably is. When I have to be financially independent, and people realize that I actually have no real skills in anything except pretending to do work, and I don't have a job because of this, and all I really want to do is be Gabe's intern, and then be Gabe, that will probably be worse. I could never be Gabe. I'm only average (read: bad) at humor, and Gabe is definitely Above Average. Too bad, one career path down the drain.
Maybe I could be an actress, and meet people like Bradley James and make him fall in love with me. But I'm only average (read: really bad) at seduction, and probably love in general, even though I've never tried it. I probably never will try it, because I will be incapable of making anyone love me back. Whoops! Problemo! That's okay though. I think I can resign myself to a fate of admiring people from afar and never marrying anyone and being a whore. What? I didn't actually just say that.
Maybe I could be a writer. Then I could move to England and buy a country manor and write novels and meet Mr. Knightley. This would be Ideal Option Number One. It's a possibility, right? (insert laugh track here)
I just re-read this post. It made no sense and had no overall idea. It was mostly random mutterings. This is the part where I pat myself on the back for being successfully incoherent.
Hey. Hey guys. So remember that thing? Called commenting? We should start that again...that was cool...
Today I was angry. Why, you ask? Why are you angry, Marvelous Narvel? I just asked myself that question, and then I answered myself.
I don't know. I don't know why I'm in a bad mood. I don't know why I feel like punching everyone in the face. Maybe it's because everyone just needs to be punched in the face. It's more likely that I just need to be punched in the face.
I think I am having a mid-life crisis. If this was my mid-life, it would be pathetic, but I am suffering from all of the symptoms of a mid-life crisis. NOTHING INTERESTS ME ANYMORE. IT ANGERS ME. EVERYTHING ANGERS ME. Anger Bear, that's me.
Because I made the above statement (the mid-life crisis one) with almost no justification or knowledge of what the actual symptoms were, I looked them up. Thanks Google! Turns out I actually do suffer from many of the symptoms. I want to change direction. I desire free-flowing movement. I suffer from irritability and anger. I want to run away from everything. I have a desire to get in shape. I excessively look back to my childhood. A sidenote: what are they defining as childhood? Am I still a child? Aren't these supposed to be my "best years"? That sucks, it really does. All it tells me is that all the other years are worse.
WORSE? IS IT POSSIBLE?
Yeah, it probably is. When I have to be financially independent, and people realize that I actually have no real skills in anything except pretending to do work, and I don't have a job because of this, and all I really want to do is be Gabe's intern, and then be Gabe, that will probably be worse. I could never be Gabe. I'm only average (read: bad) at humor, and Gabe is definitely Above Average. Too bad, one career path down the drain.
Maybe I could be an actress, and meet people like Bradley James and make him fall in love with me. But I'm only average (read: really bad) at seduction, and probably love in general, even though I've never tried it. I probably never will try it, because I will be incapable of making anyone love me back. Whoops! Problemo! That's okay though. I think I can resign myself to a fate of admiring people from afar and never marrying anyone and being a whore. What? I didn't actually just say that.
Maybe I could be a writer. Then I could move to England and buy a country manor and write novels and meet Mr. Knightley. This would be Ideal Option Number One. It's a possibility, right? (insert laugh track here)
I just re-read this post. It made no sense and had no overall idea. It was mostly random mutterings. This is the part where I pat myself on the back for being successfully incoherent.
Hey. Hey guys. So remember that thing? Called commenting? We should start that again...that was cool...
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Your Mom Got a Blog
No, my mom got a blog.
Oh dear. Oh dear. Why mom? First Facebook, now Blog?? What next, TWITTER? Will I soon be reading tweets from MY MOM?
This is...not as big of a deal as it seems. Let me blow it out of proportion for you.
My MOM is now on blogspot, blogging away about things like...ME. She is blogging about ME. No, I do not know this to be true, because she has only written one post and it is not about me, it is about Tiger Woods. I can only assume, however, that somewhere in the not-so-distant future she will be writing about things that annoy her, and that will consist of ME.
Also, I found this: www.mylifeistwilight.com
This is a travesty. This is the travesty of travesties. WHO HAS DONE THIS?? WHO HAD THE GUTS TO PROFESS THEIR DISGUSTING INSANITY AND RABIDNESS IN SUCH A WAY??
Okay, this blog clearly is not really about my writing anymore. Not my fault. The last thing I wrote was a college essay.
Oh dear. Oh dear. Why mom? First Facebook, now Blog?? What next, TWITTER? Will I soon be reading tweets from MY MOM?
This is...not as big of a deal as it seems. Let me blow it out of proportion for you.
My MOM is now on blogspot, blogging away about things like...ME. She is blogging about ME. No, I do not know this to be true, because she has only written one post and it is not about me, it is about Tiger Woods. I can only assume, however, that somewhere in the not-so-distant future she will be writing about things that annoy her, and that will consist of ME.
Also, I found this: www.mylifeistwilight.com
This is a travesty. This is the travesty of travesties. WHO HAS DONE THIS?? WHO HAD THE GUTS TO PROFESS THEIR DISGUSTING INSANITY AND RABIDNESS IN SUCH A WAY??
Okay, this blog clearly is not really about my writing anymore. Not my fault. The last thing I wrote was a college essay.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
A Play.
Hey guys,
A quick promo on my part. I wrote a play for the YPP (Young Playwright's Program), and will be submitting it on Tuesday. The YPP is a program run through the ACT theater, and if my play is chosen, it will either be published or performed at a local theater.
I'd really appreciate it if you all could read my play, and your comments are super helpful to me. The play is posted on my Fictionpress account. It is called For the Justice. Link below:
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2743642/1/For_the_Justice
You can either comment on Fictionpress or right here on this post.
Thanks!
EDIT:
A clarifying note, since I have gotten a few comments on this. Chris and Taylor are not hipsters. I am aware of that. The description was merely intended to describe how they are dressed, but I can see that it would be confusing. I have changed the descriptions to include exactly what they are wearing instead of saying "hipster". Also, they talk like that because they are stoned. Also, another thing that I think may be confusing if you don't understand why I did it (aka if you can't read my mind), Chris and Taylor are actually quite intelligent and well-read, as seen by knowing about Joyce, etc. However, they are also complete stoners--something that is true about a lot of today's youth (what do you know? Culture criticism is present in this play after all!).
Another clarifying note: they are talking about the particular bands that they are because those are the bands I happened to be listening to while writing most of this play. Hopefully that clears up some confusion...
A quick promo on my part. I wrote a play for the YPP (Young Playwright's Program), and will be submitting it on Tuesday. The YPP is a program run through the ACT theater, and if my play is chosen, it will either be published or performed at a local theater.
I'd really appreciate it if you all could read my play, and your comments are super helpful to me. The play is posted on my Fictionpress account. It is called For the Justice. Link below:
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2743642/1/For_the_Justice
You can either comment on Fictionpress or right here on this post.
Thanks!
EDIT:
A clarifying note, since I have gotten a few comments on this. Chris and Taylor are not hipsters. I am aware of that. The description was merely intended to describe how they are dressed, but I can see that it would be confusing. I have changed the descriptions to include exactly what they are wearing instead of saying "hipster". Also, they talk like that because they are stoned. Also, another thing that I think may be confusing if you don't understand why I did it (aka if you can't read my mind), Chris and Taylor are actually quite intelligent and well-read, as seen by knowing about Joyce, etc. However, they are also complete stoners--something that is true about a lot of today's youth (what do you know? Culture criticism is present in this play after all!).
Another clarifying note: they are talking about the particular bands that they are because those are the bands I happened to be listening to while writing most of this play. Hopefully that clears up some confusion...
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