I’m not going to give you much context for this conversation because it’s not really important and you should really just watch the show (Buffy first, though), but here’s what you need to know: after saving the world and some surprising turns of events, the vampire Spike sort of comes back from the dead in non-corporeal form (meaning he can’t touch anything). Unfortunately, the mumbo jumbo that brought him back is faulty, so sometimes he disappears for a couple hours and descends, temporarily, into hell.

Though Angel (also a vampire) and Spike really don’t like each other, they have one very genuine conversation about the whole hell thing as Spike gets more and more afraid. Even though both vampires have souls now, they reigned terror on the world for hundreds of years, and both know where their stories end, even with their years of repentance.

Spike: “I’m getting close. To Hell.”

Angel: “Welcome to the club.”

Spike: “So why should we even bother to make good? What’s the point?”

Angel: “What else are we gonna do?”

And that’s what I want to talk about- the ““What else are we gonna do?” line, and how, as the blog title suggests, it relates to my afterlife.

I’ve made it no secret that I’m agnostic, both online and “IRL” (in real life). Though most of my friends are either nonreligious or pretty chill with the whole thing, I still get questions from more extremist-inclined people about my disbelief in an afterlife. They ask (for very different reasons) the same question Spike did… “So what’s the point?”

To a degree, I agree with Angel. What the hell else am I gonna do with my time? I’m a reasonable human being, and while being a giant, narcissistic, self-serving, evil asshole might be easier for a little while, I don’t need the threat of a bad afterlife to tell me that sort of behavior isn’t ok. More than that, though, seriously, what else would I do? My not believing in an afterlife, or as in Angel’s case a good afterlife, does not diminish the good I can do on this Earth while I still can. In fact, my disbelief makes my time on this Earth matter more, at least to me personally, because this is my one chance. My one chance to make as many people smile, laugh, and think as I can.

The point, Spike and curious religious people, is that regardless of how or why, I exist. And I will be damned (no pun intended) if I don’t do something good with that existence. I want to travel, see the world, write the world, write new worlds just because I can, meet people, fall in and out of love, and do my very best to make the people around me as happy as they have the capacity and the willingness to be. Because why not? If this life is all I believe that I have, and all that I believe other people will have, then I want to make this life the best it can possibly be for all of us. I don’t have a good enough excuse not to.

I’m not afraid to die. I am not afraid that someday, I might cease to exist. And you know why? Because it was worth it. To feel and to see and smell and laugh and cry and love and lose and be. I wouldn’t give that up for any afterlife you could offer me. I refuse to apologize for living, because life’s too short, and I don’t intend on wasting it.

Class #1: 8:00-9:05am Modern Topics in Mathematics (M-W-F)

Initial expectation: this is going to be painful. And it was, just not in the way I thought. Since I hadn’t taken a math class since the first semester of my JUNIOR year in high school, I was concerned I would be woefully slow at picking up concepts. This was not the case. Instead, I was forced to sit through the easiest, most boring hour of math three days a week at 8 in the morning. It was so easy, in fact, that I was continually embarrassed to be there. At least it’s the only math class I have to take for the rest of my life, though.

Class #2: 11:45am-12:50pm Studies in Poetry (M-W-F)

Initial expectation: not much more fun than math. No joke, this is the worst class I have ever taken. And that INCLUDES the AP Government class I took my senior year of high school in which the teacher knew almost nothing about government. We were an entire month behind on the syllabus almost right from the get-go, through no fault of the students, and yet were expected to read/ comprehend the missed/skipped poems on our own in order to pass tests. In what world does that make sense? As I wrote on my end-of-term evaluation, the only thing I learned in this class was that the professor really likes to talk about himself. Sound harsh? I don’t care. WORST. CLASS. EVER. If it didn’t fulfill two core requirements, I would have dropped it immediately.

Class #3: 2:15-3:20pm Finance for Daily Decisions (M-W-F) (1/2 semester)

Initial expectation: not fun, but useful. All things considered, I rather enjoyed this class. The professor spoke in broken English and was hard to follow at times, but he was hilarious and entertaining and I learned some interesting things about finance I’d never really considered before. It was boring, yeah, and I spent the entire night before I left for Rome trying to finish a ridiculously complicated final assignment in a stress-induced frenzy, yeah, but it was a hell of a lot better than poetry. Plus, it was only half a semester, so the rest of the year has felt significantly less cramped.

Class #4: 9:40-11:15am Creative Nonfiction (T-TH)

Initial expectation: Professor will be adviser, who is pretty cool, but I’ll have to talk to people I don’t know, which is uncool. Actually, my professor was not my adviser, but my old expos prof from last year, who I loved. I also didn’t end up having to talk to anyone I didn’t know, which was even cooler. Short response: I loved this class. I mostly love the stuff I wrote for it, and I love this professor even more now. There’s really nothing bad for me to say about this class.

Class #5: 1:00-3:20pm The Artist Book (T-TH)

Initial expectation: it’s my fun class of the semester, and I’m decent at art, so whatevs. I really enjoyed this class. There were only four other people in it plus the professor, who was crazy in all the best ways. I made so many interesting things in this class and I can see myself continuing this craft when I get some extra moolah. Though this class was more stressful than I had initially anticipated, since we did a lot of projects in a short amount of time, it was worth all the frantic, late night book constructions.

So overall, this semester wasn’t as horrible as I had anticipated, as my Tuesday-Thursday classes kind of saved me, even if Poetry made me so furious I can’t even come up with words to describe the emotion. But it’s over now. Next semester should be insane, but we’ll talk about that in a few months. Summer, here I come!

My brother and I are 21 months apart, and we used to be really close. As evidenced by the adorable picture to the right, we got a huge kick out of wearing the same teeshirts and pretending we were twins, and that was only the beginning. Family friends Megan and David were slightly further apart in age than us, but their sibling cat fights could fill novels. I remember Vinny and I lecturing them. “Why do you guys fight so much? We never fight!”

And that’s how it was. We’d watch superhero cartoons together, played several of the same sports, and I would even *let* him play with me and Rachel had playtime at our house. (remember the goblin game, you guys??) However, I was two years ahead of him in school, and had a much harder time at the social game, and middle school was when everything started to fall apart.

I didn’t realize until the past couple years how horrible of a sister I became after I entered the sixth grade. There are plenty of excuses I could vocalize- I was horribly bullied (true), I went through puberty really early and thus was hormonally all over the place (true), I had very few friends at my new school (true), etc. All the excuses are true and all of them aided my failure as a big sister for a good chunk of our lives.

When it comes right down to it, most of our disintegrated relationship came down to me. I was as self-involved as they came, the smart kid with a superiority complex and an inability to recognize early enough that some people just didn’t want to be my friend. Whatever the specific reasons were, though, my brother and I effectively stopped spending time with each other almost as soon as I entered middle school, and we never really recovered.

Granted, he didn’t do much to help himself. My brother is very, very good at finding the one or two things that get under your skin and then exploiting them until you lose your mind, and this talent only escalated when I started ignoring him in exchange for sad poetry and black eyeliner. I know now that he only started acting like a brat (for the most part) because I altogether stopped spending time with him, which would have been unprecedented in his eight year old brain. Unfortunately, because we were kids, neither of us recognized these things, and so our lives began to grow in radically separate directions.

Thankfully, things started to get better during my senior year of high school. A lot of it can be attributed to our parent’s divorce (not that I’m saying it was a good thing, obviously), because we were all we had to talk to for a while there. It forced us to reexamine our priorities, and suddenly, all the petty fighting didn’t seem as important.

Things brightened further when we no longer had to live together for most of the year. In fact, I’d wager that we talked more after I moved to college than we did most of the five years one or both of us was in middle school. Something about not sharing a bathroom really did great things for our relationship.

It sucks that I can’t go back in time to try to explain to my eight year old brother that it wasn’t (entirely) his fault that I withdrew from our relationship. It sucks even more that I was probably the worst role model possible for a long time. But we can never go back, only forwards.

So here’s my graduation promise to my brother: I promise to think before I yell at you about a hygiene habit that bugs me, I promise to text you every once in a while to see how everything is going, and I promise to listen to you if you need to talk, even though you survived puberty without me and were probably better off for it. More than that, though, I promise to be the sister I haven’t been since we were kids. I can never take back those lost years where we hardly spoke or looked at each other, and I can never replace the screaming with words of encouragement, but I can promise you, Vincent, that it will never happen again. And that’s a promise you can hold me to.

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Here’s one of Zachary Quinto just cuz.

“Out of Context”

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“Be Plus”

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Since it’s the last week of school, I am unsurprisingly busy, and I don’t have time to make a real blog. Also, last Thursday I had a massive (but well-disguised) mental breakdown in the middle of creative nonfiction, so I’m trying to take it easy.

I don’t get this stressed. It isn’t in my nature. Sure, I have a slightly larger share of anxiety than most normal people, but I don’t get it this badly when I don’t have any significant (and recent) emotional duress. I don’t have any significant or recent emotional duress because all the guys I talk to are either gay, related to me, or very much in the friend zone. So why am I stressed?

Well, because I was quietly but violently hyperventilating mid-class, I did the only thing I could: I made a list.

The list of things I was (and am) stressed out about was 22 items long (and one of those items had four sub-stress items underneath it, because I am a crazy person). That’s a lot of items. Let me just tell you, it was not a fun hour and a half.

Either way, I’m working on calming myself down by sleeping more, planning things out better, and reminding myself that most of what I’m stressed about I have no control over so I may as well let it go. But it’s me, so we all know how that’s going to work out.

Now! Housekeeping!

These Folk, my collab channel, is taking two psuedo-breaks this year: one in May (oh, hey, it’s May right now!) and one in August (like last year) because most of us are still in school and those are the craziest times. This means that there won’t be any Sunday videos this month. HOWEVER,

My main channel is still very much alive. I’ve got one more Rome video and one Cooking with Gandalf ready to upload, and hopefully we’ll have time to film the season 2 finale of Cooking with Gandalf before the three of us hosts split for summer. I will keep up the schedule of uploading videos every Thursday throughout the summer (and the rest of my life) so you’ll have that to hate on look forward to.

My friend Gustavo, seen here looking adorable, is getting married in August. I found out on Facebook. I’m still mad about that. I’m writing this with an angry face, Gus. You best watch out. Also, since when have we all been old enough to get married? I bettah find me a husband quick. Any takers?

On the subject of people near my age acting all adult-like, my best friend Rachel’s older sister Ashleigh just had her first baby! Welcome to this world, Elizabeth! You are adorable!

My brother is graduating from high school in a week. WHEN U GET SO OLD, VINNY?

Let’s see, what else do I have to talk about? I’m obsessed with James Marsters, my dorm room is sad and empty because I took down all the posters, the show Angel doesn’t make any sense and is very stressful, and I wrote this really profane poem about Bart that I can’t post in its entirety here because it’s really inappropriate. Here’s the beginning, just because I like it a lot:

I love you, man.

Though the words are the same

people will construe them wrong

because of these parasitic double dees

clasped to my chest

But don’t mistake this phrase for something it isn’t

I’m spitting bromance, straight up.

We used to joke that you were so manly

Your X chromosome was really just a sloppy Y

So Y can’t I

Have one of those too?

We can be Sloppy Y bruthas from othuh muthas

and if science argues that a sloppy chromosome equals

mentally challenged

Then challenge accepted.

I’ll bromance you even if I’m a zucchini

And you’re an onion

Because vegetative states are not excuses

to let the bromance die.

Clevercleverclever ok I’m done. Wish me luck during finals week, friends!

So for creative writing majors, from what I understand, a big part of your thesis is drawing from a particular theme, author, book, or structure (multiple POVs, diary format, etc) and then doing your version. A friend of mine (who will be a senior next year) is doing a multiple “POV” (point of view) novel, meaning that she’s going to write the book with multiple perspectives/narrators. She is using a book she’s read as her inspiration, citing its fantastic plot but less-than-stellar characterization in between POVs. For her own novel, she wants to focus on not only crafting a good story, but also being able to differentiate between characters simply from their voice and not the name at the beginning of the chapter.

This got me thinking. There are a lot of ways I could go with my thesis- I could revamp Eugenia or even Dawned and examine dystopia in contemporary YA fiction, I could polish at least one of (probably Addicted) my UMA spy trilogy and build off of the rather disappointing girl spy books I’ve read before, or I could use Maureen Johnson or John Green as inspiration to finally write a real world YA book that doesn’t involve car chases, corrupt governments, or graphic death scenes. I still might use one of those ideas, especially because the first two mean I just have to edit rather than start from scratch. But then I started thinking about it more, and what I would really like to do is write something new, and what I would really like to write would center around…

…a psychopath. A young, female psychopath, to be more specific. Probably still set in a more dystopian universe, but centered around a deeply crazy and unstable character.

It’s no secret that I love psychopath characters almost as a rule. Sylar? I was unhealthily obsessed with him for about six months. Just search my website… you’ll find plenty of references to him. He’s fantastic. Spike (from Buffy)? Even more crazy, just as fun. He provided so much laughter over the two week period of time I spent watching all of Buffy the Vampire Slayer that I couldn’t help but fall in love with him.

However, the best examples of mainstream psychos who garner an unexpected amount of love from fans are men. Don’t get me wrong- I adore Spike and Sylar to a point that it probably says something about my mental health that isn’t something to brag about at parties. And even though I would not consider myself a feminist by most standards (in general feminists annoy me and if you have seen any group episodes of Cooking with Gandalf, you’ll know that all but one of my close college friends are male), I really dislike writing for men. Maybe I have to try it again, but generally I like writing from a female perspective, especially since my stories are often written in first person. Thus:

I want to write a novel where the main character is a young female psychopath. I want to examine the impacts of culture, society, and peril on a highly selfish, narcissistic, bloodthirsty girl with the capacity to change if given the right set up. Yes, that’s important to me- the capacity to change. Crazy characters are all well and good, but no person is completely good or bad. Sylar and Spike become heroes (no title reference intended) by the end of their respective TV shows, and that’s why they’re such great characters. Because they have so much room to grow, and they do.

The other thing I want to do with this hypothetical senior thesis novel is let this change occur because of humanity. Not necessarily humanity as a species, but humanity as a psychological concept. Psychopaths are unique in the sense that they reject their own humanity because of a trauma or a chemical imbalance, often unconsciously. What I’m interested in is how do we recapture that humanity, that compassion, in a person whose humanity seems long gone? More specifically, how does the psychopath see this process within herself?

My stories are all largely character-based, but this project would take that further than I’ve ever gone before. Dawned was probably the closest I’ve ever come to writing for crazy people, and it was legitimately the most fun I’ve ever had writing. With this hypothetical project, though, I want to completely immerse myself into this character’s potential, and I want it to reek with humanity, far from it as the character may seem sometimes.

I’m always talking about my unshakeable faith in humanity, but I’ve never written about it. Not really. My stories are always about a person, or a small group of people, fighting against the greater injustice of humanity. There’s never a conflict of who the good guys are. But that’s not how the world works. I want to see what happens when I force the most despicably hillarious (it has to be humorous. Have you met me?) person into a situation where no one really seems to have the moral high ground, and then I want the misguided fools in the struggle to make that despicable person see their potential, whether or not they see it themselves.

Besides, I’m tired of the cookie cutter good guys. Buffy was a fantastic girl, but she always (eventually) makes the right and moral choices. What happens when you have a character who has never made right or moral choices because it’s a helluva lot more fun?

If you’re familiar with the Buffy universe, you might be thinking that I’ll basically be writing a story from Faith’s perspective, but Faith as a character bugged the hell out of me, so I’m not gonna do that. Besides, Faith acted out of fear, and my character will more than likely act purely out of self interest and convenience. Faith wasn’t brave- she had a death wish. My character will kind of be the Russell from Survivor of the female dystopian YA universe. She will be crafty, crazy, and hard to peg down. You will hate her, but you will love that hatred, and in the end you’ll realize that you love her too.

Or, at least, that’s the idea.

First of all, Batman is just a normal dude. Alright, so he’s a super rich normal dude, but he has no physical or intellectual enhancements like a radioactive spider bite or super strength. By all accounts, he’s just a man. And I love that. It’s not that I find him realistic, although some people seem to, it’s just that it’s so much more impressive to me that one normal (albeit very fit and very rich) dude goes out and fights crime just because he can.

And on that note, I come to my second, main reason for loving Batman so much. It’s because he doesn’t have to do it. Most kids who lose their parents in a horrific way grow up to be serial killers, or at the very least deeply disturbed. I’m not saying that Batman (or Bruce Wayne, as you like) is the most emotionally stable person of all time, but think about it this way: he turned his personal tragedy into motivation to protect people. Protect people from having to feel the pain he felt. Superman was born with powers that would be useless if not used in crime-fighting, Spiderman was accidentally genetically enhanced and it’s the same kind of deal. Most other superheroes, tragic backstory or not, have way more business fighting crime than Batman does. But he does it anyways.

That strength of character is what has always drawn me to Batman, and it’s probably also what got me hooked on Doctor Who, because the Doctor exhibits many of the same characteristics. Both men (time lord, whatever) had deeply traumatizing personal tragedies and instead of succumbing to the fear and the sadness they save people. Instead of moping or turning to the easier emotion of rage, they make the world (or worlds, as the case may be) better for everyone else. And they don’t have to. No one ever asked them to do it, and no one had to.

Life is precious. Even if you can’t find it within you to live for the sake of living, the least you can do is make the world just that much more bearable for everyone else.

I was three years old the first time I ever knew fear. The family had taken a day trip to the Seattle Aquarium, and it must have been our last time, because we would be moving to Colorado not long after, where there were no nearby aquariums, or significant bodies of water, or anything familiar. I don’t remember much of this day trip, and even what I’ll be retelling here might be highly fabricated after seventeen years of reminiscing. What I do know is this: there was an octopus.

This might be completely false, but I distinctly remember my three-year-old legs trotting across a narrow, elevated bridge with a see-through floor, where you could look down and gaze into the trench of terror that was the octopus tank. I also remember my brother trying to climb over the edge of the bridge, but that might be me superimposing another memory over this one. He couldn’t have been more than a year and a half at this point, though to be fair to my memory, he tried to climb over things into water a lot. How he lived past adolescence is beyond me. But back to the octopus. I was peering down into that seemingly endless tank at the massive orange beast, casually floating just a seconds’ plunge away from my dry little feet, feeling my tiny heart pumping anxiously.

But whether or not my brother tried to climb over the rail into the tank, and whether or not there actually was a bridge with a transparent floor (although that one I’m pretty positive about), there was definitely an octopus, and it was gazing pensively up at me with a look of murder in its large eyes. It was massive, at least five times the size of me, and the way its eight long legs stretched and twisted made me absolutely sure that if I were to ever find myself next to it, or one of its kin, I would most certainly die a slow, horrifying death.

This fear of the octopus ebbed slightly after our move to Colorado, far away from oceans and aquariums and basically all forms of precipitation. Completely surrounded by dirt, mountains, and desert, I grew up relatively happily, all but forgetting about my deep-seated fear of being both crushed and drowned slowly to death in the clutches of an octopus. But it was always there, in the back of my mind, writhing its tentacles in anticipation for my land-lubbing flesh.

Having just turned twenty, however, I decided that enough was enough. Superstitions and phobias were no longer cute, like when I was a kid. They were just things that people didn’t like you admitting at parties. And I was going to conquer this one, this near-crippling fear of the mysterious octopus, if it was the last thing I did, or so I told myself. The Art of War teaches us that “if you know your enemies and know yourself, you can win a hundred battles without a single loss.” So that’s exactly what I would do. I would overcome my fear of the unknown horror that was the octopus, and I would win a thousand battles. Or something like that.

Did you know that the male pillow octopus grows to only a few centimeters, while its female counterpart can stretch further than six feet? You go, girl!

The octopus has a complex nervous system and can wrestle a shark, as evidenced by the 2009 film epic Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus. And even though the two prehistoric terrors documented in the film died in battle, rendering the fight a tie, sharks can’t reach out and grab things. Octopus arms can break through plexiglass and imitate human limbs by making its arms semi-rigid and bending them in particular places. Not that they need to. Even worse, however, is the fact that scientists have found that each arm -calling them tentacles is actually false because tentacles usually only have suckers on their tips- has a mind of its own. To test this, researchers cut the nerves between the octopuses’ actual brain and one of its arms, and found that the arm behaved exactly the same as if the connection remained intact. Which is perfect. So not only will the octopus as a whole want me dead, but its eight instruments of strangulation and stomach-clenching dread also have it out for my continued existence. Maybe knowing my enemy isn’t such a great idea.

The only fear that was ever comparable to that aquarium trip for me was the fear of going to middle school. In fourth grade, the school counselor, a grey haired man called Mr. Cowles, sat all the kids down in a circle and talked about the next stages of our public school life. School shootings were probably brought up once a meeting, because Mr. Cowles was the worst elementary school counselor ever, and I was so terrified of continuing my education that I got a pass to leave the room every time the counselor appeared in the doorway. Even though I got over that fear fairly quickly, since I had to face it more quickly than I had to face the octopus, I can still remember the chest-pounding panic that appeared any time my elementary school graduation came up. I had no idea what to expect, so of course I expected the worst. In the back of my mind I always knew it was unlikely that I would be the victim of a school shooting- I was a quiet nerd, more likely to be friends with the future shooter than a target. In fact, when my middle school did have a near-school-shooting incident, complete with a hit list and physical guns on school property, I was the furthest thing from the would-be killer’s minds, though thankfully I didn’t know them past being on the same bus route. But the lingering uncertainty before all that overrode that rather morbid logic for a long time.

Remember the male pillow octopus we talked about earlier, the tiny one? Well, what he lacks in size he makes up for in creativity. These little buggers will rip off the poisonous tentacles of Portuguese man-of-war jellyfish -which they are immune to- and wield them as swords to keep predators at bay. As disturbing as that is -imagine ripping off the arm of one of your enemies and using it to fight off your other enemies- is it wrong that I find this defense mechanism kind of adorable? The things are only a couple centimeters long! I bet the male pillow octopus was never afraid of no school shooter. It doesn’t matter whether or not he knows what’s around the next corner- he’s got a motherfucking jellyfish arm sword. Male pillow octopuses probably laugh in the face of the unknown threats their futures may hold.

We know that since each of an octopuses legs, not tentacles, has a mind of its own, maybe they won’t have mercy on me, but the main brain might. One intelligence trait of the octopus that has been circulating YouTube for a while is their ability to camouflage into almost any background. Their entire bodies are covered with pigmented cells called chromatophores, each of which contain three sacks of colors and are surrounded by muscles that can control how the pigments are displayed by either relaxing or contracting. Think of it like a balloon; when it’s loose, the color is small and concentrated, but when you stretch it out the color spreads and expands.

Every one of these cells is controlled independently by the nervous system, allowing for an incredible amount of control and complexity for the range of colors. This also means that the octopus can change its appearance in less than a second. As if I wasn’t already freaked out enough; not only can an octopus completely envelop me in its arms of death, but it can also sneak up on me, like a lioness waiting patiently for the prey it stalks to become complacent.

Octopuses aren’t just strong and smart, though. They’re also documented as having distinct personalities, earning them names like Dolores Umbridge (for her aggression), Harry (for being easygoing), Leisure Suit Larry (for being touchy and, frankly, kind of a pervert), Emily Dickinson (for being shy), and, finally, Lucretia McEvil, for once completely trashing her tank. Gulp.

The Greek god of fear, dread, and terror was Deimos. The Encyclopedia Britannica only has one small entry on him, “association with Ares.” Ares, god of war, is his father, and they were often written as going into war with one another, along with Deimos’ twin brother, Phobos, the god of panic and fear. The twins together also became represented by the fear of loss. In my case, they represent the fear of the loss of my precious, precious life.

I am not the first to fear the mystery of the octopus, however. A Hawaiian creation myth holds that the current universe is the last of a series of universes, and the octopus is the last remaining survivor of a previous, alien universe. And then there’s the Kraken.

Almost every seagoing story, old or new, jokes about the Kraken. In German, kraken literally means octopus, though it also refers to the mythological sea monster. A mythological sea monster that happens to be a giant octopus. The legend of the Kraken has been around since at least the 1200s, and originated off the coasts of Norway and Iceland. It’s said that the creature was so large that it was sometimes mistaken for an island, and the real danger was not the kilometers long tentacles -arms, sorry, arms- but the whirlpool the massive creature left in its wake, sucking ships and sailors alike into the dark depths of the sea.

After a good hour of Googling pictures of the Kraken and thoroughly terrifying myself to the core, though, I came back to my initial text research, a much safer endeavor, and by far the most interesting thing I learned about the octopus is the fact that it they have three, count-em three, hearts.

Two pump blood into the octopuses’ lungs, and the third pumps it throughout the rest of the body. An octopuses blood, in addition, is not red like most mammals, but blue. The circulatory system of an octopus, because of its many hearts, is closed off, meaning that this blue blood is contained in vessels rather than just filling up their body. This fact doesn’t really mean anything until you consider that because of the circuitry being closed off and because there are three blood-pumping organs instead of the usual one, when an octopus gets excited or scared, it undergoes momentary cardiac arrest. This might be exactly what the Art of War was trying to say- this could be the key to my successful battle against these undersea monsters. It’s small, and it might not even work, but it’s hope that I need, not a guarantee.

With all these new facts rattling around in my head, my thoughts immediately go back to the first experience I ever had with an octopus, looking down into a massive tank of death and fear. I vividly remember the first stab of fear as it traveled from my brain and down through my nervous system and into my heart, where I’ve carried it ever since, but I can’t help but wonder. Did that octopus look up from its tank to see my small face peering down at it and feel the same fear? In its proportional main brain and all the subsequent brains in its arms, did it register a similar feeling of dread at the strange, upright creature gazing down at it, ready to drop in at any moment? When my three-year-old afro’d head and my three-year-old beating heart hovered tentatively above the only home it had ever known, did it shudder in fear of whatever the hell kind of monster I was? And did I, my single heart thumping wildly, cause the creature beneath me to have a minor heart attack in one of its three? Maybe we both must learn to live with it, this fear of what we cannot possibly know completely. This fear that never really goes away, because there is so much in the world yet to be possible. And maybe that is the only battle either of us ever needs to win, me and the octopus. The one that allows us to go on, even when terror grips our four hearts with such strength that we don’t know if it’s even worth it anymore. But in my experience, it probably is. I just hope that octopus believes it too.

On a related note, my roommate Ellen recently read the Hunger Games trilogy after going to the midnight premiere of the first movie with me a few weeks ago. Though she thoroughly enjoyed the series, she has some issues with the ending of the trilogy, which I’ll talk about after the break because SPOILERS.

So at the end of Mockingjay, Katniss watches her little sister Prim die in a horrific bombing. After a bit more story and a couple more notable deaths, Katniss retreats back to the wasteland that is District Twelve, alone. If it weren’t for Haymitch, Peeta, and Gale’s mother, Katniss wouldn’t have survived, because she all but withdrew from life completely. She barely managed to feed herself, rarely bathed, and often didn’t get out of bed for days at a time.

Ellen found this behavior to be unbelievable, but I disagreed. I can completely see this reaction being possible and understandable. First, Katniss never really wanted a rebellion, or a coup, or whatever you want to call it. From the beginning of book one, all she wanted was to survive. Just keep herself and Prim alive. Gale was always violent and always wanted to stand up to the power, and even Peeta had a more intellectual stance on the whole issue, stating right before his first Games that he wanted to prove to the Capital that they didn’t own him.

Second, Katniss has never lived for herself, not really. The only reason she kept herself alive so long in District Twelve and in the two Games she competed in was Prim, and to some extent her mother. She was the provider, the one thing standing between her family and starvation. When she won the first Games, it was for Prim. When she agreed to help District 13, it was for Prim. No matter what she did, she kept herself alive enough to be there for her sister. The only time she considered actually dying was during the second Games, when she planned to help Peeta win… for Prim. Because Peeta would have taken care of her.

So when Prim was murdered by the same people Katniss was fighting for, how was she supposed to react? Her entire life revolved around her little sister, and now that tether was gone. She was only 18. Still a kid by all accounts. She was never particularly emotionally equip, but this broke her. This was the last straw.

I don’t look down on Katniss for this reaction. Yes, she was a strong character all throughout the books, but she was strong because of and for Prim. Everyone has their breaking point, and this was hers.

On to the actual withdrawing, though. As I said in my Twilight blog all those years ago:

Bella’s serious relationship just fell apart in a matter of a few lines of random, seemingly unprovoked dialog. For the first time in her life, she was appreciated and taken care of. And when that is ripped away from her, without any sense of closure whatsoever, of course she’s going to have a panic attack.

Though the situations are very, very different, the reaction is similar. Both Katniss and Bella withdraw from their lives after a serious tragedy because there was no sense of closure and they had no one to commiserate with, not really. They were completely alone in their sorrow, so of course they would withdraw. Again from the Twilight blog:

The longevity of these panic attacks is also cited as unrealistic and bad for young girls to read about, but if you’re even a little bit familiar with me, you’ll know that the time frame of Bella’s reaction is by no means untrue. I had panic attacks and feelings similar to Bella all throughout my junior year of high school. Heck, I still get them from time to time.

I have made no secret about my history with panic attacks, and it is a long one. The fact is, sometimes life overwhelms you, and the only way you know how to deal with it is to withdraw. Bella and I both managed to go about the motions because we had responsibilities and things to account for, but Katniss was completely alone and had no responsibilities. Her case was, obviously, more tragic as well.

Point is, there is nothing weak about withdrawing, even when it lasts longer than people are comfortable with. Because when you withdraw, at least you’re still alive. At least there’s still that glimmer of hope that things will get better. No one looks down on an injured athlete when they take a season off, so why should we look down on people undergoing emotional trauma who aren’t as fun to be around for a while? Sure, when they show no signs of improvement you can try and intervene in their misery, but everyone has their own timeline for grief. There’s nothing to be ashamed of

This week we imitated our favorite vloggers. Can you guess who I did?

Am I the only one who thinks that’s kind of awful? Preceding and following that direct quotation (yes, he said that word for word), the same nameless professor ranted about how love must be earned, etc etc. It’s a very Ayn Rand kind of idea, though I’m not sure if her individualistic philosophies extend to family and, more specifically, children. But if she would have agreed with this approach to parenthood, much as I love Ayn Rand, I would have to take offense.

My parents raised my brother and I with one simple rule: we will love you no matter what, but we reserve the right to be disappointed in your choices or behavior. Not to sound biased, but that’s a pretty kickass parenting strategy. Vinny and I knew that no matter how stupid we acted sometimes (and trust me, we acted stupid sometimes), our parents would always love us, and would always be there even if no one else was. But we didn’t use that as an excuse to act out- because our parents were “democrats” with their love, it made it excruciating to disappoint them. It’s much harder to hurt those who love you than to hurt vindictive, you-have-to-earn-affection people. Coughcough.

But if my parents ever stopped loving me because of a dumb choice I made as a teenager, or even as a kid, how was I supposed to grow up without serious losses in my emotional faculties? I would be constantly petrified of doing anything wrong, for fear that any mistake could cause the people you can always count on to tap out at any moment with a frustrated “I’m done with this.” That’s not a healthy relationship, constantly having to prove yourself, by any stretch of the imagination.

This is, incidentally, the same professor who was so furious that his then-six-year-old son had memorized some commercial jingles that he took him for a long walk and made him memorize a Robert Frost poem. That’s insane. Insane as in how were your kids ever functioning human beings?

I think the main problem here i that these insane parenting practices assume that a childhood is for the weak. It’s not. You only get once chance to be a kid, one chance to be completely free of worldly woes, so why would you want to take that away from someone? I constantly regret how quickly I grew apart from the wonder and magic of childhood in exchange for the sarcasm and cynicism of adulthood, or at least of being a teen. Half of the reason I’m so high strung (aside from genetics- sorry mom and grandma) is probably because I was already planning for college scholarships and straight A’s at the age of 8. I have documented proof of this- it’s kind of sad. I don’t even want to imagine how I would have turned out if Professor he-who-must-not-be-named was my dad.

Point is, using the loss of love as a motivator to not make mistakes is sick and misguided, especially towards kids. Making mistakes is the most important part of growing up, and it’s important to recognize that those mistakes are not the end of the world. They’re simply learning experiences. No kid should have to prove themselves to earn parental love. They’re just kids. Let them have their childhood- you’ll have plenty of time to screw them up later in life.

We start ACTUALLY traveling around Rome next week, so stay tuned!

Of the Blue Colour of the Sky is definitely a weird collection of weird songs, and half the time I have no idea what they’re saying (and the other half of the time is inconsistent beats with the lead singer wailing in a high-pitched voice), but I kind of love it. Especially the ten or so seconds of coherency in each song. Like the line “let it go, this too shall pass, you can’t keep letting it get you down” from, obviously, “This Too Shall Pass.” That’s the song that they made the awesome Rube-Goldberg machine for. Or the beginning guitar solo from “Needing/Getting.”

Their music is just so… interesting. And catchy as all hell, once you listen to it for a while. It just makes me want it as the soundtrack to my life- each song is epic in its own way. The beats are strong for my imaginary fight scenes, and their lyrics are thoughtful and endearing for everything else. I want to walk around with these songs in my ears forever- they make colors brighter, laughs more melodic, and the world overall more beautiful. They’re weird in almost very way possible, but they’re completely at ease with it. And I love that about them.

Insanely cool music videos aside, my favorite songs from this particular album are: This Too Shall Pass, Louisiana Land, End Love, Needing/Getting, and I Want You So Bad I Can’t Breathe.

Overall, I love this show. I’m a couple episodes into season 2, and it’s just about all I can think about anymore. It’s a little slow at times, but I’ll definitely be seeing it through to the end. What follows is my initial review of the series, based on what I’ve seen so far.

Characters:

Buffy- I like that Buffy is young and rash and stupid- it gives her room to grow and be dynamic. She’s far from the perfect strong female protagonist, and that works really well. She feels much more real. However, does anyone else think it’s weird that her super slayer strength kind of comes and goes? Like, one minute she’s punching her fist through a solid wood door, and the next she loses a fight to some regular human. It’s weird.

Giles- I love everything about Giles’ character. He’s the perfect mix of awkward and intelligence, but there’s enough we don’t know about him to keep him from falling flat. I can’t wait to see where he goes.

Xander- Who names their kid Xander? I have mixed feelings about him. He’s kind of cute, but mostly he’s kind of annoying. And I feel so bad for Willow.

Willow- speaking of, I completely love Willow as well. She has a lot of room to grow as a character, and Alyson Hannigan is just adorable.

Angel- I read something somewhere about how sometimes Angel isn’t very nice and wears leather pants. That’ll be interesting. I want to see far more of him. He makes my heart all fluttery, and the sexual tension/relationship he has with Buffy is amazing. I hold Twilight very dearly in my heart, the books, not the movies, but Whedon has already surpassed that romance, and easily.

Premise/ basic concerns

I love the premise of this show- it’s right up my alley. Badass teenage girl that fights mythical monsters while also trying to maintain a normal life? My kind of show. There do seem to be some fairly significant plot holes, though.

First of all, the vampires in this show don’t look like vampires, but everyone always knows what they are. When some random human is being chased by them or whatever, they’re always like “oh, hey! A vampire! Save me!” How do they know they’re vampires?? They just look like humanoid monsters.

Also, how are the schools in that town not completely shut down? Kids die at alarming rates, and yet there always seem to be more, completely at peace with their crazy town. You could argue that they’ve lived on the hell mouth for a long time and they just take the constant deaths in stride, but what about Buffy’s mom? They’re new in town. And during one episode, two kids are found dead in the auditorium over the course of a couple of days, and all Buffy’s mom can talk about is how excited she is about Buffy’s talent show. The talent show that takes place in the auditorium, where TWO KIDS WERE JUST FOUND DEAD IN HORRIBLE WAYS. How does that not come up in conversation??

And what about class? Every once in a while someone will mention something about Buffy skipping classes, but she seems to average two classes attended per week and her grades aren’t suffering more than usual. No one is concerned about the fact that half the time she’s not even on campus. She’s clearly not flunking, and her mom never really brings it up. Maybe the 90s were just better times to go to high school. Geez.

In all, though, I am quickly becoming obsessed with the show, and I can’t wait to see where it goes next.

Music: Lady Godiva instrumental by Alex Day

I actually posted this video on Monday morning, but I wanted it out before my regular Thursday video because it was such an off-the-cuff episode. Besides, I want to show you all my Rome videos on time!

A Valedictorian’s Valediction: or what I would have said had I worked hard enough to be valedictorian of my high school graduating class.

When I look back

on these four years past

I will remember them as the worst

and the absolute fullest

four years of my stupid life.

Full not as in full-throated,

though to be fair to the nightingale,

I certainly had plenty to say.

Full as in

god dammit did I learn a lot.

Now, most of you know me as the

smart kid,

and I will gladly trust-fall into that role for you.

But I want to start this speech by

letting you know

that I will not be blowing that

cliched smoke

up your collective asses.

Because let’s be honest.

If these four years past

were the best of your life

then I feel sorry for you.

So with that in mind,

with the understanding that

a good percentage of you

will not

do much

or

be much

after we all cattle-shuffle

across this laughably vast stage,

I want to tell you what I have learned

that wouldn’t have helped you pass that

Algebra 2 test you tried to cheat off me for.

These lessons are what no GPA will reflect

what no

college application can discuss

And what I hope you will listen to,

if nothing else.

Lesson one.

People suck.

People suck a lot.

But I can rationalize every poorly-ended relationship because

I would have never understood how

awesome

I am without all of you

trodding over my anxiously heaving heart.

People suck,

but that does not give me,

or you, for that matter,

the right to suck as well.

Lesson two.

See lesson one, then ignore it.

Not all people suck.

If I were to quantify

all the friendships and interactions I had

with you people

into one single lesson,

it would be what I’ve already said.

People suck, people will hurt you,

people don’t care how to the brim you are with

unconditional love

They are only interested in

casually pinching out your flame

and gleefully watching your smoke

dissipate into the resentful breath

of everyone you ever outshined.

And you know what?

I refuse to learn that lesson.

I refuse to believe that

happiness

is impossible with other people in the equation,

no matter how many times

you horrible little people try to prove the paradigm.

But I am not chained to this town

like so many of you are, or will be

I can jump into a western wind

and feel the wash of progress

carry me to greener shores.

If people suck in my experience

I need more experience.

I need to meet better people.

And I will.

This is not the first day

of the rest of our lives.

This is not the maiden voyage of your

adulthood ship.

Your first day started 18 years ago

And I hope you haven’t wasted too much

Because life’s too brief to let you believe that you have the time

to be an asshole.

What you do

directly affects everyone you come into contact with.

So keep that in mind

the next time your throat is

filled with the bile

I had to sift through these four years past.

(pause for dumbfounded silence.

Flash coy smile.

Continue)

I hope to God you learned something from all this,

from high school,

from me,

from each other,

because my time -our time- is coming to an end.

My dear, stupid, former classmates,

thank you.

Thank you for bullying me into the person I am today.

At the very least,

This will all make a fantastic story someday.

I’m still working on my poetry chapbook- it’s not quite complete yet, but I’ll keep you posted!

Happy Easter from me and Batman!

This most recent book is the third in a series that I didn’t even intend on creating. The first book, Addicted, I wrote back when I was sixteen, then I was so enamored with the universe I’d created I wrote a second, almost companion novel called The Secret Wife. Then I realized that I was in no way done with the characters or the universe, so back in 2009, I decided to try my hand at a third book, successfully combining the three stories into a solid trilogy.

Addicted, for those of you who don’t really remember, follows 19-year-old Blair Hunter on a spy mission for the UMA, or the Undercover Missions Agency, into the mysterious life of software tycoon Eric Hallow, who recently (and suspiciously) got into the frozen foods business. Blair must fight her own demons as well as this new one to get to the bottom of things and save the world.

The Secret Wife, written about 8 months after the completion of Addicted, follows 21-year-old Allyson Ashland, who grew up as a UMA agent after her parents abandoned her. After a botched mission at age eleven, the UMA believed her to be dead, but when the man they believed killed her resurfaces in the crime world, she’s their only hope. Reluctantly, Ally and her old partner Micah must take down crime lord Clay Dawson before it’s too late.

And now (drum roll please), Scourge! The third in the epic UMA trilogy (although I’m working up a concept for a fourth) follows both Ally, Blair, and new character Camden, a 17-year-old juvenile delinquent caught in the middle of a major political conspiracy. This book is told from all three perspectives and we see the surprising return of a villain from one of the first two books. Ally and Blair must learn to put aside their differences with each other and Camden must acclimate to a world of spies and traitors and choose which side she’s on before she gets herself killed.

This book was so much freaking fun to write. Not only did I get to reexamine and rediscover my beloved characters from the first two books, but I also got to put them all in one room and let them fight it out. I didn’t realize how different they all were before they had to interact with one another, and now I love them more than ever. We’ve all kind of grown up together, and even if these stories don’t get past my computer’s hard drive, I’ll always remember them.

Anyways, now my task, before I let myself write anything new (which I’m known to do once I finish a project, in an attempt to not have to edit), I have to finish editing the first two books, Addicted and The Secret Wife, because I want all three books to be at the same level of competency. Remember, I wrote the first two during high school at very strange and dark points in my life. Also a lot of the stuff I wrote in them doesn’t make much sense anymore.

I just wanted to share that with you, because I’m super excited to have finished, finally. This book was kind of on hold for about a year and a half. I wrote the first 22 pages and then had absolutely no idea where to go next, but then this summer, I started planning stuff out and finally got a grasp on where I wanted to take it. Ever since the summer, I’ve been writing up a storm, and after another couple months break, I finally finished it. See you Monday!

Not much exciting happens in this video, since it’s mostly travel, but more next week!

You have all probably gathered by now that I love YouTube. I love YouTube so much that if it were a person I would have already proposed. I didn’t start getting into musicians on YouTube until I discovered Julia Nunes, who I’ll talk about in a second, but now I’m addicted. A good majority of my iTunes music catalog is Dave Days, Alex Day, Julia Nunes, George Watsky, and all the other incredible YouTube-based musicians. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. So today I wanted to lay out some of my absolute favorites, in the hopes that someone else out there will find love in the independent music community on YouTube.

1. Julia Nunes

Click here to view the embedded video.

I credit Julia Nunes as my favorite musician, in conjunction with Jack’s Mannequin. That’s a tall honor, considering that, in general, I dislike female singers. Something about her smoky vocals and creative instrumental choices (her song Comatose, one of my favorites, primarily uses beat-boxing and goofy sounds for the background music) just makes me want to fall asleep to her music every night. And sometimes I do. Either way, both her covers and her original music are incredible, and I think the world needs more of her.

2. Alex Day

Click here to view the embedded video.

I’ll be honest- in general, I don’t really like Alex Day’s music. His regular YouTube videos are fun and hilarious, but he’s not the greatest singer in the world. However, his song Forever Yours is one of my all-time favorites, and the music video (above) never ceases to give me chills. I use the instrumental version of it for Cooking with Gandalf’s theme song, and it was the backdrop to our “best of” video late 2011. Other favorites of his include I Hate Mario Kart Wii, Living on the Underground, and his new single, Lady Godiva, is growing on me.

3. George Watsky

Click here to view the embedded video.

George Watsky is my guilty pleasure, because his music is sometimes so profane I’m embarrassed to sing it out loud. I fell in love with him after I started watching his slam poetry (in fact, his poem “Drunk Text Message to God” was the central piece in my poetry program for speech this year, and there were only two tournaments in which I didn’t place.), but then I found his music. I’ll admit; at first, I wasn’t too impressed. But then I started listening to it more, and I couldn’t stop. He’s just so freaking smart, and his lyrics, profane as they are, are so thought-provoking. Take the above music video for example. “All my meals are business meals because my business is not starving.” *swoon*

4. Dave Days

Click here to view the embedded video.

I’ve been watching Dave Days for a while, and I remember all the Miley Cyrus parodies in his parent’s basement where he pretended to be in love with her cardboard cutout. And I remember how cool it was when he actually met Miley in real life and shot a music video with her for one of his best songs to date. I got to see him play live at VidCon, and it was incredible.

5. Alex Goot

Click here to view the embedded video.

Colton really hates Alex Goot, and I think Ellen does too, but sometimes about his adorable square glasses and slightly higher voice just makes me swoon. To be honest, I think I like his covers a bit more than his original music, but he’s a pretty complete package. He does all the background instruments for his songs (unless he’s collaborating, obviously). He plays drums, piano, guitar, and probably everything else in between. I used his cover of Soul Sister on my summer recap video from last year and I listened to him almost exclusively for about a month. Also, listen to his song Sensitivity- it’s my favorite Other good ones: Sad But True, Stay for the Weekend, and I Love Your Existence.

So those are probably my top five YouTube artists at the moment, but other ones to check out are Charlie McDonnell (who directed/edited the Alex Day video above), All Caps, Luke Conard, Boyce Avenue, Bad Lip Reading, Chester See, and Molly Lewis.

But we aren’t here to talk about my shockingly-in depth daydreams, at least not as far as I go. Inevitably, in each of these stories, people from my real life make appearances. I videochat with Rachel from space about how lonely it is, or I bring home Lee Adama to meet my mom. Sometimes Bart is stationed up on the Enterprise with me, since he’s in the military IRL, and sometimes Ellen and Colton come visit me in the hospital after a big battle. That sort of thing.

Unfortunately, using real people in a highly fictionalized daydream of your life isn’t always a good idea. I’m always something of a tragic hero in these tales, and I have to go through a couple nights worth of torture and disappointment before my daydream starts getting happier. In any case, everyone who makes an appearance in these scenarios is also highly fictionalized, and sometimes it makes actual life a little hard.

Let’s take Bart for example. Bart, my old debate partner and current guy best friend. I honestly don’t know if, in real life, he still considers us best friends, since we haven’t had an actual conversation since about October, and even before that we only talked when I was having some sort of emotional crisis (which is, let’s be honest, often). He’s always there for me when I need him, but he’s far from what my subconscious makes him out to be. In my daydreams, he’s the Gus to my Shawn, the Ron to my Harry, the Marshall to my Ted. (I really should get some female examples) When I’m going the military route especially, he’s always eventually stationed with me, and we go on grand adventures and he stands up for me when unappealing people from my past (usually Mia, Zach, or Sean) try to undermine me.

The problem is that Bart isn’t like that in real life. It’s not that he’s a bad friend- it’s just that he’s a lot more distant than the Bart in my head. And so begins this vicious cycle of expectation and disappointment, because my actual best friend Bart is nothing like the Bri’s brain’s best friend Bart.

And then he sends me a message after almost four months of not speaking (he is in Afghanistan after all), and signs off with “Any way tell me about this roomate trouble and any of your latest exploits worth mentioning.” Let’s be clear- Bart rarely asks me about my life unless I initiate it, because that’s just how he is. He lives in the present, and he doesn’t care where you came from or what’s been going on. He just wants to know what is important in the immediate present. Except this time.

Then it occurs to me that even though my romanticized version of him is a little exaggerated, it’s based off truth, and honestly, I don’t need imaginary Bart. I’ve got real life Bart, and that’s absolutely fine.

And that made me think about all the people I give cameos in my daydreams. I don’t romanticize people because I don’t like how they actually are. I love who they actually are. Who they actually are is awesome. Heck, I like who I am, yet in my daydreams I’m a kickass intergalactic soldier, or a flighty world traveler with no important material possessions. I could never actually do either of those things, and I don’t particularly want to. I’m completely happy with who I am. Sure, I’d love to be a bit more in shape and a bit more badass, but who wouldn’t? If anything, now that I think about it, these fictionalized and romanticized versions of my life only make me like my real life more, because it’s a heck of a lot more interesting when I’m not calling the shots on everyone’s lines and behaviors. Life is about not having control and learning to accept that. And maybe it’s time I did.

Gustavo, Alex, and these two idiots (Dion and Dakota) wanted to give back to Ellen and I for cooking for them so often, so they conspired with Colton to get the two of us out of the room for a few hours. They then proceeded to make their own version of Cooking with Gandalf for us, and it was the most hilarious/adorable thing ever. Alex and Gustavo didn’t end up being able to make it, but it’s the thought that counts. Give them a warm welcome and round of applause, and sorry for all the swearing.

Anyways. Even though it’s only like 1:30 in the afternoon, I’ve done a ton of work already today, so I’m not really in the state of mind to give you a good blog. So let’s just do some housekeeping and call it good, yeah?

Housekeeping topic #1: Rome.

I literally just finished filming the narration for my Rome travel videos, which I promise will be way more interesting than my Budapest ones (I say that a lot. My Budapest videos were BORING). I’ve already got one video mostly edited, so that should be coming out next week, and I’ll get the rest out ASAP. There’s just a lot of footage to go through. The reason the first video isn’t going up THIS Thursday is because….

Housekeeping topic #2: Cooking with Gandalf.

So last Thursday, Dion and Dakota, who you know from many previous Cooking with Gandalfs, decided with Alex and Gustavo that they wanted to give back a little to Ellen and I. With Colton’s help, they got us out of the room for a few hours and made us something of a dinner, and in true CWG fashion, filmed the whole thing. It was adorable. Absolutely adorable. So I edited that and it will be the video for this Thursday.

Housekeeping topic #3: Everything else

This week is spring break for me, and because I am a giant nerd/loser I decided to spend it, alone, at school. All my roommates and most of my friends are gone, so I’ve basically got the place to myself, which has been AWESOME. I spent most of the first day to myself cleaning, because our room is filthy, but now the floors are clean and there are no dishes in the sink and no olive oil coating the countertops. I spent the entirety of yesterday, Sunday, watching How I Met Your Mother, which is an awesome show. I got up to season 3 last night, and after I finish being productive today I’m probably going to do more of the same. Maybe I can make it to midseason of season 4 tonight. Maybe I ought to do something more productive with my life. HAH. Not likely.

In other news, the semester is already kind of winding down, and I’m very ready to be a junior. Damn. A junior in college. In a little over two years, I am going to be an actual adult. I’ll have to buy an apartment and get a real job and pay rent and rely on more than a meal plan to feed myself. *wails in panic*

I’m also still sick from the stupid Venice airport floor (a quick video of which you can see here) so I’m gonna go and finish editing some stuff now. Thanks for being patient with me, and I can’t wait for the weeks to come, because I’ll be uploading/posting some cool shiz!

METHOD #1: For the love of God don’t raise your hand

One of the best ways to deal with a pretentious professor is to just keep your head down and ride out the semester. This is the path of least confrontation, which is arguably the most beneficial to your mental health. Don’t talk in class, turn in everything on time exactly as the professor requires it, and laugh at the prof’s jokes. Make sure you have someone to rant to, though, because otherwise you might spend all of that time in silence, plotting the professor’s murder, and that’s not beneficial for anyone in the long run.

METHOD #2: At the very least, make it impossible for the prof to grade you down

So say you have a professor that is so pretentious they’ll judge you for the type of toilet paper you use, and you don’t have the willpower to keep your mouth shut and your head down. All I can tell you is to do every assignment exactly how it needs to be. If the professor demands a particular font, spacing, or heading, DO IT. No matter how contrary you act, and no matter how sharp the slap of your opinions comes across on your papers, they have no choice but to grit their teeth and give you an A. They’re still educators, after all. Rarely will they be able to justify grading you down for disagreeing with them. This is the path of constant confrontation, and it will likely frustrate you even more than the first method, but it will make you happier in the long term because at least you stuck up for yourself.

Not gonna lie, I generally employ method #2. In fact, sometimes I go out of my way to disagree with a professor, and specifically do an assignment contrarily (but correctly) just to get under their skin. Granted, this has led to a lot of conversations with professors about their worry that I’m not going to grow up to be as wonderful and cultured as they are, but I don’t care. I am an arguer at heart, and if someone is being a jackass, I’m not going to just bow my head and wait out the storm. No, I’m going to go out into the storm with a bucket and try to stop it. Who cares if I actually change their pretension? They’re probably lost causes anyways. I just want them to know that someone educated doesn’t think they’re infallible and perfect. I just want them to have an example of an intelligent person who won’t put up with their crap.

At the end of said playwriting class, we had to choose one of the pieces we’d written to submit to Pacific’s student run theater troupe, Lunchbox Theater. Every year they do a student playwright showcase that, well, showcases student plays. I bet you can guess where this is going.

My silly little zombie play, Brains, got chosen as one of the four or five pieces they did. And let me tell you, it was one of the most surreal and incredible moments of my life.

Seeing your words performed by brilliant people with “zombie blood” smeared all over their clothes and faces is something I’m having trouble describing. It was hysterical. The actors did such a good job, as did the director (Tiara!), and I couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to produce my work. Not to brag or anything, but my play was the only one where the actors didn’t have scripts and were free to move around the theater space uninhibited. It might have also been because my play was so short and most of the characters only had about two lines, but still. That was pretty freaking cool.

I guess what I’m getting at was that it was an absolute honor to see something I’d written performed by brilliant people. I never fancied myself a playwright, not really. I never had any dreams of my stories being performed, I just hoped that someone would read them. But this was something I could have never anticipated. Seeing Brains performed makes me want to write more plays, because it is such an all-in experience. It’s more collaborative, and gives me the chance to let other people weigh in on my work and transform it into something I could have never even imagined.

Lunchbox theater, thank you so much for this opportunity. I hoped you enjoyed staging my stupid zombie play as much as I enjoyed writing it and my friends and I enjoyed watching it.

-Film waking up every morning and saying the day of the trip

-Film the inside AND outside of all transportation

-Film the initial plan for the day (to cut down on the narration I’ll need to film later on)

-Film closeups of ALL people traveling (last year I ended up with not enough unique footage of people)

-Film group shots

-Film landmark shots of at least ten seconds

-Film Colton and I OWLing at all relevant locations (aw yeah)

-Pictures of myself in front of landmarks (a la Washington DC circa 8th grade)

-Pictures of all food consumed, meal or no

And that should make recaps and editing MUCH easier. Woo! (Colton’s already annoyed with me. Oh well!)

In other news, the currency exchange guy is super cute, and I’m gonna go now. See you after Rome!

Dear Humanity,

Relatively, only a minuscule percentage of you know who I am, let alone that I’m on the speech and debate team at my college. On said speech and debate team, I compete in an event called “impromptu” that I have a fairly intense love/hate relationship with. This event takes place in seven minutes, during which time you’re given 2-3 quotations to chose one out of, then about a minute to write a speech, then the remainder of the time to actually give the speech. Yes, it’s fairly nerve-wracking, and last year I specifically wrote an extra speech so I wouldn’t have to compete in it.

How is this relevant to you, Humanity? Let me explain, I promise I’m getting somewhere with this.

See, I’ve started to notice something of a trend amongst my speeches, something that I never gave much thought to. No matter how cynical and sarcastic I am out of rounds, as soon as I march into that room to start my seven minutes, it’s like I’m all of the sudden the biggest hippie on the entire planet. I love you in those rounds, Humanity, like I’ve never seemed to love anything else. And that’s bizarre to me, considering that I’ve spent most of my twenty years on this planet (still weird saying twenty) hating you and all you represent. I even wrote a poem called “The Human Disease” when I was in the tenth grade.

What have we come to?

Money fills you up with greed

Together we stand weaker

We are the human disease

Trashing all the forests

But not replanting the seed

Fouling up the ozone

We are the human disease

Some think they’re better than others

Most think they’re better than me

Stereotypes lead to suicide

We are the human disease

Not knowing what we’re meant to do

A ring with all the wrong keys

Searching for a purpose

We are the human disease

Material things are important

The group who is crowded has three

Everyone feels alone all the time

We are the human disease

Damn. Even I’d forgotten how harsh that poem was. Sorry about that.

Point being, as the awkward, consistently bullied girl who would rather read than make a new friend, I wasn’t particularly interested in Humanity. Then I started watching Doctor Who, moved away for college, and started competing in impromptu. Those three things may seem entirely separate, but I’m getting there.

Here’s an example: One round, I chose the quotation “Man is a clever animal who behaves like an imbecile” by Albert Schweitzer. My speech kind of went like this:

INTRODUCTION: Brief overview of Doctor Who

POINT ONE: Why the Doctor finds humanity worth saving over and over again

SUBPOINT: Spends a lot of time with human companions that are always surprising and delighting him in their humanity.

SUBPOINT: No matter what point in time he travels to, humanity is always there in some regard, stubbornly pushing on.

POINT TWO: How this applies to the real world

SUBPOINT: Yes, we kill each other over stupid things and start wars and oppress people, but that side of us never really wins. We took down Hitler, demolished the Berlin Wall, flew to the moon. Those dark corners exist, yes, but if we just realized and accepted how clever and beautiful our race is, then maybe we can make those dark corners a little bit lighter. Maybe if we all saw humanity the way the Doctor does, with exasperated love, things might be a little bit better.

And so on, and so forth. I gave two Doctor Who speeches that basically went like that (luckily, you can’t get the same judge for two different rounds, so if you use the same speech/format, it won’t hurt you). And honestly, before I had to start thinking up speeches in a minute and a half, I didn’t even realize I had those opinions. But I do, and that’s the incredible thing.

Humanity, I love you. You are petty and fat and violent but you are so gosh darned amazing that none of that matters at the end. Humanity, I love you. You build nuclear weapons and kill thousands of people, you let the people you don’t bomb starve, and you’re constantly at war, but you are so beautiful sometimes. The same species who created Hitler and Mussolini created Nerdfighters and the Peace Corps. You do stupid things all the time and sometimes you just don’t seem to get it, but when you do get it, damn girl, you can accomplish anything.

So let’s accomplish anything.

Love,

Bri

At this girls night of sorts, I told the sordid tale of Sean and I, which as most of you can probably attest to takes a while to explain and is pretty personal, especially when I got to the whole therapy bit. One of the boys, I think it might have been Gustavo or Alex, made a comment about how they were surprised with my openness. It was very personal stuff I was talking about, and although I adore all those boys, I’ve only known them for under two years, if that long.

The interesting thing is that I didn’t even consider the fact that my Sean story was so personal. We were just going around the room and telling our craziest relationship stories and, well, when you have a two year long tryst with a boy you met on Facebook, there’s not really any competition. But them bringing that up made me think.

Why do I feel so comfortable telling personal stories to people I don’t intimately know?

Honestly, I think it’s a combination of my experience as a blogger and my life at large. I’ve been spewing personal anecdotes on this blog for six years now, and in my brain, blogging and talking to people aren’t all that different, content-wise. More than that, though, my life has taught me that talking things out to people is a much healthier alternative than having tons of secrets. I mean, why wouldn’t I want my friends to know me better?

I believe in transparency in my personal life, because I’m kind of insane and tough to get along with. That’s not me being hard on myself: that’s just a fact. Ask anyone who has ever spent more than an hour with me- especially ask my roommates. I have a very strong personality and because I spend so much time inside my own head, I often have a hard time assimilating so social environments. So I figure the more people realize I’m a person, the more they’ll understand and respect me. The Sean story demonstrates that I’m more than some loud, awkward, aggressive girl on the fourth floor. I’m a loud, awkward, aggressive, deeply emotional and deeply sensitive girl on the fourth floor. And those two newly-revealed aspects of myself make it easier to see me as a person than as a caricature, which is probably going to be your first impression of me.

But it also comes down to something a lot more important: somewhere in the dark corners of my brain, I think that the more people know about me and my past, the harder it will be for them to hurt me for the fun of it.

It’s no secret that I was bullied throughout all of my life, another personal detail that many people wouldn’t divulge so readily. But it’s a fact. And I was bullied for a whole myriad of things, usually things that were merely at the surface of my personality. I know it was never my fault that I was bullied, and that even if those bullies had known be better it wouldn’t have helped, but college is a fresh start for me. All these people will see is the loud, sarcastic person I’ve become as a result of my past, not that small, scared little girl that would rather crouch over her journal than make a new friend. Loud and sarcastic is only fun for a little while, but emotional and sensitive ON TOP OF that is something you want to hang on to.

I guess my point is this: I am open about my past because I don’t see why I shouldn’t be. My long-distance relationship with a boy I met 4 times, my parents’ divorce, and my stint in therapy aren’t secrets, and they’re nothing to be ashamed of. They’re simply stories that provide a wider picture of who I am as a person, and I don’t see any reason as to why I should hide them.

Ask, and you shall be answered. Because why not?

Can you spot the difference?

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Ok, so maybe both of those pictures were overly flattering. A better “now” picture would probably be….

 Let’s get a bit closer…..

Oh yeah.

That’s the stuff.

Even with the first two pictures, though, there’s an undeniable expansion that has gone underway. I want to lay out right now that I do not believe I am fat. No, this is fat:

I AM SO SORRY.

I may not be “fat” fat, but if you take another look at my unappealingly zoomed in stomach up there, I think you’ll agree that I’m on the cusp. No, I’m not fat, but the line between “soft” and “obese” is steadily approaching, and that’s a line I don’t think I want to cross any time soon.

I’ve always been self conscious about my weight, ever since puberty, which I hit a good two years before most other girls I knew. I’ve mentioned in previous blogs that I had to start wearing a bra in third grade (I was 7/8 years old) and I got my first Joy of Womanhood when I was nine. That’s insanely early for girls. According to Wikipedia (I know, I know….) girls generally don’t generally develop in the chest area until they’re about ten, and the average age for the beginning of menstruation in the US is…. 12.5. I was a full three years early in both accounts, and that means a couple of things.

First, I gained weight much more rapidly and much earlier than most of my female classmates, so by the time I was a fourth grader, I weighed 104lbs while many of my friends were still under 90. Even though I averaged two different sports a year (and sometimes three, depending on if I was on the swim team or not), I was always bigger than everyone else. This also wasn’t helped by my genetics, since I’m quite short. In fact, I’ve started to tell people that I am basically a hobbit minus the hairy feet. I am short, squat, and solid, and I have been that way ever since puberty, exercise or not.

Which isn’t to say that I was ever “in shape.” Even when I was playing sports, I could never keep up with the other kids. I was just so determined and competitive that I did alright even though I was never as physically fit as everyone else.

And all this brings me to the point of this blog, which is the cusp I was talking about earlier. I am not fat, but I’m on the cusp. It’s gotten to a point where I rarely sit down without crossing my arms across my body, because I’m self conscious about my stomach pooch, and I don’t think I’ve worn shorts out of my own room since that first picture was taken.

The hardest part for me is nutrition, to be honest. I’ve been working out three times a week for an hour each, and if I really put my mind to it, I could work out even without the gym. But nutrition is hard, especially for a poor -and I would like to stress the word poor- college student. I have about $500 dollars in my checking account right now, and no income (although I’m working on that part- more on that soon, hopefully), so buying quality groceries is kind of out of the question, even with roommates. And even with Cooking with Gandalf, we don’t actually cook all that much, partially because we often don’t have ingredients because of the aforementioned lack of funds, and partially because cooking takes time and effort that, frankly, we don’t really have either. Again, college students.

I know that I could make better choices in a lot of places, and in some cases that could actually help out in the funds department (not buying cookies, etc). But this isn’t a blog about workout or nutrition advice. No, this is about me and my big, bodacious body.

Like I said before, I have been big my whole life. I’ve had stretch marks seared into my legs since I was ten, and they’ve never really gone away. I know that no matter how fit I get, I’ll always be on the solid (hobbit) side, and I know that my hips will always stick out and get in the way. I also know that I need to come to terms with those things about my genetics, and to some point, I have. Curvy and I have started to come to an agreement.

But you know something else? Just once, just for a day, I’d love to know what it feels like to be thin.

Woooooooo

It’s imitation week, so I imitate Shane!

I’m not going to bore you with more build up: today I became a member of the Double D team. Yes, I have gone up yet another cup size in the past two years. Like I mentioned in my original “Cups” post back when I was only 18, I was surprised enough when I became a C cup, let alone D, and, now, DD. Let’s see where I am on the chart I used last time, shall we?

• A– Adolescent
• B– Bare Minimum
• C– Common Enough
• D– Dramatic
• DD– Downright Dirty
• E– Enormous
• F– Freakish
• G– Grotesque
• H– Hideous

Downright Dirty? Really, internet? Really?

I’m going to be honest: the only reason I found this new development in my life interesting at all was because I had to drop an awful lot of money on new bras which, for us well-endowed ladies, can get quite expensive.

Sorry, can we just go back a second to the fact that I have DD boobs? They’re probably at about half my body weight at this point.

Like I said in my last post, “The only time the size of your boobs matters is when you have nothing else to offer.” And I still completely agree with that statement. But now that I’ve got a couple more years under my belt, I’d like to add a little something.

On my Google profile, my “blurb” is that I am the sum of many parts, and I think this speaks to a lot of things. While I’d rather not be judged on the size of my “hooters” (I know you’re there, internet. Trust me), they are still a part of who I am. But you know what else is a part of this sum? My elbows. My bushy eyebrows. My deceivingly-Jewish nose. The tips of my fingers, the unevenly-bitten nails, the half-painted toenails, the newly-carved calves (yeah, gym!), and the perpetually-a-little-bit-chapped lips. They’re not all equally important, but they’re all there, and that is what is important.

If I were to write the equation society uses to determine overall worth as a human being (x), y= cup size, z= how often you show off what’s underneath those cups, and p= quality of personality, it would look like this:

x= (p/y) +z

And if I were to try to input my own numbers, it would look like this:

x= whatever I damn well want it to be.

Life is what you make of it, people, and you get out of it what you put in. If I wanted to, I could toss around my knockers like coupons and maybe earn a few free meals here and there, but my life is worth more than my physical attributes. I am not ashamed of these parasites on my chest, nor am I bashful about them, because the fact that they are there and that they are large is just that, a fact. My equation for determining worth as a human being has an awful lot more variables, and I’ll keep adding them the longer I’m lucky enough to grace this planet with my existence.

I don’t care how high your number is for your (y) variable. I’m much more interested in what else you’ve added to the equation.

A= How often you apologize when you’ve been wrong or unkind

B= The number of bear hugs you’ve given to people who needed them

C= The number of times someone has called you crazy

D= Dinners cooked for hungry friends

E= Nights spent with people you truly enjoy being around instead of people you “should” be around

….I could go on. Could you?

Step 1: Decide on a recipe. This can take anywhere from five minutes to three weeks, depending. The “special” episodes (for holidays) take a bit longer, especially if we’re making more than one food (like on Thanksgiving- that menu took about two weeks to finalize).

Step 2: Plan a day to film. To do this we have to coordinate with each other (there are three hosts, after all), guests, school work, and ingredient availability. Especially lately, since Colton’s car has been in the shop, it’s been kind of hard to procure all necessary ingredients for recipes, so that’s always a concern when planning a day to film.

Step 3: Prep. For special episodes, when there’s background decorations like the hearts on Valentines day or the pilgrims on Thanksgiving, putting up all that crap can take between ten minutes and an hour. In addition to decorations, we also have to make sure we have enough room to cook everything and that the kitchen isn’t a mess. Oftentimes we’ll spend a good hour and a half before an episode washing old dishes and wiping down counter tops. I also have to set up the tripod and make sure the camera is at a height at which you can see the cooking going on and also the top of Colton’s head, as well as Gandalf. It seems like half of our total prep time is finding a place on camera for Gandalf where he isn’t in the way of a host or of the actual cooking. During this time we also try to pick out a Gandalf quote to use in the outro.

Step 4: Film. Filming can take between 2-5 hours per episode, depending on what we’re making and how long it takes us to actually get started. In addition to the actual cooking, I also take a couple of minutes before we start to film closeups of decorations and ingredients, if applicable/possible.

Step 5: Cleanup. This includes putting the room back together if we’ve displaced chairs and kitchen appliances for better shots, taking the tripod down, doing dishes, and storing leftover food away for later. This part probably takes the longest consecutive time, after filming. It also might not happen for several days because we’re college students.

Step 6: Editing. Though filming can take as long as 5 hours, I generally have about 1-2 1/2 hours of footage for each episode, because when there’s nothing going on but waiting, I’ll turn the camera off. It takes at least an hour or two to go through all of that footage, and then a little longer to actually edit it into something coherent. Then I’ll play the rough cut of the episode with Ellen and Colton, they’ll give me feedback, and I’ll reedit and finalize.

Step 7: Uploading. Lately we’ve been uploading episodes 2-3 weeks after they’ve been filmed, because we managed to crank out a bunch of episodes towards the end of January. Actually uploading the episodes takes between ten minutes and two hours, depending on the internet connection.

Whew! So there. That’s basically what goes into each Cooking with Gandalf episode. It’s an awful lot of work, but I think I speak for all of us when I say that it’s absolutely worth it.

Maureen Johnson. Author of nine young adult fiction books, Maureen would be an amazing addition to my writing group, first because she’d just be fun to shoot the breeze with. Her Twitter account is one of my favorite things on the internet right now, and ranges from near-mad ramblings to succinct and effective campaigns for charities and political movements. She also has an incredible grasp on the intricacies of female friendships (a subject which I am decidedly more shaky on), which would be incredibly helpful in a lot of my books.

John Green. Author of four young adult fiction books and one half of my favorite YouTube channel, vlogbrothers, I kind of just want to spend time with John. He is everything I want to become, professionally, and he appears to have a similar sense of humor to me. In addition to this, he’s an expert at tying themes into stories and humanizing characters, which I could always use advice on.

George Watsky. Quirky hip hop artist and slam poet, George isn’t really a fiction writer, but I want to be able to spend time in his presence. Also, he’d be good as a first reader, since he’s not as wired into the technicalities of fiction writing and can respond simply as an audience.

Libba Bray- Author of five young adult fiction novels, besides just seeming like an awesome person to hang out with, Libba is the queen of sarcastic humor and would be a great help in defining and mastering character arcs and believable struggles.

Steve Kluger- Author of a lot of stuff (also my favorite book!), Steve has a strong understanding of making a series of different but equally important substories/subplots coalesce.

Stephanie Perkins- author of two YA fiction novels, Stephanie could help me craft believable romances and build sexual tension between characters, which I always have trouble with.

Orson Scott Card and Suzanne Collins- I’m lumping these two together not because they’re less important, but because I want them both on board for the same reason: they write in my genre. Both are science fiction writers, and both are fantastic at building a future society that feels real. I suck at setting, and they clearly do not, so I could definitely use that resource.

Of course, I’d also like to have Rachel, and the girls from my original writing group (Kelly, Alison, and Kacey!). That makes…. twelve people. That might be kind of a lot, but we wouldn’t ALL have to meet at the same time. Either way, though, I’d love to have all of these incredible people as resources and as friends.

Did I miss anyone? Who would YOUR dream team be for whatever future career you have in mind?

Whatever.

I don’t write poetry like you’re “supposed” to. I have no rhyme scheme, no sensible line breaks, no particular form or shape. I suppose you could call my poetry “free verse” if you really wanted to label it, but I feel like even that’s a bit too specific. My poetry is all over the place, and by most accounts, it’s not very good. It’s barely poetry. It’s basically prose with certain words omitted and lots of

paragraphs

wherever I feel like

putting

them.

Also, my poetry isn’t something you could read. It kind of has to be performed, which is why I’ve started calling myself a “slam poet”. I feel like a giant douche calling myself that, but it’s the closest I’ve come to defining my style, because my public speaking and performance experience has started heavily bleeding into my writing.

But the other thing I’ve noticed is that I can’t seem to write poetry without swearing. In the last four poems I’ve written, I’ve used the “f” word at least twice in each. It’s not that I’m trying to write poetry that I can never post on YouTube because it would offend too many people, it’s just that that’s what comes out! When I write, especially when I write poetry, I have to get it all out in one sitting, otherwise I’ll lose my train of thought and it’ll never get finished. Maybe I’ll go back and edit it later, maybe I won’t. But for some reason, profanity flows from my fingers as quickly and as easily as self-indulgent blogs.

So here’s my big question: If I were to record myself performing my poetry (which I think is pretty good, despite all it’s strangeness and set-backs), would you be overly offended if I swore once or twice? I promise it’s not every other word- in general, I only swear two or three times per. I guess I could censor myself, but I’ve never understood censoring language, because oftentimes the sentiment is then lost. I’m a strong believer in the use of profanity in literature, because sometimes that’s the only way to honestly express something.

Thoughts?

HERE IS A LINK to the PDF. The file is kind of big, but I hope you’re interested, because although it isn’t the greatest, art-wise, I put a lot of work into it and I’m really proud of the result.

Pro: It’s awesome.

Seriously, how awesome would a moon base be?  A MOON BASE. Maybe we don’t have flying cars or hoverboards yet, but I think a moon base would make up for it.

Con: It doesn’t make any sense.

First, let’s examine the actual promise, or, rather, the more questionable bits of it. First, “by his second term.” That’s awfully presumptuous of ya, Newt. You’re probably not even gonna win the Republican 2012 candidacy, let alone the presidency, let alone a second term. Let’s be serious for a second, Newt. It’s pretty clear that you’re only running at this point to piss off Mitt Romney. And yet you’re promising something that would only happen if you were to be elected, not once, but twice? Keep dreaming.

Next, “permanent.” “Permanent” assumes that the base if fully operational. We just shut down the space shuttle program, NASA’s funding is in the toilet, but you think that 8 years is long enough to build a FULLY OPERATIONAL BASE ON THE MOON? It might also be important to note that he also wants this base to potentially be America’s 51st state. Can I get a collective “lol” before moving on? lol.

Pro: Good for NASA, and NASA is awesome.

Since the space shuttle program was discontinued, American astronauts have been literally carpooling with Russian astronauts in order to visit the international space station. Dignity aside for a second, the biggest problem with this is that the Russians have had, count ‘em, 7 launch failures in the past couple months. Seven. SEVEN launch failures. If only for the safety of our astronauts, we need this moon base to force the government to give some funding back to NASA for continued awesomeness.

Oh. Wait. Actually, Newt would be giving the money to private companies to build the equipment. At least they’re private AMERICAN companies. (insert anti-Russian sentiment here for kicks) (I don’t know any good Russian stereotypes except for excessive drinking but I think that would be too easy)

Con: Ridiculously expensive.

Remember when I was harping about how “permanent” moon base implies a fully operational moon base in just 8 years? Well, if I could build off that for a second, that’s not gonna be cheap. I don’t know if anyone’s seen our economy lately, but it definitely doesn’t look good. All things considered, America has bigger things to worry about than a potential space colony, awesome as it may be.

So what do you guys think? Even if Gingrich isn’t elected president, (see: Newt Gingrich will not ever be elected president because he is completely nuts etc) do you think a moon base is a good idea? For a bit more information, here are some recent videos about the hilarity that is the moon base and some videos about NASA and space in general.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Click here to view the embedded video.

He talks about the moon base at 1:08 in the above video, if you want to skip right towards it.

Click here to view the embedded video.

2. Dragons

3. Quidditch

4. Flying cars

5. Magic carpets

6. Genies in lamps

7. Shadowhunters

8. Non-angry automatons

9. Teleporter

10. the TARDIS

11. Sonic screwdrivers

12. Consistent female pants sizes

13. Felix Felicis

14. Ron Weasely

15. The Doctor

16. Aberforth Dumbledore

17. Human memory external storage

18. AT&T cell service

19. Unlimited laptop hard drive space

20. The intersect

21. Super spy Michael Weston

22. Affordable airplanes with leg space

23. Unicorns

24. Middle Earth-style Elves

25. Lockness Monster

26. Good representatives in Congress

27. Rich, charitable Nigerian princes

28. Accurate Harry Potter movie

29. Automatic perfect vision pill

30. Gondor

31. Transformers

32. Butters from South Park

33. Lightsabers

34. The Millennium Falcon

35. The Force

36. Super healthy meal substitutes that taste like chocolate cake

37. Dæmons

38. Talking puppies

39. Cosmo and Wanda

40. Stitch

41. Mermaids

42. Clone machine

43. Holograms

44. The Enterprise

45. Minis Tirith Space Station

46. Podracing

47. Batman

48. Phasers

49. Spock

50. Space pirates with lightsabers, rocket boots, and plasma grenades that ride space platypuses

Didn’t realize this was music video week for a while so this isn’t the greatest, but it’s good enough.

1. Be honest. I know it’s tempting to build yourself up, and you’re definitely gonna want to focus on the good parts of yourself, but make sure you’re honest in your essay. Application readers can smell a lie from a mile away, and besides, being honest will be a nice change for them. My essay started with how I sucked at everything for most of my life and how my brother was the golden, successful child. Honesty doesn’t have to make you look bad; in fact, it can actually make you look better if you admit to some of your shortcomings.

2. Pick a prompt you have a lot to say about. Most colleges have a bunch of prompts for essays and you only have to pick one, so pick wisely. If you can’t think of one moment in your life that changed you irrevocably, don’t choose that prompt. Trust me, it’s easier to cut things out of an essay than to try and add stuff in.

3. Write several essays and pick the best. If you’re not sure which prompt will suit you best, write an essay draft for each, or for a couple that seem good. Then, send those essays off to counselors and teachers and friends and see which one(s) they like best, then refine/focus on that one. I wrote four or five completely different essays before deciding on one, and it was really helpful to see all my choices. I also ended up using elements from essays I didn’t end up submitting in my final draft.

4. Be funny. You want your essay to stand out, so don’t be afraid to show a little personality. Maybe avoid toilet humor, but a little sarcasm might be just what your essay needs to push you over the edge. Most people write really dry, boring, self-congratulatory essays that probably make application readers want to bore their eyes out; be different. Don’t fall into those same paradigms.

5. Be unpredictable. On the same vein as #4, don’t stick to conventional topics. If the prompt is about a person who has influenced you and your future plans, don’t just pick some impressive-sounding 19th century poet simply for the fact that they’ll make you sound smart. Write about the protagonist from your favorite book and how their bravery/wit/etc has pushed you to succeed. Write about the one-armed varsity volleyball player you once saw and how her determination completely floored you (true story). Maybe it’s not as immediately “impressive” as your 500 word rant about how awesome Edgar Allen Poe is, but it’s more honest, it’s probably a little funny, and it’s definitely unpredictable. Remember what I said about standing out? Yeah. Exactly.

6. Have a strong, interesting introduction. One of my personal rules for writing an essay is to never start it with the exact subject I’m talking about, and definitely don’t start with the prompt. As an example, don’t do this: “The most important person in my life is Edgar Allen Poe, and these are three reasons blah blah blah.” Instead, try “Edgar Allen Poe was considered, by some, the most insane person ever. However, despite his near debilitating insanity, he became one of the most successful writers of his time.” or “Sometimes, the most insane among us are the most brilliant. In my opinion, Edgar Allen Poe is a perfect example.” See how much better that is? Ease readers into your essay, don’t just whap them in the face with the prompt. Essay writing is an art, so treat it as such.

7. Balance “voice” and personality with actual information. With all of that said about being unpredictable and funny, don’t overdo it. Make sure you balance your quirky stylistic choices with actually answering the prompt and trying to look appealing to colleges. You could have the admissions people laughing their butts off, but if you don’t actually say anything to convince them you’d be a good addition to the academic community at their college, then you’ve kind of missed the point.

8. Be modest but impressive. Earlier I mentioned the self-congratulatory jerks that admissions people probably hate. While you don’t want to sound like you’re your own soul mate, you also don’t want to underwhelm them. This is another balance tip; don’t be afraid to sell how awesome you are, but do it in a way that doesn’t make you sound like a pretentious jerk.

9. Research the school and be prepared to appeal directly to them. If a school you’re applying to has very specific conduct rules (like BYU) or likes to stress its diversity, maybe gear your essay to specifically appeal to what they’re looking for. You don’t have to write the whole essay like an eHarmony email to the school, but it never hurts to fulfill their needs a little.

10. Be yourself. Above all, no matter what college you’re applying to, be true to who you are. After all, it’s YOU that wants to go to their school, and YOU who think you’d be a good addition to campus, and YOU who will hopefully be walking the corridors soon. It’s pretty obvious, in general, to detect whether an applicant is being genuine or just being tricky. YOU are awesome, so don’t be afraid let people know.

Good luck!

Season 2!

Imma party like it's 2001

Tomorrow I turn 20. Tomorrow ends my teenage life. From tomorrow on, I will never be a teenager again. I don’t know exactly how to feel about this. I guess I feel good. I’m kind of relieved in a way; being a teenager was terrible, especially for me. I think I’m ready for adulthood. I really do. Wish me luck.

That’s all for the blog today, folks. Spring semester just started and I have to be ready to party my face off tomorrow (and by “party my face off” I mean “watch Burn Notice and get a crap ton of Facebook notifications”, of course). Have a good week!

Caleb’s Textbook Answers: Not to brag or anything, but I kinda sorta inspired this blog, written/created by my friend Caleb. It’s a fantastic combination of personal stories and political rants, sort of like what Bri’s Own World used to be before I ran out of things to say about gay marriage. He actually blogged about me not long ago (and it’s a very flattering post, so go smother him with my love)! Go check him out/support him, because he is a wonderful, thoughtful human being.

Messing With Amazon: According to the site, “pointless reviews for pointless products.” This blog is written by one of Caleb’s good friends, Cody, and although I’ve never met said friend in real life, I think we’d get along. His sarcastic reviews of silly/bizarre Amazon items are hilarious, and if you haven’t seen them yet, you’re definitely missing out.

XKCD: The official webcomic for nerds, I’ve been reading xkcd for years, and although some of the more in depth comics are a bit over my head, I probably have learned more from this site than most of the classes I took in high school. Plus, it’s funny nerd humor, so what’s not to like?

Questionable Content: My absolute favorite webcomic. The art has come a long way from the beginning, as has the storytelling. Although some of the storylines are more explicit than others (there’s never been all-out nudity, mind you), I want this comic to go on forever because it is fantastic.

Nerdist: Yes, it’s another nerd website. Created by Chris Hardwick, one of my favorite people in the world, this website is a one-stop nerd playground, with posts that range from Doctor Who to up and coming comedians, sex to music. My favorite Who blogger, Kyle Anderson, is a regular contributor, and while unfortunately Christ Hardwick doesn’t post as often, this site is something I check several times a week to keep up with everything funny and nerdy. Bonus point: If you like podcasts, this website features a buttload, so take your pick!

The Oatmeal: Not exactly a webcomic, not exactly a blog, but this website is hilarious. It’s the perfect mix of inappropriate humor, everyday observations humor, and nerdiness. I get depressed when there aren’t new updates. Matthew Inman is a genius.

These Folk: Alright, time for some shameless self-promotion. Last February, I met a couple fellow nerdfighters on a forum site called Your Pants, and we created a pair of collaboration channels called TheseFolk and ThoseFolk. Although ThoseFolk haven’t posted videos since summer, TheseFolk is still going strong! We make silly videos every day of the week (I’m on Sunday!) and we’re awesome. I love all nine people that have been on the channel, even the three that unfortunately had to leave due to other commitments, and I wouldn’t give up the experiences and friends I’ve made on this channel for anything.

That’s all for now, link-wise. Maybe I’ll do a favorite authors and their internet presences later. Would that be interesting to you?

1. How to write a resume. Resumes are, arguably, one of the most important things to know how to create. The problem is that you can write them in a lot of different ways, and there’s no central, agreed-upon format that everyone can easily follow. Wait, there is? Well, that would have been nice to know. I’m gonna need a job probably as soon as this summer, but unfortunately, my high school apparently assumed that I’d just… well, I have no idea what my high school assumed that I’d do after high school because it’s SUPER HARD TO GET A JOB WITHOUT KNOWING HOW TO WRITE A RESUME. They could have mentioned it in my intro to business class my freshman year, or really any other time in any other class because while it’s debatable whether or not I’ll need sine or cosine ever again, I’m definitely gonna need to whip up a resume sooner or later.

2. How to make a budget. This is another lesson that would have maybe taken one day out of my mindless, unnecessary memorization of geometric equations that I am literally -yes, I’m using that word correctly- literally never going to use. Though unfortunately I don’t currently have an income, knowing how to create and manage budgets so I don’t go broke before I’m forced out of the dorms and onto the real world would have been really helpful. I know a lot of people -including me little brother and one of my roommates- who have trouble controlling their spending simply because they don’t understand the limits of their balance. I’m taking a finance class this semester because I know it’s going to be actually useful (I’m looking at you, quadratic equation), but unless things like this are mandatory, kids aren’t going to pick them up. These are important life skills, public school system. Take note.

3. How to dress. I’m not talking fashion-wise, necessarily. If you want to wear combat books and prom dresses to school, whatever. That’s your prerogative. But it would have been helpful if, again, once, someone in high school had taught us how to dress for, say, a job interview, or, maybe, any other event that isn’t strictly casual. Clothing choice is just as, if not more, important than a resume in an interview, because what you wear reflects the company for which you work, and sorry, but it’s gonna be hard to find a job that’s cool with your clothespin lip piercing and corset. Also, it would have been nice if, once, someone had concretely explained what the heck “business casual” or “semi casual” means, because, honestly, does anyone have any idea?

4. Cheap, basic, healthy meals. There’s a reason the “Freshman Fifteen” exists. It’s because, in addition to having no idea how to manage a budget, new college students probably have no idea at all how to feed themselves. It would have been nice if, A. a half-semester home economics class was required (or even offered at all), and B. they would have taught us how to make a couple, reasonably healthy, inexpensive meals. Not everyone’s family cooks dinner together every night; if all you know how to make is ramen and mac and cheese, I’d like to introduce you to my new friend obesity, and his partner, type 2 diabetes. Enjoy your shorter life span, kids, because public school doesn’t give a crap.

5. Metric system. I know we live in America where, for some reason, we have this asinine system of measuring that makes absolutely no sense and is more complicated than anyone can possibly decipher, but everywhere else, they use the metric system. In an increasingly global world, it’s going to be important to know how to use the, arguably superior, measuring system. Plus, if more people were taught the metric system here, maybe we can finally join the rest of the planet.

6. How to tip/split checks. Have you ever been to a restaurant with more than one person and had to split a check in eighteen different ways, then ended up tipping the waiter about 20% less than you’re supposed to? Don’t lie. Yes you have. Unless you live in an Estonian cave (in which case, hello, future neighbor!), this situation has come up a lot. I’m sure there’s a simple way to figure out tip and split checks without looking like a cheap jerk, but, of course, public school didn’t seem to think that this information would be useful to me. Or maybe they just assumed that all my classmates are “dine and dashers”, in which case, that’s fair, considering my who my classmates were,  but the three of us with integrity would have liked a little more help in this department.

7. More diverse arts classes. Contrary to the public school system’s belief, art is more than drawing and rudimentary ceramics. Art encompasses film, dance, theater, music, graphic design, and so much more. I know public schools are struggling with funding, but I can still wish, right? Kids have all sorts of interests, and sometimes, they won’t/can’t go to college to explore them, so high school’s their only chance. Art is just as important as trigonometry to some kids; don’t ignore them.

So there it is, my list of things I wished I’d had in high school. Do you have any additions to this list, or problems with mine? Let me know in the comments!

I think it had something to do with the fact that your hands are very present at all times of the day, and that nail polish makes them look radically different. When I tried out a day of polish, I would feel self conscious and hide my hands all day. I’d position my fingers in such a way during class that no one could see the painted tips. Also, I’m way too impatient to paint them properly, so they were always smudged and messy.

So after a while I gave up. I’d paint my toenails because usually people wouldn’t see them and I was free to go through all the colors of the rainbow in the privacy of my own shoes, but my hands were always blank and plain. Usually, I wasn’t too envious of girls who could “pull off”, if you will, nail polish, since most colors were gaudy and didn’t match most of my clothes. However, that was before I started noticing people wearing black nail polish.

And I’m not talking about the goth kids that pierced their lips with clothespins. I’m talking about regular, non-life-hating people. Man, black nail polish looked cool. Unfortunately, the one or two times I got up the urge to ask my mom for some, she said no. I contemplated going the Sharpie direction, but that was a little too permanent for my tastes, and besides, my mom really didn’t like black nail polish. And to be honest, I don’t blame her. It’s a pretty definite choice, and my fashion sense was already confused enough. Plus, I probably would have gotten it everywhere trying to apply it and the whole house would have had little black streaks all over the place.

But Monday night, Colton and Ellen and I stopped by Target after a late dinner at Red Robin because Colton had a gift card and I needed printer paper and foundation powder. While I was browsing the cosmetics section with Ellen, who bought about fifty dollars worth of makeup that night, I came across the nail polish display. Even though I change the polish on my toes maybe once every few months, if that, I always like looking at the displays, because I love all the colors and all the silly names they have. “Commander in Chic,” etc. My old longing for black nail polish ebbed against the back of my consciousness, and all of the sudden I found myself enlisting Ellen to find some. It took us a while (apparently it’s a popular choice), but eventually, I picked up a little bottle of midnight black and there was no turning back. That night, while watching That Thing We Do, I did what I’d been trying to do but never had the courage for about a decade. I painted my nails black.

It’s been a few days now, and I’m excited to report that the experiment was a resounding success. While paler, more inconspicuous colors always made my hands and skin look pudgy and sallow, black seems to be made for me. It’s a masculine enough color so my tomboy side is satiated, but it’s girly enough to give my appearance a shot of femininity that, frankly, it needed. Plus, it’s made everything I’ve worn look automatically more put together, and since there’s about ten feet of snow outside right now I’ve been having to wear boots and leggings (boots so my feet are dry, leggings because my pants would drag in the slush), I always look awesomely punk rock. Yes, awesomely punk rock. Without even trying. My 8th grade Green Day alter ego is weeping with envy, let me tell you.

So why did I just write a 700 word blog about nail polish? Because I feel great. I’ve fought my gender for so long, and it’s been an exhausting battle, but I’m done. I like wearing dresses sometimes, but I’m also most comfy in sweatpants and an old teeshirt, face devoid of makeup and hair pulled back in a pony tail. Do you have any idea how freeing that is? I no longer feel like I have to hide who I am; I’ve finally come to terms with the contradictions and wide range of fashion, and, further more, I’m happy. I love being me. I love wearing boots, leggings, and the dress I stole from my mom with the pockets. I also love wearing my two year old black Converse, ripped-hem jeans, and gray nerdfighterlike teeshirt.

Clothing choices say a lot about a person, so judge me to your heart’s content. You know what my clothes say about me? That I’m Bri freaking Castellini, and I’m ready for whatever you throw at me.

Plot

Reticence: Main character Violet has just broken up with her boyfriend of a year, and he’s not taking it very well. However, Violet has fully moved on, striking up an internet romance with a mysterious boy from across the state. Then he becomes distant, breaks her heart, then a friend tries to commit suicide, then her ex boyfriend’s abusive father kicks him out, then she has a horrible fight with her older brother, then her best friend comes out as gay, then internet boy breaks her heart again, her grades start to slip, her parents ground her and constantly berate her about said grades, and there is no happy ending. Moral: Violet realizes that although she’ll still be sad even after everything has calmed down, she will be less sad if she reaches out and talks to people about her problems rather than bottling it all up.

Super: Main character Sophie is roommates with three prominent superheroes, though she has no such special powers. She’s knee deep in second-round edits for her breakout novel, but her roommates are far from her intellectual equals, so between work and home, she’s very much isolated. But then she meets Captain Chaos, an enigmatic, intelligent, witty supervillain, and things get much more interesting. Moral: you’ll always be alone if you don’t reach out, and being impulsive can be the difference between happiness and seclusion.

Character

Violet: Copes with problems by driving herself to an isolated, off the beaten path desert area and screaming at the sky, then pretending like nothing happened. When pressure rises, Violet withdraws as her life falls apart around her. All her actions and emotions are directly related and attached to a boy she’s never even met.

Sophie: Copes with problems with sarcasm and determination. When pressure rises, she motors through and keeps on keeping on. All her actions and emotions are directly related and attached to her own goals and dreams.

Style

Reticence:

I like to think of myself as an independent person. But really, even the most independent of people need friends. And to be liked. Loved is preferred, of course, but liked is the bare necessity.

So as much as I’d like to say how maturely I took the situation and how it did not emotionally affect me at all, I can’t.

“I never want to talk to you again!” Looking back, the phrasing he used seemed almost childish.

“Fine! God, you’re so annoying!” I growled back. I would be chagrined about raising my voice in public later, but right now I was passed caring. My friend Anthony tried to conceal a smirk as I stomped off in the opposite direction of the tall figure of my ex boyfriend.

“Violet!” He jogged to catch up to me. “So how long do you think it’ll take for him to beg your forgiveness this time? My bet’s on a week.”

“Ugh, I don’t even care anymore,” I assured him. But I did. Just because Jon was my ex didn’t mean I wanted nothing to do with him. We’d been pretty good friends before, but now he struggled to remain civil. In the past three months since I’d broken up with him, he’d declared himself completely over me three times, and refused to talk to me five times, all lasting periods of two to three weeks. His metaphorical plant was stubborn and unwilling to perk up. As annoying and as immature as he was being, I was desperate for my friend back. So maybe I’m not as independent as I like to think.

Super:

I woke up with a bad taste in my mouth. You know, that dry, stale taste of mouth germs after you’ve been sleeping for too long. I kept my eyes closed as I forced my tongue around my mouth, letting it moisten the cracks in my lips. Something was wrong. I opened my eyes.

“God dammit.” I growled. Captain Chaos, one of the most notoriously slippery super villains my three superhero roommates ever encountered, glanced back at me from where he sat in front of a series of large monitors. The monitors were watching said roommates, keeping track of their rescue progress, I assumed. Captain Chaos wore his usual outfit; light grey spandex with dark blue cape, foot-coverings, gloves, mask, and, of course, dark blue over-the-tights underwear. Evaluating my situation, I found it to be highly unpleasant, even overlooking the inevitable “told ya so” conversation I was sure to have with my roommates later, if I got out of this. I was duct taped to a wooden chair, all my appendages tied down to, presumably, dissuade escape attempts. The wooden chair was suspended by a series of wires which, upon further inspection, was connected to a sort of pulley system. Beneath me was a tank. Inside the tank were sharks. Bull sharks, to be exact. I knew this because I’d once spent two hours on Wikipedia -in an attempt to avoid editing, of course- looking up different kinds of sharks. Know thy enemy, right? Bull sharks, apparently, were known for unpredictable, aggressive behavior. One reared its short snout upwards in my direction. Great.

“So.”

“So.” he responded, not turning. From my elevated position, I could see the top of his head, an expanse of hair contained by his mask on either side. It was nice hair, from what I could tell. Dark and thick. I couldn’t accurately evaluate its texture, however, because his aforementioned mask obscured a good section of it. The small section of the supervillain that I could see reminded me of my new character, Ted. The only thing I’d really decided on for him so far was that he liked to read poet biographies in bubble baths, a quirk that never ceased to amuse me. I tried to concentrate on Ted, instead of the seven hundred pound monsters wiggling around beneath me.

“You tied me to a chair.”

“Yeah.”

“And suspended me over a tank of sharks.”

“Yeah.”

“I hate sharks.”

“Sorry.” He turned around a little.

Conclusions

I am a much healthier person overall. I’m sure a lot of you will recognize the real life parallels from Reticence’s plot; the idea for that book was to take all the upsetting events of the previous two years of my life and force my character to deal with them all in the period of a few months. The final product wasn’t pretty. Though I was never as completely dysfunctional as Violet (I never let my grades suffer as a result of emotional trauma: I never wanted my parents alerted of said trauma), it’s clear that through this comparison that I have much more balance in my life in now. All things considered, I’d rather be Sophie any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Plus, my writing has gotten a lot better, and considering that’s hopefully my future profession, that’s heartening to recognize.

Anyways, sorry this blog was a day late. Having yesterday off school really threw my internal schedule. Also, it’s SNOWING! SNOW! FINALLY! See you Friday… I have snowflakes to gaze at over a mug of hot cocoa and a new Burn Notice episode to watch.

yeah ok. According to Wikipedia, there is no documented history of the Friday the 13th superstition before the 1950s. There are a lot of theories about why people are so freaked out by this day, but they all boil down to this: People are stupid. Yes. If you believe in superstitions, it’s going to be very hard for me to respect your intelligence, or your existence on this planet, or your right to breathe my air. (That’s right, I’m going controversial with this blog) Here’s why:

1. It’s all in your head. When I was in 8th grade, my science fair project was a social experiment in which I tested out the legitimacy of different superstitions (like walking under ladders) and their effects. I didn’t limit the experiment to negative superstitions; I gave my subjects either a good or a bad superstition to test. I had two groups of people: I told one group about the experiment and exactly what superstitions I was testing on them, and then I told another group absolutely nothing. Group 2 only knew that I was making them do stupid things like throwing salt over their shoulders. At the end of the experiment, I had each group fill out a survey about their day. My findings weren’t surprising: the people who knew they were getting a good luck superstition had better days, the people who knew they were getting bad luck superstitions had worse days, and the people who had no idea what I was doing had average days.

I think this experiment, limited as it was because I was 13, basically proves my point. Superstitions are self-fulfilling prophecies. If you believe that a black cat crossing your path is bad luck, you’re probably going to have a bad day, because your brain is focused on all the terrible things that damn cat might rain down upon you. But if a black cat crosses my path, my allergies might flare up because I’m allergic to cats, and then I’ll get on with my perfectly average day because my brain doesn’t care. Knowing that superstitions are only what you make them is the first step in recovery from your clear mental disability.

2. Superstitions can be gross. I dated an athlete for a year in high school, so I got a front row seat to the paranoia superstitions play in sports. My boyfriend played baseball, and when he was on a hitting streak, he wouldn’t shave. As a result, I wouldn’t kiss him, because his teenage scruff was gross and scratchy. I also knew boys on his basketball team who wouldn’t change their socks for weeks at a time because they were doing really well during games. That. Is. Disgusting. There is absolutely no correlation between what pair of socks you’re wearing and how well you play basketball. There is only you. If you’re a good basketball player and you’ve been practicing, you will do well. If you don’t ever practice and you’re mediocre to begin with, you probably won’t do well. It’s that simple. Don’t be gross.

3. If you believe in superstitions, you are stupid. It’s as simple as that. There is absolutely no study that has ever substantiated claims of superstition, and if you believe in them regardless, you’re a sad, sad little person, and I hope when you die alone in your cat-infested trailer, your surviving cats don’t eat you.

There are some people who would argue that I could use the same arguments to mock religious people, but first, you’re kind of a dick (what do you care what people believe, if it doesn’t hurt anyone?), and second, while it’s a similar situation, it’s different enough to bypass my arguments above. The thing about being religious is that it’s on a much bigger scale, and unlike superstitions, religion can’t be disproved. The very fact that I haven’t died a thousand terrible deaths due to all the ladders I’ve walked under and all the black cats roaming around me disproves superstition. There is no test like that for religion, so don’t be a jerk. There are a lot of legitimate claims against religion, and the existence of God, but there is no way to substantiate those claims.

What it comes down to is this: all faith isn’t stupid, and all skepticism isn’t warranted or constructive. However, if you believe that filling your house with crickets and wearing your suit inside-out is going to get you a promotion, you should probably go get help. Immediately.

Class #1: 8:00-9:05am Modern Topics in Mathematics (M-W-F)

Ah, yes. A three-day-a-week math class at 8am. This should be fun. I haven’t taken a math class since I was a junior in high school. That’s almost three years ago. And I haven’t been particularly good at math since I was about 12. Expectation: this is going to be painful.

Class #2: 11:45am-12:50pm Studies in Poetry (M-W-F)

Thankfully I have a couple hours break, but this class doesn’t look to be that much more fun than the dreaded 8am math. Ellen had this professor last semester and hated him, and I’m pretty sure he was the pretentious writing professor I met the first time I visited campus. Plus, if this class is anything like the studies in fiction class I took last year (with a professor that I LOVED), this is going to be painful. I haven’t had to write an essay in a while, and I haven’t been looking forward to it. Last semester spoiled me with superhero short stories and zombie plays.

Class #3: 2:15-3:20pm Finance for Daily Decisions (M-W-F) (1/2 semester)

I took this class for a couple of reasons. First, it’s only two credits (meaning it only lasts until March), and it rounds out my 18 credits for this semester. Second, it looks to be useful, since I’m terrible with finance. This class doesn’t look fun, or even interesting, but it’s something that I ought to take, seeing as I’m gonna be out on my own in two years. Excuse me while I go hyperventilate.

Class #4: 9:40-11:15am Creative Nonfiction (T-TH)

This is my only creative writing class this semester, which makes me sad. The professor, I believe, is my adviser, and I really like her and her writing style, so no concerns there. However, I’ve heard stories from other people who have taken this class about having to go observe groups of people and write about other people’s experiences, and that makes me edgy. I don’t like talking to strangers, especially when it’s for an assignment, and this sounds an awful lot like journalism, which is a writing style that I’m uncomfortable with. But I just have to suck it up, unfortunately. I don’t want to go into this class with a negative attitude, but it’s making it hard.

Class #5: 1:00-3:20pm The Artist Book (T-TH)

For my final class, I’m rounding out the unfun schedule with some art. This class finishes off a “focal study” (some BS core requirement thing that I don’t understand), but it also looks really interesting. To be honest, I don’t really know anything about this class, but it’s art, and I’m generally pretty decent at that.

So there you have it! My spring 2012 semester classes and expectations. What are your classes/expectations? I’d love to hear about them!

Woo! Magazine week!

Video was posted Thursday, sorry it took so long for me to blog!

So this episode was something of a time-traveling acid trip, which in a lot of ways was a lot of fun. The episode begins with all of time happening at once, with Churchill and Dickens and Cleopatra all existing in the same moment. We find out that this has happened because River Song tried to rewrite a fixed point in time and everything went to hell. The episode then proceeds to follow the Doctor through the events that led up to his death and the events that happened as a result of River trying to avoid said death. Lots of silly and epic things happen, then it’s revealed that this question that will cause silence to fall is what the Doctor’s real name and that the Doctor uses the shape changing robot thing from Let’s Kill Hitler to escape death. The only person who knows he is alive is River, because he whispers it to her when they get married, but at the end of the episode, some months later, she reveals it to her parents and everyone is happy.

First I have to say that I really like that the Doctor faking his own death because he’s gotten “too loud,” because if you remember from the first episode of the new series (“Rose” with Christopher Eccleston) he started as more of a secret. And that seems to suit him, the mystery.

There were a lot of things to like about this episode. Sassy headless Dorian, Churchill and the Doctor fighting off the Silence as the Doctor tells his tale, eyepatch Amy and Rory who find each other even when all of time has gone wonky, the reunion at the end where River tells Amy and Rory that he’s alive, and Dorian yelling “DOCTOR WHO? DOCTOR WHO?” as the Doctor trots to the TARDIS.

Unfortunately, there were a lot of things I didn’t like about this episode as well. I didn’t like the reveal that the Doctor used the tesselecta to escape death because it seemed way too simple to warrant the entire season, I didn’t like that everything worked out absolutely perfectly, and I didn’t like the wedding.

Kyle Anderson, my favorite Who blogger, discusses his dissatisfaction with the whole tesselecta thing, so I won’t go into it here, because instead I want to talk about my two biggest problems with this episode: the wedding, and the question.

First, the wedding. Why? Why was there a wedding? It didn’t have anything to do with the events of the episode, it doesn’t make anything (but River’s ability to break out of prison) clear from the previous seasons, and as far as I can see, it won’t add anything to future seasons. There is no reason or gain to have the Doctor and River get married, so why did they do it? Why couldn’t he just whisper the “look into my eye” line to River, make out with her, and then continue on as planned? Literally nothing would have changed as a result. This also begs the question, when David Tennant meets River for the first time, in the library, on her death day, what does she whisper to him to make him trust her? If Moffat is planning on dragging THAT out for another season, he’s more clever than I gave him credit for. I don’t think he is, though. In fact, I think he’s forgotten all about it. That AND the TARDIS exploding at the end of last season. It’s like he added all this cool foreshadowing but then either forgot about the storylines or got bored. And that’s frustrating, as a fan. Shame.

Next, “the question.” “The first question.” Doctor…. who? So apparently this big scary question, the “first” question, the question that drives the religious order the Silence, the question that means the Doctor must die, is what the Doctor’s name is. I’m sorry, what? I get that a Time Lord’s “real” name is important for some reason (in the new series it’s a bit unclear as to why, though), but is it really that important? Also, there were plenty of Time Lords older than the Doctor before he killed them all, so why is HIS name the “first” question, and why is it of such interest to the Silence? I don’t get it, and honestly, I don’t think Moffat does either. I’ll give him that it was cute, having sassy headless Dorian yelling the title of the show at the end of the episode, but as far as it will enhance the future of the show, I’m not so sure.

Final thoughts: the episode had fun elements but ultimately fell flat in the grand scope of the last two seasons. It answered very little and didn’t seem to care.

Other Who news: The Christmas Special was…. interesting, new episodes aren’t coming out until next October (NOOOOO), and sometime next season, the Doctor will be getting new companions. FINALLY. I love Amy and Rory and they’ll always have a place in my heart, but the Doctor, not to mention Matt Smith as an actor, needs a new companion. Half the fun of the Doctor is that he remains very much the same while the people around him change. That all said, the next companion(s) has a lot to live up to.

1. Blog twice a week (unless there are extenuating circumstances). This semester I was really bad about keeping up my blogging schedule, which I managed to do really well at last year, and it’s been eating at me. But I’m a writer first, so I really need to motivate myself in 2012. So look forward to new blogs Mondays and Fridays for the rest of the year!

2. Continue posting videos consistently (Thursdays for my main channel, Sunday for These Folk). I don’t think I’ve missed a video on either channel since the summer, so I’m not super concerned, but I thought adding it as a goal would keep my honest and on track.

3. Fit into belt. So there’s this plain black belt that I’ve had since high school that’s served me well, but unfortunately, I have inflated to a point where while I can fit into it, it’s really uncomfortable and on the last hole. I really need to get my act together with my health, because I’ve reached the line that crosses over into “fat” instead of just “unfit”. This year is the turning point, which will determine which side of that line I’ll fall on, and I’m pretty sure I know which side I don’t want.

4. Have 1 breadless day a week. On the same vein as #3, I need to be healthier. And one of my biggest weight/health problems, aside from the fact that I never move, is my carb consumption. I love my bread and pasta and such, but it hasn’t been so much in love with me lately. I couldn’t go completely Atkins, but once a week is a good starting point I think. Plus, it doesn’t feel like a punishment, which will hopefully make it stick.

5. Hit 200 subscribers on YouTube. Hitting 100 subscribers was a massive milestone last summer, but with a new cooking show and a massive amount of work, I want to reach more people. I don’t think 200 is too big for one year’s worth of work, but I’m gonna need your help. If you like my videos, please share them with your friends and family. It would mean a lot to me, truly.

6. Record every book read and every movie watched this year. This one seems a little strange, but as I discovered when I was making my #1s for 2011, I don’t remember a lot of the movies and books I watch and read, because I consume so many so far apart. So I thought it would be interesting to keep a better record of the media I consume, just so I can look back on them.

And that’s it! I think those goals are all doable, but keep me honest, my dear blog readers. Ask me how these goals are going as the year moves on!

Enjoy your 2012,

Bri

Bri’s #1 Book: Clockwork Prince by Cassandra Clare

After whining about not wanting to spend $20 of my own money on this recently published sequel to the novel “Clockwork Angel” for a week, my mom bought it for me and stuck it under the tree. I spent the rest of Christmas day finishing it. Clockwork Angel was a great book, but Clare outdid herself with this sequel. Heartbreaking, funny, intense, and thoughtful, CP (Clockwork Prince) is my favorite book this year because it has made me absolutely obsessed with the universe in which it exists and has reaffirmed how much I would love to be a career writer. That all said, I HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL NEXT DECEMBER FOR THE FINAL BOOK IN THE TRILOGY? WHY??

You’ll like this if you like: The Gemma Doyle trilogy by Libba Bray, Victorian-era fantasy, strong female protagonists

Runners up: Name of the Star by Maureen Johnson, Beauty Queens by Libba Bray, Matched and Crossed by Ally Condie, and Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins (all female authors! I’m branching out)

Bri’s #1 TV Show: Heroes

So even though Heroes has been over since February of 2010, I didn’t start watching it until this summer, and it’s pretty much consumed my year as far as TV shows go. I bought ten episodes on iTunes from all four seasons (mostly episodes that feature Sylar heavily) and got the complete fourth season DVD set from my mom for Christmas. Granted, a lot of my obsession over this show stems from my obsession with Zachary Quinto, but I truly did enjoy the series. Even if season 3 got a little wonky for a while and even if I hated 75% of the characters by the end, overall, it was a fun show, and I’m glad to have seen it.

You’ll like this if you like: Brooding and attractive men, pretty ladies, superheroes, philosophical musings on the state of humanity

Runners up: NCIS: LA, Doctor Who (always), Chuck

Bri’s #1 Movie: Garden State

Again, I understand this movie came out a while ago, but I didn’t see it until April of this year, and I loved it. I spent a lot of last year watching all seasons of the show Scrubs, so I had a slightly unhealthy crush on Zach Braff, and this movie didn’t exactly help. Not only can Braff act, but he can also write and direct? I have to say, that’s pretty damn impressive. This movie was sweet, funny, and thoughtful, and I absolutely recommend it. Plus, it has a young, hyper, quirky, adorable Natalie Portman, a guinea pig maze, a wall camouflage shirt, and Michael Weston (if only for a couple minutes).

You’ll like this if you like: Zach Braff, Natalie Portman, indie comedies

Bri’s #1 Person: Zachary Quinto (are you surprised?)

Seriously, are you surprised? You shouldn’t be. While I think the reason ZQ is my person of the year is summed up quite nicely in this blog from earlier in the year, I thought I’d elaborate just a little bit more because I love him. Not only is he eloquent, attractive, and funny, but he also started his own production company that came out with its first full length movie, Margin Call, this year. It was a little above my head, but it was smart and clearly well made. It required a lot of courage to come out, especially when he did, and to do it with such humility is an even more incredible feat. Zachary Quinto, I will love you until the day that I die, even if your fashion sense is sometimes a little bizarre.

You’ll like this if you like: Attractive, well spoken, tall-dark-and-handsome men.

Runners up: Eric Christian Olson, Maureen Johnson, Chris Axtman

Bri’s #1 Song: Russian Unicorn by Bad Lip Reading

A song born from a poor lip-read version of Michael Buble’s music video for “Haven’t Met You Yet.” This is my song of the year because of how obsessed Ellen and I got with it. It’s hysterical, bizarre, but more than all of that, catchy. Yes, a parody of a Michael Buble song is almost a better song than the original. We danced to it in the Halloween Cooking With Gandalf episode, and it’s a permanent fixture in every dance playlist Ellen and I will ever make. If that doesn’t constitute song of the year, I don’t know what does.

Click here to view the embedded video.

You’ll like this if you like: Catchy pop songs, fart jokes

Runners up: Stay Awake by Julia Nunes, Forever Yours by Alex Day, Seizure Boy by George Watsky

777 words? I think that’s good. Hope you all had a great year, and please comment with your own #1′s!

<3

Happy Holidays!

Long story short; I met Sean on Facebook and we had a very short yet very intense long distance “relationship” in which I fell in love that ended poorly. I’ve known Dylan since 7th grade and if there was an award for “Worst Person/Friend Ever” he would have won uncontested annually, but because I had very low self esteem and very few friends, I continued to put myself in vulnerable situations for him to exploit. As for Craig, I’ve known him since I was five and we were best friends from freshman year of high school on, but then sometime last year he decided to completely cut off contact with no warning. He might have given Dylan a run for his money that year.

Needless to say, with the combination of a history of low self esteem and self worth, a tendency to be overtrusting, and a big stupid heart, I reacted to all of these betrayals poorly. It got so bad that during my junior year of high school I began going to bimonthly therapy until just before my second semester of my senior year of high school. In that time, I wrote enough depressing poetry/blog posts to smother a third world nation. And it was anything but constructive.

Then I went to college. Then I started my second year of college. And now I’m here, and, quite honestly, I’m great. More than that, I’m awesome. I realized in the shower (hot) yesterday that I haven’t even thought about Dylan in about a year, and the only reason I have to think about Craig is because he’s my neighbor.

But what really made me realize how far I’ve come emotionally in the past year were my memory boxes. I have a near-serial-killer penchant for keeping souvenirs from my life, important or not. Since I was a freshman in high school, I’ve been able to condense my year into one shoe box per, keeping things like ticket stubs, programs, pictures, notes, and even corsages from various dances.

I was digging through a couple of these boxes the other day for a video for my collab channel, and I came across the only “snail mail” letter Sean ever sent me during the two ish years we knew each other for. After much bullying and several letters of my own, the June before either my junior or senior year in high school he sent me one of the most hysterical letters I’ve ever received. Rereading it, I found he used the word “boob” about fourteen times and then told me a story about his seventh grade math teacher. On the back of the letter, he drew an angry dwarf thing and a pair of, you guessed it, boobs. And that was it. And instead of dissolving into a world shattering panic attack, I laughed. I laughed my butt off.

That’s when I realized that, finally, Sean had zero power of me anymore. I can look back fondly at the good times, accept the bad times as learning experiences, and use the rest of the times as anecdotes for the rest of my life. How freaking awesome is that?

But I’d like to go back to the truckloads of depressing poetry for a minute. That’s really telling about my previous coping mechanisms- quiet depression and anger. Clearly, that was never a good policy. But since entering college, I’ve started doing a 180, until I can aptly say that my coping mechanism is now, drum roll, humor.

Let’s get the cliched “laughter is the best medicine” out of the way now, not because it’s not true, but because it’s more than that. Here’s an empirical example. This is a poem (“Why Not Me?”) I wrote in middle school.

Stomach churning

Face pale or red

Embarrassment rushing

Through my head

But also anger, hurt, desire

So of course my mood is much like fire

Him with her,

Her with him,

It makes me sick

I wish life was simple

I wish love was fair

I wish my moods

Were less like a bear’s

I wish I could see

What I’m missing

And where I’m lacking

And less who he’s kissing

Why am I the one left out?

The one who’s here but yet unseen?

Why can’t I be the one he looks at with

Passion in his eyes?

Until then,

I cry

Augh. It makes me shudder just looking at it. Alright, now here’s a poem I wrote earlier this semester (“Nerdz with a Z”)

The coolest hoodie I ever saw

had a big, flat, open hand on the front

but when you zipped it down?

Life long and freaking prosper.

Nerd.

The thing about being a nerd

is that it’s kind of like being a hipster,

except your clothes aren’t as cool

and you’re probably a virgin

and you’re actually allowed to like the things you obsess over.

Speaking of which

When did liking things become

uncool?

Will all the hipsters in the audience

please stand up

and explain to me why if

you and I like

the same thing

one of us has to deviate

otherwise neither of us will be cool.

You liking things that I like doesn’t make

Us

uncool.

It just makes us potential friends.

Speaking of which,

Do you want to come watch Firefly with me after this?

Because I’m missing my Mal Reynolds high

And I don’t want to reach it alone.

Because being alone is

fucking.

terrifying.

You may think you like being alone.

But you don’t.

Because being alone means you can never ask questions

Or tell jokes

Or ask for help.

Having an obscure taste in stuff you don’t actually like doesn’t make you cool,

or interesting,

or intriguing.

It just makes you a dick.

Also,

what’s with all the plaid?

I’ve got nothing against plaid, per se

But go to any location populated largely by people

under the age of 30

And it looks like a gay lumberjack convention.

And I say gay because of the variety of colors in modern plaid

Not because I’m a bigot

But I am a big nut for Battlestar Galactica

And beets.

And Doctor Who

And puns, apparently.

Maybe I don’t dress

like I shop in time traveling dumpsters from the 1960s

and maybe I can’t adequately debate the merits of

Neutral Milk Hotel or

ironic mustaches

But hey.

At least I’m allowed to enjoy stuff.

At least my stereotype is self aware enough to recognize

That we aren’t put on this Earth to be “cool”

or “phat” with a “ph”

We’re here to sing too loudly to “I’m Blue aba dee aba die”

Dress too specifically on Halloween

Laugh too loudly at chemistry jokes

And, most importantly,

Love stuff.

Because stuff can be pretty cool.

So here’s my promise,

to all of you listening to my rambling

to all of you who checked out early because

this year my poem isn’t about peeing standing up

and to all of you who aren’t listening at all but are pretending you are:

I promise to have an original Star Wars trilogy marathon at least once a year

Read the entire Harry Potter series again instead of going to a party

Make Lord of the Rings references at awkward moments

Drink Shirley Temples long after I turn 21

And enjoy every damn minute of it.

Pretty big switch, eh? Instead of dwelling on angst, I turn my observations into humor and wry reflections on the state of the world. Another example: In high school when I had to write short stories, I wrote a really sad story about “coming out”(as gay, as an atheist, etc) and a fictionalized version of my friend’s attempted suicide. This year, I wrote about superheroes and zombies.

Being known as the “funny girl” is strange, especially for someone who spent most of her adolescence quietly writing poetry about the color black, but it’s an experience that I’m not going to shy away from. I’ve spent too much time being sad and angry; being funny and angry is much more interesting.

I hope you can recognize that when I make jokes about emotionally traumatizing experiences, it’s not because I’m making light of them or trying to hide behind humor. I make jokes because otherwise I’m having panic attacks and bawling myself to sleep at night, and that’s not a pattern of behavior I’m eager to return to. Besides, if you can’t laugh at your pain, then it’s just going to hurt longer, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that pain is only useful for a little while. If you let it go on for longer, it stops being a source of poetic inspiration and it starts becoming a medical issue.

Moral of this over-indulgently long blog? I’m too young to be this jaded. I’d much rather be writing about clinically insane S&M supervillians than attempted suicide. Not because it’s more culturally important, but because I think it’s just as important to give people a reason to get up in the morning instead of just insisting that they do.

Late video this week, but it’s up!

The only things I’ve recently blogged about have been writing and Kristen Stewart, and I promise, outside of this sentence, I will NOT mention them again. For at least this blog. And I thought it might be a cool idea to explore the past couple months of my life in the pictures I’ve taken. So without further ado:

I’m a member of my college’s film club, so this year, as a project for the club to do together, we paired off and did something called an “exquisite corpse.” This meant that we made an entire film in individual, one minute clips. After the first group went, the second group got to see the last five seconds of the first minute, and then they went off to make their own minute. The next group got to see those last five seconds, and so on and so forth.

My partner and I went before Ellen and hers, so Ellen “cast” me and Colton to help her with her idea. It’s kind of hard to explain the concept, but we dressed Colton up like a Zombie therapist and I was his patient. This might be my favorite picture ever.

Then, it was Halloween. I was the Doctor, complete with a homemade bowtie, fez, and suspenders along with my sonic screwdriver that was a graduation present from my brother, a shirt and tweed jacket from Goodwill, dress pants, and the boots my grandparents bought me when they came up to visit. I was quite proud of the ensemble, and several people recognized me. That was a nice surprise. Ellen was a creepy doll and Colton was Stan from South Park.

Speaking of Colton’s costume, I made his hat and his mittens with my limited crocheting knowledge. It was definitely difficult, but they turned out really cute, don’t you think?

I also got to carve a pumpkin, which I’ve never done on my own before. (This means I’m growing up, right?)

Can you tell what it’s supposed to be? (I’ll tell you…. it was supposed to be Harry Potter. See the scar?? And the glasses?? He looks a little silly, but overall I was happy with the effort)

This year, we didn’t have a speech tournament on Halloween weekend, which meant that we got to hand out candy to the kids who trick-or-treated in our dorm. That’s another thing I’ve never really done- handed out candy to kids for Halloween. The neighborhood I grew up in was mostly comprised of  older people, and the houses were so far apart that no one ever trick-or-treated there. I always went to Rachel’s house to trick-or-treat myself.

But since we’re sort of on the subject of things I’ve made recently, let’s talk about the two art classes I had this semester. You know about a lot of the cool stuff I made in ceramics from a blog earlier in the year, but since then I’ve made a bunch of NEW stuff. Unfortunately, I can’t show you a lot of it yet because they’re Christmas presents, but here’s something I can show you!

This is the pre-fired version of my tea set, which turned out alright. This picture makes them look a lot cooler than they actually turned out, but I still made a passably decent tea set, which I was happy with. That was all created entirely by hand, and I’m really proud with my progress this semester.

I was also in a drawing class this semester, which I enjoyed a lot. For our final project, we had to do a figure drawing, then a paper on a particular artist or art movement, then a second figure drawing in which we imitated the style of the art movement we researched. I, of course, chose Van Gogh and the impressionists. The first picture here was my initial sketch for my initial figure drawing. Then we have my initial figure drawing, which turned out pretty well, and, finally, my final figure drawing, imitating Van Gogh’s style. The problem with that drawing was that Van Gogh used paints, and I only had colored pencils, so I can’t even tell you how painstaking it was to use colored pencils to imitate the thick, varied brush strokes of Van Gogh and the impressionists. It turned out better than I expected, but it took forever.

We also, as a class, did a collaborative drawing of Steve Jobs’ face, which I’ll do a separate blog about soon. (my bit of the collaborative piece was the rectangle of the lower left part of his face)

Transitioning from class-sanctioned creations, however, let’s talk a little about Cooking with Gandalf. This video series has been both a blessing and a pain in my ass. I love cooking with my roommates and being silly on camera, it just takes forever to set up/cook/clean up after/edit the hours of footage down to something entertaining.

Just look at our two theme episodes: the silly little decorations in the background? All handmade prior to filming. they may not look like much, but I worked hard on them. Even this stupid Doctor Who hand turkey. I love Cooking with Gandalf, and I hope it’s something we do for a long time, and I just want everyone to understand/ appreciate all the work we out into them.

This next picture is the aftermath of my brief time as an intramural indoor soccer player. It’s an imprint of a soccer ball. As out of shape/ bad at soccer as I am, boy did I have a blast. I love sports, and I’ll probably try to play more intramurals in the future. It’s a great way to blow off steam and have some fun, without the pressure of set practices and game schedules.

Then it was Thanksgiving. This year, Ellen and I went with Colton to his older sister’s house in Olympia for the holiday, the first time either of us have ever been away from family during thanksgiving. We had a lot of fun, and I’m glad I went, even though the two cats they had gave me bad allergies and a rash. While we were there, Ellen and I went to a very hipster coffee shop to do some homework, and the coffee they gave me looked like

this:

Which was cool, except the coffee wasn’t very good. Maggie’s Buns once gave me a coffee that looked like THIS:

and not only was it made with love, but it tastes delicious. I’m kind of a regular there now, which is the first time I’ve been a regular at a cafe since Borders closed. (sheds a silent tear for Borders)

This is my wall of speech plaques, from the various tournaments I’ve attended this year on both coasts. I know I’ve harped on this before, but speech has honestly changed my life. It gave me something to be good at as well as a community that accepts me for all the crazy that I am. As much as I complain about it sometimes, I love speech, and I’m so honored to be apart of the program here in college.

Now, this is the prize I got for, once again, getting third place at a writer’s open mic night. I love these open mic nights, because I love performing, but I also love writing, and this seems like the perfect combination of the two. Plus, it’s fun to hear friends and people from my classes reading their work aloud. This year, I won with my slam-esque poem “Motherf@!#e%r”, which is about my anger issues. It’s slightly less funny than the poem from last year, “Piss Off”, which was about peeing standing up, but it was still pretty funny, and that seems to get me noticed by the writing and speech community. Who knew that the kid writing poems about the color black would turn into the class clown?

This Saturday, the 10th, was Ellen’s 20th birthday, so we went into Portland for the day with our friends Dion, Gustavo, and Dakota, who have all been featured on at least one Cooking with Gandalf episode, if you care to look. Ellen wanted to get breakfast at this very hipster cafe in downtown Portland, so we all dressed up like hipsters for the day, which produced, as you can expect, hilarity. Dakota actually borrowed skinnier jeans for the occasion. Though there aren’t any pictures, we went to a mall, then to an arcade where we played three epic games of laser tag, then to a little off-the-beaten-path Greek restaurant Gustavo knew about, before finally ending up back at school, watching movies and playing cribbage and purring outside of Lindsey’s door (don’t ask) until one in the morning. It was a good day.

Ellen, Dakota, and Dion before the day began

Breakfast!

Beiber AND the Doctor?! I’m a lucky girl.

(left to right) Ellen (BIRTHDAY GIRL!), me, Gustavo, Dakota, Dion. Fun fact: Dion’s eyes were closed…

so I photoshopped them open.

Finally, our last blog topic for today, Christmas. I’m leaving from school at 4am on Wednesday to go home for a couple weeks, and as much as I love college and Oregon, it’ll be nice to go home for a while. I made a ghetto Christmas tree out of a very bizarre white Elephant gift, then Ellen and I collaborated (it was mostly Ellen, though) on a slightly less ghetto one.

This semester has been crazy and busy and amazing, and although it hasn’t all been good, I wouldn’t trade the experiences I’ve had for the world. Thank you all for continuing to visit my website and watch my videos and have a happy holiday season! I can’t promise I’ll be blogging regularly until after the new year, but I promise that I’ll make a definite effort.

Music: Forever Yours by Alex Day http://dft.ba/-foreveryours

Music: Seizure Boy by George Watsky

New theme song!

Recipes coming Sunday (or something). Happy Thanksgiving!

We’re nearing the last week of this experiment, and I think the pattern I’ve fallen into will continue into the rest of the year. I really like the act of going to a coffee shop after class and just writing for a couple hours before going back to my room. It just seems natural, and it’s not like I do stuff during that period of time anyways.

But back to the actual writing I’m doing. Eugenia is taking shape, finally, and although I feel like there are still things I’m leaving out, I’ve got a few friends that have offered to read and edit it for me, so that should be good. As well as my individual edits are going, it’s always better to get outside opinions.

However, because I like to stress myself out, I’m really starting to get intrigued with Super, my fiction class accidental novel about superheroes, and Holding, my playwriting class full length play depicting an interrogation room love story. Super is just really fun, because it’s the most overtly humorous and satirical piece of writing I’ve ever done, and that’s really new for me. You guys should know; I’m a tad too fond of torture scenes and sadness, and Super is a nice change.

Holding is another story altogether, though. It’s an incredibly ambitious concept, and it’s both terrifying and exciting. The entire play takes place in two interrogation rooms, one at a police station and another in a warehouse, and the play switches back and forth between these two places without the audience fully knowing which scene comes chronologically first. It’s a play that’s (hopefully, if I can pull it off) about love and expectations and bank robberies, and although it freaks me out, I am in love with the concept and I really hope it works out.

So I’ve got a lot of projects to juggle, in addition to all the other stuff I have to do for my other classes and for my life in general. I thought I was busy before? Hah. HAH.

Well, I really just wanted to check in with ya’ll, since I’m waiting for my Fiction professor to finish talking to another student so we can discuss my accidental novel start. That should be fun. See you Thursday for the Thanksgiving with Gandalf episode!

Aside from the obvious problem I have with this casting choice, which is that Kristin Stewart does not look like a princess by ANY stretch of the imagination (unless it’s a RAT princess you’re talking about, in which case… I’m sorry Kristen Stewart I’m sure you’re a very nice person…..), the other problem is that Kristen Stewart is NOT AN ACTRESS. To prove my case (on the off chance no one has seen the Twilight movies and hasn’t yet been introduced to the crapstorm that is her portrayal of Bella) I took a screenshot of every appearance she makes in the recent teaser trailer they released. You can watch the trailer (which, aside from K-Stew, looks AWESOME) below:

Click here to view the embedded video.

I know what you’re thinking. “You don’t have anything to worry about, crazy-yet-still-hot Charlize Theron. You’re definitely still the fairest of them all.” And I know what you thought after that, too. “Why is Snow White wearing armor?”

Even though she never said anything in this minute and a half, I will now present to you how I know, FOR A FACT, that Kristen Stewart is a terrible choice for what could be a freaking awesome movie.

EVERY

SINGLE

TIME

EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Sigh. The next time they release a trailer, I’ll probably do this again, to further my point that KRISTEN STEWART HAS NO OTHER EXPRESSION OTHER THAN CONFUSED BOREDOM.

I’m done. I promise. Back to editing.

aaaaaaaaaargh

Moving on, though, I took the day of classes because in addition to being severely depressed and homicidal, I’m not feeling particularly good. It may be a result of aforementioned emotions, but either way, I would not have been a constructive addition to any of my classes, so I’m spending the day writing. Right now, I’m in the middle of a week of edits for my antagonist, Zachary Bluff. In the first several drafts of Eugenia, he was just this insane, racist sexual predator, but I didn’t feel like that was believable. Besides, in every writing book I’ve ever read, the author always stresses the importance of recognizing that the antagonist is never ALL bad. There has to be something redeemable about them, otherwise they’re flat.

So I introduced this issue to my roommate, Colton, who came up with a brilliant idea. Instead of making Bluff just straight up crazy, I’m making him a kind of utilitarian whore. Utilitarianism basically is the philosophical way of saying “the most good for the most people.” Bluff believes that basically enslaving anyone less intelligent will be good for society as a whole, and any “reg” (“Regular”, the term for people who fail the IQ test) who is unhappy with his/her lot is selfish and hates society. It actually sort of makes sense in a really twisted way, and it’s actually an even better way for me to explore the problem of intellectual elitism that I wanted to when I started writing this book.

IN FACT, the girl (coughMiaHaneycough) that I’m basically dedicating this book to due to her own insane intellectual elitism would probably agree with a lot of the things I’m now having Bluff support, which makes it even MORE fun to write.

Anyways, I really am going to try to blog more. So today, I’ll leave you with some of the sections of Eugenia that I’m having the most fun with at the moment.

“When were you able to get proof? That’s right. Never.” Decklan told me when I voiced my guilt later that night. “Look, we all knew the risks. And on the bright side, Jon doesn’t have to call in sick whenever we need to do something for you guys.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? Oh, good, now Jon has more time to cater to my needs!”

“I’m just saying, you shouldn’t feel guilty. Jon is a big boy.”

“What am I?” Jon emerged from the bathroom after a long -and judging from the steam that followed him out, hot- shower.

“A big boy.”

“Right. I’m even transitioning from pullups to boxers.”

“We’re all so proud of you, Jonny.”

Context: this next section is something I wrote to replace this weird story I had Meg tell her friend Zia on the bus to the sorting facility, where their fates were decided. You can read the original, weird story here. It was actually a story idea I had a while ago (two young people are doomed to arranged marriages, so they run away and meet accidentally on the road, fall in love, and by the end of the story they realize that they were actually betrothed to EACH OTHER, and everyone lives happily ever after). This time I decided to give Zia a little more air time before I kill her off, and so I actually took the plot to my fiction class story for Meg’s uses. I’m so clever sometimes.

Zia frowned, shattering the facade. “We won’t get to have picnics anymore, will we?” Her bottom lip protruded and shook. That wouldn’t have ended well, so I quickly changed the subject.

“I didn’t get to finish my book before the test.”

Even though she didn’t like to read much herself, my friend liked hearing me talk about books. Apparently, my storytelling methods were far better than the authors themselves. She sniffled a little, but looked up at me. “Wh-which book?”

“The one about the superheroes.” A boy behind me perked up at that, and leaned forward marginally.

“You’ve been waiting for that one to come in the mail for a while, right?” Zia was reinvested with the conversation now, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, I ordered it over a month ago, but it didn’t come in until yesterday. I told dad I was staying up doing math flashcards, but really I was reading.” Part of my mind reasoned that this act of rebellion could have possibly erased my future, but the other part of my mind was already lost in the story.

“But you didn’t finish it?”

“I don’t read that fast, geez!” We giggled at one another, a sound decidedly inappropriate for the surroundings. The two adult escorts up front turned slightly with disapproving frowns, but as soon as their backs were turned again, the rest of the kids on the bus moved a little closer. Anything to take their minds off of the ride.

“So what was the story about? Maybe we can finish it!” Zia’s voice raised artificially at the end of her exclamation.

“Well, it’s about this girl- a normal girl like me or you, in her twenties- who lives with three superheroes. One was super strong, one was super fast, and one… could fly.” The kids who hadn’t fully invested in eavesdropping buried all pretenses and leaned in at that point, and having read most of the book myself, I couldn’t blame them. But I wasn’t focused on anyone but Zia. My friend, fun and silly as she was, didn’t deal with bad news well.

“So the story starts out with her writing a novel about living with superheroes, and she’s really frustrated because she doesn’t have many friends past her roommates and she’s way smarter than all of them so she can never really have an intelligent conversation. And then she gets kidnapped by this supervillain called Captain Chaos-” There were several well-timed gasps from my enraptured audience “-and they hit it off, but he has to escape. Then they accidentally run into each other at a coffee shop where she likes to write. They decide that they really like each other, and go out on a date without her roommates, the superheroes, knowing.” I paused. That was the most I’d read.

“Then what?” The girl in front of of asked. Zia nodded excitedly, having been beaten to the punch.

“Well, that’s where I stopped reading.” I shrugged at my audience, who unanimously deflated. I hurried to speak again. “But so what? We can make our own ending!” A few faces perked up a little, Zia’s included. Sometimes, when I didn’t like the ending of a story, I’d just change it, and she often liked my version better. She trusted me, and I appreciated that. This story was probably the most important I’d ever told, if only for the setting in which it was being told.

“They start dating, the girl and Captain Chaos. His real name is Danny, and when he was a kid, he got picked on by another kid superhero, so that’s why he became a villain, even though he doesn’t actually have powers.”

“A supervillain who doesn’t have super powers?” The boy behind my scoffed. “what kind of a supervillain is that?”

“A tricky one.” I proclaimed, smirking at him. “The girl… let’s call our main character Zia.” I winked at my friend, who blushed. “Zia and Danny started dating in secret, because he was her roommates’s sworn enemy and that probably wouldn’t fly with them.” I paused, hoping someone would catch the pun. When there was no response, I continued.

“Sometimes, Zia would tag along with Captain Chaos when he’d kidnap people and dangle them over tanks of sharks, just for fun. All of their adventures together really helped her put together her novel, but she started growing further apart from her roommates. She justified it by saying that they weren’t smart enough to keep up with her anyways, but really she missed them. Eventually, she missed them so much that she told Danny that they needed to out themselves as a couple, because she just couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. At first, he resisted, but then he agreed. So they started plotting the most epic superhero obstacle course ever in order to get all of her roommates in one place an one time. There was a section of it that required each of her roommates’s powers; for flying, for strength, and for speed.”

“Like what?” The boy behind me demanded. The romance in the story was clearly boring him.

“Any suggestions?” My audience pondered this in silence for a moment. The adults in the front of the bus glanced back at us again, but decided to leave us be. They probably figured it was the least they could do.

“There could be a wall of old cars that the super strong hero has to rescue a woman from within.” A boy across the bus suggested. My most vocal commentator, the boy behind me, nodded excitedly at him.

“Alright. First, Rhys, Zia’s super strong roommate, had to pull down a solid wall, three rows thick, of old cars. Inside a car at the center of the wall was a young man, trapped, that they had to rescue. Once past that…” I looked expectedly at my audience.

“There was a woman tied to the roof of the building, over a busy intersection?” A girl who I recognized from my early school days piped up. I smiled at her.

“Once past the wall of cars, Elle, Zia’s flying roommate, had to soar up to the top of a nearby building to rescue a damsel in distress, hanging precariously over a busy intersection. Finally…”

“there was a bomb planted near a building that the super fast roommate has to get out of city limits!” Zia cried, in what I assumed was an attempt to beat other people to the punch. No one seemed too put out, and I grinned at my friend before continuing the story.

“Finally, after the dangling woman was rescued, they heard about a bomb being planted in the main city square. Rhys wasn’t strong enough to stop it, and Elle couldn’t fly far enough to get it out of the way, so Mike, the super fast roommate, grabbed it and took off running, faster than he ever had before, and dropped the bomb off in the middle of a huge desert where it couldn’t hurt anyone. Then they all met up together and searched for Zia, who they presumed was kidnapped as well, at Captain Chaos’ lair. But when they got there…”

“She wasn’t actually kidnapped! It was all a set up!” A girl finished for me excitedly. The rest of the kids shushed her.

“Yes. Zia took Captain Chaos’s hand and told her roommates that they’d been dating for several months. Instead of laughing or being happy for her, though, her roommates were angry. Maybe none of Captain Chaos’s ‘victims’ were ever seriously hurt, and maybe he only became a villain to make sure that superheroes didn’t let their egos run away with them, but he was still traumatizing the city. And Zia shouldn’t have abandoned her principles and her friends in order to date him.” The story was starting to sound less like a romance, and Zia looked concerned. I hurried along. “A year later, Zia has moved out of the apartment and has published her book, which is a best seller. At a local reading, her old superhero roommates approach her. It turns out that Zia has broken up with her supervillain boyfriend because, at the end of the day, he may have been smart and witty, but he could never amount to the friendship she shared with her roommates, thick as they were sometimes. She learned that intelligence wasn’t everything, and that everyone always has something to offer. Zia moved back in with her roommates and kept writing and lived happily ever after.”

“The end.” sighed Zia, even though she was more of a painter than a writer.

“Wait, that’s it? The moral of the story was that intelligence isn’t everything?” The boy behind us glared at me. “When was this book written?”

“I made up the ending.” I reminded him. “But it was more of an educated guess than a shot in the dark. It was written before the economic collapse. Early 2000s, I think.”

He continued frowning. “Well, that’s a dumb ending. She should have stayed with the supervillain and spent the rest of her life on the run, robbing banks and squaring off with superheroes.”

A couple of the other boys nodded their agreement, but I noticed that a lot of the girls seemed to like my ending, particularly because of its -unintentional- parallels to our current predicament. Satisfied with the distraction from life, Zia closed her eyes, smiling as she drifted off to sleep by the gentle rocking of the bus. I smiled too, glad I could be of help, but it didn’t reach my eyes. My stories could only distract; they couldn’t actually solve anything. In the next few days, both super Zia and I were off to a life of no return.

Apparently the internet in the dorm last night was not too happy with me, because it refused to let me upload this video on time.

Watch till the end!

Eugenia, if you remember, was that book that I posted segments of over the course of a year on this here website. Since the draft that still exists on BOW, I’ve edited it a lot, but it’s still not at a point where I can feel good about it. The first half of my writing fiction class we spent reading this book about crafting stories through characterization, setting, etc, and while learning about that stuff I was scribbling down edit ideas for Eugenia. Example: In order to characterize Decklan (the main love interest) better, I added in a quirk where he tears things he’s holding when he gets stressed, and in an effort not to destroy important things on accident, he carries around packs of index cards.

Other example: I’m really bad at settings, because I’m always more focused on dialogue and characters, so basically everywhere said dialogue and characters exist in the book is a giant white room. One such location is the house Meg (the protagonist) and Gruber (the guy who rescues her/ shows her the ropes of living off the grid) share for a couple years. All you know is that it’s a part of an abandoned suburb and has a big vegetable garden in the back. And I didn’t add EITHER of those things until about three months ago. In fact, in the draft still on this website, all you know about where Meg spends a pivotal three years of her life is “We managed to keep a semi-permanent home, near where old-world San Diego had been, but food was always a concern.” Also there’s a lake nearby. GREAT.

And so on. Fact is, as proud as I was about Eugenia when I first finished it, and when I made the first several rounds of edits, it’s not where it should be if I ever want to get it published, or even get it considered. I’ve sectioned out the edits I know I want to make so that each day I have a new one. When you’re WRITING a novel in a month, you generally want to write 1667 words a day for a consistent pace. Turns out, when you apply the same idea to editing, it’s a whole lot more complicated. For instance, the edit regarding Decklan’s paper-tearing quirk was scheduled to be done on Sunday. However, this edit required me to basically reread the entire book and add in the quirk where it seemed to fit, which was a lot of places, incidentally. Eugenia is 59,000 words right now, which is A LOT OF WORDS to go through in one day. I also have the bad habit of editing other things as I go, so it takes twice as long.

Point is, I didn’t finish that particular edit until today, when I spent three hours at a local bakery/cafe working on it. Luckily, today’s sectioned-out edit only required two paragraphs and a couple tweaked details. It’s all very complicated.

So that’s going… as well as it could be, all things considered. At least I’m working. Actually, I finished editing Eugenia today at about 2 hours and 15 minutes, yet I stayed at the cafe for another 45, because I was also working on my short story assignment for writing fiction. We’re supposed to be writing a 12-20 page double-spaced short story by the end of the semester. I’ve been writing random scenes from my story all semester, in conjunction with shorter writing assignments we’ve been turning in. Now that we’re actually working on the full story, I started editing and compiling all the different documents/scenes with my story in them. As it stands right now, the first part of my story is 20 pages. Already. And that’s barely a quarter of the story. Apparently, my brain thought it would be a good idea to start a new novel. I’ll let you know how that works out.

In other news, new Things and Stuff episode this Thursday. Once I’m not spending over 3 hours a day doing writing for other classes, I’ll start blogging again. I promise. Things are just kind of stressful and crazy right now. Fun, but stressful and crazy. BYE!

Hey man, wassup? Chatty talky vlog! Nerdiness! Writey-ness! AAAAAA

I’ll start blogging again soon, hopefully.

Music: I Think You Know by Julia Nunes

Dark Blue (cover) by Alex Goot

This video is extra long because it’s extra special. Three recipes PLUS costumes! You can find the recipes below:

Ellen’s Pumpkin Hummus

Bri’s Holiday Pumpkin Souffle

Colton’s Thai Pumpkin Curry with Citrus

Ingredients:

2 cups unsweetened pumpkin puree
3 eggs
¾ cup sugar
¼ cup maple syrup
¼ cup milk
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon nutmeg
¼ teaspoon cloves
¼ teaspoon salt

Directions:

1) Preheat oven to 325°F. Lightly grease a 2-quart casserole dish.

2) In a large bowl, combine all ingredients; beat until well mixed, about 3 minutes. Pour into prepared casserole dish; bake 65 to 75 minutes, until set in the center. Cool slightly and serve.

See the video where we made this!

Click here to view the embedded video.

Prep Time: 20 minutes

Cook Time: 10 minutes

Total Time: 30 minutes

Ingredients:

• 1/2 small pumpkin (or substitute 1 acorn squash, butternut, or any other orange squash except spaghetti)
• 1 small or 1/2 large yam or sweet potato, peeled and cubed
• 1-2 medium carrots, cut into thick slices
• 1 yellow bell pepper, cut into bite-size pieces
• 1 cup cherry tomatoes
• 1/2 can chick peas, drained
• 2 Tbsp. grated orange rind

CURRY SAUCE:

• 3-4 cloves garlic
• 1-2 fresh red chillies (or substitute fresh green chilies, OR 1-2 tsp Thai chili sauce)
• 1 can coconut milk
• 1 tsp. tamarind paste (or substitute 1 Tbsp. lime juice)
• 2+1/2 Tbsp. soy sauce (use wheat-free soy sauce for gluten-free diets)
• 1 Tbsp. brown sugar
• juice of 1/2 lime
• juice of 1 medium orange
• 1/2 tsp. turmeric
• 1 Tbsp. rice vinegar (or substitute apple cider vinegar)
• 1 Tbsp. ground coriander seeds, 1 Tbsp. ground cumin, and 1 tsp. fennel seed
• 1/3 purple onion, sliced

GARNISH:

• handful of fresh basil leaves
• optional: 1 Tbsp. roasted pumpkin seeds and a few nasturium flowers (or other edible flowers)

Preparation:

Prep time: 20 min
Ingredients:
2 tablespoons tahini*
2 tablespoons fresh-squeezed lemon juice
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon olive oil
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon ground red pepper
1 (15-ounce) can pumpkin puree
1 garlic clove, chopped
2 tablespoons chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 tablespoon pumpkin seed kernels, toasted (optional)

* Tahini is a thick paste made of ground sesame seeds that can be purchased already prepared from many supermarkets and specialty stores.

Preparation:

Place tahini, lemon juice, cumin, olive oil, salt, red pepper, pumpkin puree, garlic in a food processor or blender, and process until smooth. Add parsley; pulse until blended. Spoon hummus into a serving bowl; sprinkle with pumpkin seed kernels, if desired. Serve with pita wedges.

NOTE: Can be prepare up to a day ahead and refrigerate.

Makes about 2 cups.

See the video where we make this!

Click here to view the embedded video.

Next week is just gonna be a regular vlog video, but for Halloween we’re making all pumpkin recipes, in FULL costume! (I love my roommates)

During an interview right around the time Star Trek came out, Zach talked about how he’s kind of a boring person in general, and sometimes when he’s just walking his dog on the street, he reflects on how disappointing he’d be to the tabloids. He’s a private guy, and he’s not interested in being a celebrity, really. So to come out, I’m sure, took a lot of thought and reflection, and I absolutely respect that. Here’s what he actually said:

10.16.11.

                                                                                                                                     nyc…

when i found out that jamey rodemeyer killed himself – i felt deeply troubled.  but when i found out that jamey rodemeyer had made an it gets better video only months before taking his own life – i felt indescribable despair.  i also made an it gets better video last year – in the wake of the senseless and tragic gay teen suicides that were sweeping the nation at the time.  but in light of jamey’s death – it became clear to me in an instant that living a gay life without publicly acknowledging it – is simply not enough to make any significant contribution to the immense work that lies ahead on the road to complete equality.  our society needs to recognize the unstoppable momentum toward unequivocal civil equality for every gay lesbian bisexual and transgendered citizen of this country.  gay kids need to stop killing themselves because they are made to feel worthless by cruel and relentless bullying.  parents need to teach their children principles of respect and acceptance.  we are witnessing an enormous shift of collective consciousness throughout the world.  we are at the precipice of great transformation within our culture and government.  i believe in the power of intention to change the landscape of our society – and it is my intention to live an authentic life of compassion and integrity and action.  jamey rodemeyer’s life changed mine.  and while his death only makes me wish that i had done this sooner – i am eternally grateful to him for being the catalyst for change within me.  now i can only hope to serve as the same catalyst for even one other person in this world.  that – i believe – is all that we can ask of ourselves and of each other.

My ovaries may have cried a little in despair, and the writer in me may have cringed at his absolute lack of capitalization, but damn was that well done. I don’t think I’ve ever read classier coming out rhetoric. That was truly inspiring.

I made an It Gets Better video at the end of last year as well. It’s on the collab channel Craig and I started, so it’s sort of lost to the world now, but the point is that I believe in that as a catalyst for change. I believe in people coming together and using rhetoric and personal accounts to give hope to the kids that get picked last or not at all for sports teams, to the kids confused about their sexualities, to the kids afraid of their sexuality, to the kids who don’t quite look like everyone else, and to the kids who just feel alone. I never had to come out as anything, but I can completely relate to being bullied for things I have no control over. Although I never came to the point where I thought the only option was to end my own life, I understand feeling completely and absolutely alone. I understand hating myself and hating everyone else. I understand being deeply unhappy and lost. I wish the It Gets Better project had existed when I was in middle and high school.

Zachary Quinto coming out was brave and noble, because in a perfect world, none of us would give a damn. He had no obligation to let the public know about his personal affairs and, frankly, we shouldn’t need to know those things. So the fact that he revealed this part of his life in order to possibly save someone else’s makes me love him even more, just on a human level if not on a romantic one. Not only is this man a fantastic actor and humanitarian, but he is also just a fantastic human being, and whether or not he could be hypothetically attracted to me doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.

Besides, there’s always Liam Aiken.

Sick sick sick HOMEWORK HOMEWORK I’m sorry I forgot to blog again on Friday. I am very tired recently. I’m going to stop promising you things that might not happen, so instead I’ll just resolve to work harder. But geez, do I edit a lot of videos. Seriously, man, A LOT of videos.

Woo! NEW VIDEO!

In lieu of a REAL blog, since I’m still not quite feeling up to it, I thought to myself, man, I haven’t complained enough recently! WE SHOULD FIX THAT! So here you go, a blog about all the things I have to do, class by class.

Drawing:

-work on self portrait

Ceramics:

-submit online assignments (of which there are a lot)

-conceptually design teapot/tea cups

-actually make teapot/tea cups

Fiction:

-edit all previous assignments

-write short story (1-2 pages) using flashbacks, summarizations, scenes, and slow motion

Lit Magazine production:

-read submissions

-actually go to the meetings (whoop)

Playwriting:

-Edit/finalize 10 minute play

-Research playwright for end-of-semester presentation

-Finalize concept for full length play

Speech and debate:

-go to practices

-further memorize/ practice speeches

-Find/cut/memorize/practice Duo

-Go to tournaments and miss school

-Write ADS (maybe, if I feel like it)

Self:

-Blog twice a week (FAIL)

-1 BOW video a week (conceptualize, film, edit)

-1 TheseFolk video a week (conceptualize, film, edit)

-Laundry

-Cook for self (and roommates)

-Film Cooking with Gandalf as often as possible

-Exercise (HAH)

-Write on own projects (BIGGER HAH)

-Shower

-Sleep (heh heh)

-Socialize (surprise!)

-Wash dishes

-Figure out/make/purchase Christmas/upcoming birthday gifts

-Register for classes next semester

-Ponder own existence

-Self loathing

-Occasionally going to the bathroom

-Reading webcomics/Cracked articles

….No joke, I don’t even have time for YouTube anymore. I ALWAYS HAVE TIME FOR YOUTUBE!

Wah wah wah. Ok, I’m done. See you Friday! (I PROMISE)

I was in a poetry round this morning where a girl did a piece about beauty and cosmetics, basically relating the general feminism argument that makeup is evil and you’re always pretty no matter what. Blah blah blah.

While I agree with the sentiment that modern beauty standards are kind of BS, I disagree with the obnoxious assumption that makeup is inherently demeaning to women and means that you have low self esteem. I not only disagree, I disagree vehemently.

Here’s the thing; I wear makeup. I’ve worn makeup since I was fourteen, although I didn’t start wearing it with any sort of sense until I was probably sixteen. My style, at least since I broke out of my goth/emo stage, is fairly light makeup, a little powder or foundation to even out my skin tone (my cheeks, regardless of the time of year, are perpetually red and splotchy), and a little strategic eye makeup to highlight and open up my tiny, colorless eyes. Generally, you can’t really tell that I’m wearing makeup unless you look really closely. Sometimes, I don’t even wear makeup. It just depends on my mood.

The reason why I believe makeup isn’t inherently unfeminist is because I don’t use it because I hate my face or my form or my little details, I use it because, to me, it’s a form of art. It’s like painting or coloring, just on my face. Sure, there are things about my face that aren’t always the most attractive, but I don’t use makeup to hide them, deny their existence (no amount of coverup can disguise my massive nose), or anything like that, I use makeup to highlight the features I like, and add color to my pale complexion.

Yes, some girls use makeup because they hate themselves, because they want to fit into the mold of contemporary beauty standards, because they would rather look like anything but themselves, and that’s sad. That’s awful. But that doesn’t make makeup inherently flawed. Makeup doesn’t make you shallow, YOU make you shallow. It’s all about intent, and we would all do well to keep that in mind.

I don’t know, it just bothers me when girls (and women) get all high and mighty because they don’t wear makeup and therefore must be more feminist and empowered than me.

Featuring special guest star Dion!

I’m cranky because I am, as I mentioned, sick. I’m also cranky because I haven’t slept a lot in the past few days, the tournament was exhausting, and my people quota is entirely, completely full, yet the entire speech team is in my hotel room.

Not that I don’t like my speech team. I love them. They’re wonderful. They accept me for all my awkwardness and crazy, and they usually find it quite entertaining. But right now, I needs me some ME time. And by ME time, I mean, of course, “sleep”.

The tournament went super well, for the first tournament of the year in an unfamiliar region with an unfamiliar climate. If I’m being honest, I can admit that I only started preparing for this tournament about a week and a half ago, and my stuff got memorized during the course of the past two days. I didn’t even plan on COMING to this tournament until about, well, a week and a half ago, and yet I got to the final round for poetry both days in a row. The first day, I got fifth place, and the second day, I got second, which is pretty freaking cool.

I love my poetry piece. I love performing it, I love reading through it, I love just thinking about it. Here’s my intro:

Mingon McLaughlin once said “there is something in every atheist itching to believe, and something in every believer itching to doubt.” This quotation suggests that, regardless of our individual ontology’s, human beings are still constantly driven to reflect upon the nature of faith. This should come as no surprise, considering that Walter Burket, professor of ancient religions at the University of Zurich, remarks that even in the most technocratic and materialistic corners of our contemporary civilization, religion has still found niches in which it flourishes. And in a secular society where it’s become commonplace to hear phrases like “I’m not religious… I’m spiritual,” it begs us to consider the way that our views on religion are evolving. With poetry “Drunk Text Message to God” by George Watsky, “The Victory Explosions” by Derrick Brown, and “A Prayer” by Lisa Buscani, we explore modern dialogues of unconventional faith. A program, arguing that a physical infrastructure is never required for spirituality.

Isn’t that AWESOME?? The George Watsky piece, which you can see in its entirety below, is my favorite, and, after you watch it, you’ll see why. It’s just so much fun to perform, so full of life and energy and awesome. I’m going to try and kick everyone out of my room now. Bye.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Edited entirely on the flight to DC, uploaded entirely on the stolen, free hotel lobby wifi from my room’s balcony.

Oh, did I mention I’m in Washington DC until Monday night for a debate trip? Because I’m totally in Washington DC until Monday night for a debate trip. At first, I was a little apprehensive, since I’ll miss three days of class, but now that I’m here, I’m glad of it. If only to reinforce how much I really hate the east coast. No offense, but the west is where it’s at.

It’s ten pm and my eyes are glassing over and all I want to do is sleep, but I owed y’all SOMETHING after my shoddy and sporadic posting as of late.

Ok. Headache and exhaustion are settling in, so it’s time to go to bed. See you on Monday! (or Sunday, if I’m able to upload my thesefolk vid)

First of all, I freaking love the character of Craig. He’s brilliant and funny and interesting and an all-around great character. I loved him in the Lodger, and I loved him in this. My favorite part of the episode, though, was Craig’s toddler Alfie, who, according to the Doctor, prefers to be called “Stormaggedon.” I loled hard.

This episode marked the most obvious, explicit use of “The Doctor freaking hates himself” theme, which is good, considering the episode before, but is also a little too on the nose. I mean, we get it. We’ve understood this about the character for a while. I do like that he’s trying to change, but some of the lines were a bit obvious.

We’ve heard that this was supposed to be the “return of the cybermen” episode, but in all honesty, they were sort of underused. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the tone of the episode, but the cybermen were more like random scene extras than an actual threat. I’m just used to them doing a whole lot more.

Amy and Rory made a quick cameo, in which the Doctor discovers Amy is now a model. That was… random. I hope this becomes important in some way, otherwise I’m not really sure the point of it. Hm.

What I liked about the climax/defeat-the-monsters scene was that in the end, it wasn’t the Doctor who saved the day, it was Craig and his love for Alfie. All the things the Doctor said were great, but he didn’t deliver the final catalyst for Craig to break free of the cybermen. I think that humbled him a little bit, which is something he needed. And it would have been too similar to the past couple episodes if the Doctor had, once again, hammered the final nail into the victory.

Final thoughts: Kyle Anderson, my favorite DW blogger, pointed out something about a weird father-son theme that’s been done a lot this season.

First there was Henry and Toby Avery in “The Curse of the Black Spot,” then there was Jimmy and his son in the hologram in “The Rebel Flesh/The Almost People,” then Alex and George in “Night Terrors,” and now Craig and Alfie in “Closing Time.”

I didn’t even notice that until he pointed it out, but geez, he’s right! It’s strange, because you’d think, as Anderson points out, that there would be more focus on mother-daughter relationships to compliment the Amy-River storyline which, I’d like to point out, isn’t really being explored at all. I mean, Amy knows that Melody turns into River, but I don’t think she’s gone through the motions of grief over losing her freaking baby enough.

Speaking of River, I guess she does kill the Doctor? I still don’t believe it, since future River is so freaked out, but who knows. Maybe Anderson and I were wrong.

Final FINAL thought: Please tell me they’re going to tell us why the TARDIS exploded during last season.

…in other news, I’m at the Portland Airport on my way to Washington, DC right now, so I’ll have to add pictures later. BYE!

This episode was really about the Doctor and his relationships with people, most commonly humans he chooses as companions. Rory’s been talking about this for a while (Vampires of Venice: “You don’t realize how dangerous you make people to themselves when you’re around!”), and we got to see the Doctor reflect briefly on it during Let’s Kill Hitler a few episodes ago (“Guilt! More guilt!”), but this episode is really when the Doctor finally recognizes his own God complex. It was set up beautifully, but unfortunately, there was a lot of anti-climax.

First, the monster. What? A weird, fake-looking minotaur? I mean, people made more convincing looking monsters in the 30s. Geez. I get that the “real” monster in this episode was the Doctor (and his trusty God complex), but still. The minotaur needed some work. And speaking of work, hot diggity was it easy to defeat him. All they had to do was convince Amy that the Doctor was kind of a jerk and everything would be fine.

Speaking of that. The entire time, I couldn’t help but think, Doesn’t Amy realize that by convincing her to lose her faith in him, the Doctor is saving all their lives, thus justifying the same faith he’s trying to take away? And then, after the fact, no one seems worse for the wear. There is no obvious change in Amy’s behavior towards the Doctor at all, it’s like it never even happened.

It was also rather abrupt when the Doctor just dropped them off. I didn’t really see it coming and there wasn’t enough build up to it, it was just sort of random. I don’t know, it just didn’t really work for me as an ending.

My prediction for the rest of the season is that this “God complex” of the Doctor’s will play a huge role in the season finale/ silence will fall arc. It’s kind of been an unspoken theme since Matt Smith started on the show, so now that it’s in the forefront, I assume they’ll run it through.

More cooking, more noises, sadly less dancing, and 100% more shake weights.

So. Wow. Freaking wow. The Girl Who Waited was an incredible, incredible hour of television (even though I watched it on iTunes the day after it technically came out). I watched it with a big mug of coffee in my pajamas, with Colton sitting across from me on the couch, and I sobbed the entire time. Colton laughed at me. But I didn’t care.

This episode was beautiful. Even though it’s unimportant to the season arc, it’s incredibly telling in regards to the characters. In a way, it’s almost like a more epic “Amy’s Choice”, but for Rory.

Karen Gillan did a masterful job playing both young and middle-aged Amy, and I think this episode is the first that we’ve really seen her range as an actress. I believed in old Amy’s sadness and loneliness, I felt every passing year that she waited, alone and unprotected. And I sobbed my eyes out when she revealed that she named her pet robot Rory. God, that was perfect.

The Girl Who Waited really solidified these characters, for me. Rory is the best guy in the universe, completely without hate and ugliness in his heart. Amy is the most badass female companion yet, and the Doctor is able to make the hard decisions such a good person like Rory wouldn’t be able to do as quickly, but he hates himself for it. Those characteristics make for an incredibly interesting story in and of itself.

I’m actually sort of dreading watching this episode over again with my roommate Lindsey (who hasn’t seen it yet), not because it’s a bad episode, but because crying is really unbecoming for me. (Priorities. I haz them.)

This was kind of a crappy post, but I promised I’d get it to you, and I’ll be damned if I screw up another week of blogging. See you Friday for my review of God Complex!

Ahem. Anyways. Some context. At the very beginning of my ceramics class, a couple weeks ago, I thought I was awful at it, and to be fair, I sort of was. Our first project was to make a series of pots experimenting with techniques, and the only real requirement was that one of the pots needed to be something called a “pinch pot”. It took me two hours to make said pinch pot, and it looked God-awful. See?

I added the flame detail in an attempt to make it less crap. As you can see, that failed. Disheartened, I quickly churned out a weird dinosaur foot-looking pot, which I didn’t even bother taking a picture of, it was so bad. Then I watched some ceramics videos. This is what followed.

This one unfortunately cracked because it was too thing, but it marked an important step in my ceramics career by teaching me how to roll out slabs to make pieces instead of kneading one big blob.

This one looks less cool, but the legs are what makes it a breakthrough.

Here’s where we start getting inventive. Isn’t he cute?

Then we have Ted here. Shortly after this picture was taken, his ears snapped off, but that’s ok. He’s adorable anyways.

And here we have Louis.

Random coil pot.

Peter, my crowning achievement. (front shot)

And the back.

My nose mug, which I quite like, so I really hope it doesn’t crack.

Tiny, textured shot-glass mug

Tiny shot glass thing.

Andy, my homage to my first pot. He’s actually made from two smaller pinch pots, with little added details to bring him to life.

In all… I guess I don’t suck at pottery anymore. My stuff might not be as conventional, useful, and sturdy as some, but won’t you agree that it’s much more fun this way?

I have been horribly inconsistent with blogs lately. I didn’t post for the last two Mondays and yesterday I forgot to post my new Doctor Who blog about the excellent episode “The Girl Who Waited.” And by “forgot to post” I obviously mean “I didn’t write.”

I will make it up to you, I swear. I’ll catch up this and next weekend and hopefully by the end of September I’ll be posting consistently again.

It’s just… Videos are HARD. Especially when I’m back to two a week and I also have, like, homework and stuff. My playwriting class, while great, might just fry my brain by the end of the year.

BUT NO MORE EXCUSES! New blog on Monday, new TheseFolk tomorrow! I have to stop typing now because I’m getting nauseous. Bye!

I’ll upload the next video as SOON as it’s edited.

We’re back! New These Folk video every Sunday!

I know some people weren’t, but I was good and scared for this episode. I think, partially, I just wanted to be scared. I watched this episode with Lindsey on Sunday night and it was dark and no one was really around and it built tension well. It certainly wasn’t the scariest thing I’ve ever or will ever see, but for the recent couple of seasons of Doctor Who, it worked.

Though it doesn’t make for interesting blog posts, I really do enjoy the standalone episodes, like Vincent and the Doctor (obviously), The Curse of the Black Spot, The Doctor’s Wife (YEAH), and such. It adds a bit of fun and intrigue to the series… the episodes can’t all be revealing and fully related to the season arc. We need these little breaks to keep from completely losing our crap every episode.

This episode, which it wasn’t one of my absolute favorites, was fun and creepy. It was an interesting concept, the actors all did brilliantly, I freaking love Rory, blah blah blah. Fun episode, not great, but not disappointing. Next week should be epic, though. Woooooooo.

“We’re dead, aren’t we? We’re dead… again.” Hahahahaha oh Rory.

Woo! It’s finally here!

I’m really lucky to have roomed with people who love good food as much as I do. None of my three roommates make a habit of going to fast food places, and all of them know, in some respect, how to cook. Colton learned a bunch of vegan/vegetarian meals with his older sister over the summer, Lindsey is awesome with a George Foreman, and Ellen is the baking queen (with a lot of experience in rice as well). I, on the other hand, know my seasonings and breakfast foods.

Even with all that said, starting this year, I wasn’t sure how often we’d actually USE our awesome kitchen, because let’s face it. We’re college students and we’re both inherently cheap and inherently lazy.

But so far, we’ve cooked something every single day. I’ve made french toast, pancakes (blueberry, strawberry, AND chocolate chip), an egg/potato scramble, baked potatoes, ravioli with roasted zucchini, and tonight I’m sauteing vegetables and tofu (Lindsey and Ellen are making chicken instead of tofu, because they aren’t vegetarians). Colton has made homemade Indian food, potato pizzas (which you’ll see in a tentative new cooking show we’re creating called “Cooking with Gandalf” on Thursday!). Ellen has made two varieties of cookies, asparagus (to go along with the baked potatoes) and assisted on a variety of other recipes. Lindsey made pesto pasta (well, I sort of cooked the pasta, because she apparently always overcooks it and I’m “the Italian”). And those are just the meals we made for all of us. We all also make food for ourselves for breakfasts and lunches when we’re all in different places.

This is amazing to me, not only because all the food has been fantastic, but because we’ve already sort of fallen into a pattern. Cooking is just a natural part of the day for us now. Every morning, we’ll be sitting in the living room on our separate laptops, either watching videos or doing homework (or blogging… hehehe) and someone will ask “what are we cooking for dinner tonight?” Then we’ll all discuss what’s in the fridge and what sounds good, and then a few hours later, voila, we’ll cook it!

I know that I’m living in a sort of idealized version of adulthood, but still, cooking our own dinners and washing our own dishes and buying our own groceries makes me feel very…well, adult. And that’s cool. I didn’t get this experience last year, not at all. Last year was sort of like living in prison, with a choice of which slop line to eat from. This year is like living in a castle or something compared to that hellhole. I’m glad I had the experience, but even gladder that we got the seriously best room this year EVAR.

My knuckles hurt super bad from crocheting, so I have to stop typing now. See you Friday for another Who post about the latest episode, “Night Terrors”, which seriously freaked me and Lindsey (the only roommate who watched DW with me) out. Whee!

Make sure you watch until the end of the video… there’s a sneak preview for a “show” that may or may not be a regular thing here on Bri’s Own World.

Music: Sensitivity by Alex Goot

This episode was absolutely INSANE. After my brother watched it, the day after I did, he texted me, simply, “HOLY SHIT.” Holy shit indeed, Vinny. So let me try to recap… Amy and Rory make crop circle spelling “Doctor” to get his attention, a childhood friend called Mels shows up all crazy, shoots the TARDIS, causes them all to crash land into Hitler’s private office. Then they end up accidentally interrupting a scenario in which a time traveling robot controlled from the inside by tiny humans is attempting to torture Hitler for his wordly misdeeds. This interruption gives said tiny humans the chance to recognize Mels who, after a stray shot from a freaked out Hitler, regenerates into who we’ve come to know as the indomitable River Song. This is River at her earliest point, so she’s actually totally nuts and wants to kill the Doctor. We eventually forget about Hitler as River going on a rampage trying to kill the Doctor and just generally raise hell and the time traveling shape shifting robot goes on a rampage trying to kill her. Then, right as the Doctor is about to die from River’s poison, she realizes he’s actually a good person and then uses the remainder of her regenerations to save his life. Sound good?

So it was a little insane that Melody, as “Mels”, gets to be raised by her parents after all, and it was a little more insane that we’ve never heart of her until now, but I’ll overlook it because OH MY GOD THIS EPISODE WAS AWESOME. We got a LOT more insight into what makes River what she is, although I wish we hadn’t started so early, because I’m more interested in what leads up to this episode in River’s timeline, rather than when she starts being River. But I have faith in Stephen Moffat, so for now, I’ll keep my mouth shut.

This episode also brings out more River-kills-the-Doctor conspiracy theories, since the time traveling shape shifting robot has “records” that says she kills him, but I still don’t buy it. Before the end of the episode when she gives up her regenerations, I was inclined to believe that potentially the little girl in the space suit could have been a later reincarnation of River, because Mels said “The last time I did this I ended up as a toddler wandering around New York.” But then she, you know, uses all her regenerations up. So that’s out.

Here’s why I don’t give a crap what the tiny humans say about her killing the Doctor: It’s way too obvious. They didn’t show us who was in the suit that killed the Doctor, and even though every character is basically screaming RIVER KILLED THE DOCTOR, I don’t believe it. Doesn’t it stand to reason that the Silence has more than one space suit? I mean, come ON. I refuse to believe it. Refuse refuse refuse.

“You will experience a tingling sensation, then death.” <— best quote from the episode. Best moment? When Rory punches Hitler. See you next Friday for a new Who blog!

RoomroomroomELLENEATSAGROSSDONUT

So this summer, one of the goals I had that I didn’t really talk about was to start sending out query letters for Eugenia, and if I finished editing my other books, for them as well. According to the ever-so-comprehensive Wikipedia:

A query letter is a formal letter sent to magazine editors, literary agents and sometimes publishing houses or companies. Writers write query letters to propose writing ideas.

For example, a standard requested format for a manuscript query letter to a literary agent could be approximately 200 – 400 words, expressing the following information:

• The topic of the work
• A short description of the plot
• A short bio of the author
• The target audience

The literary agent would then decide whether to contact the author and request to see the manuscript, based on the contents of the query letter. In this sense, the query letter is an author’s first step towards getting his/her manuscript published.

So basically I’m sending out letters and bits of my work in the hopes that someone will find me good enough to represent and/or publish. Right now, I’m focusing on literary agents rather than publishing houses, because I have a better chance not getting screwed if I go that route, and plus they’ll know more about the business than I do.

And on August 22nd, I sent out my first, to Barry Goldblatt Literary. Barry is the husband (and agent) of one of my favorite authors, Libba Bray, and represents a lot of authors who write genres similar to my books. I emailed him my query and the first five pages of Eugenia (which, admittedly, aren’t the most exciting five pages in the world) and crossed my fingers.

As the title of this post suggests, I was, unfortunately, rejected. Here’s what he had to say:

“Thank you for your query. Unfortunately, your manuscript doesn’t sound like something that’s right for us. We wish you the best of success in placing your work elsewhere.

Sincerely,
Barry Goldblatt Literary LLC”

I sent out my second email query today, and once I find the proper envelope I’ll snail mail my next one. It’s all very exciting, even though I know nothing much will come of it. But it’s practice, and the more I get, the better at this game I want to enter I’ll be. Woo!

Anyhow, new Doctor Who post on Friday (That’ll probably be a thing until this season ends, sorry non-Whovians), and for those of you who miss the personal-type blogs, I’ve got one about our new kitchen coming on Monday. I am going to try my darnedest to keep up this posting schedule, but my classes are starting to look more hefty than I’d originally anticipated, so we’ll see. Have a good rest of the day, and I’ll see you Thursday with a new video!

But let’s move past the fact that HOLY CRAP MY NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL EJECT ME FROM TEENAGERDOM and get right into my goals, of which I have several.

Decide on a minor

Because creative writing is, for all intents and purposes, a pretty useless major in terms of getting a job, I figure adding a minor will at LEAST make it look like I did something more during my college years. The question is… what? I have to declare by the end of this year, and I really would like to have a minor of some sorts. Right now, I’m thinking theater, but we’ll see.

Eat bettah

College is notorious for having few healthy eating options, and I don’t want to fall into that again. This summer, as you guys know, I tried really hard to exercise and learn to cook things other than mac and cheese, and I don’t want all that work to go to waste during the school year. We’ve got a kitchen in our dorm this year, so I want to make it an official thing to work on my nutrition. (Is “work on my nutrition” a lyric from a song? Because I feel like it is. Maybe from the 80s?)

Get 150 YouTube subscribers

Yeah. I know. Ambitious. But as of RIGHT NOW (1 week ago, at the time of the writing of this post) I have 107 subscribers, which means that I’ve really only got 43 to go, and 43 over a period of about 9 months makes out to be… 4 a month. Which REALLY shouldn’t be that hard. I’ve been posting videos regularly for over a year now (every Thursday!), and so it stands to reason that the consistency of that will help me out. Also, my collab channel will [hopefully] start posting again September 5th, which will also help bring in new subs. I really like YouTube, and I hope that soon I’ll have an audience to match my excitement over this new media.

Be social-er

It’s no secret that about half my time last year was spent in front of my computer watching TV. And that’s really not a good pattern to get into. College is supposed to be about expanding my horizons, and sitting in my room watching online videos is SO high school. Also, it stands to reason that the more friends I lose from back home, the more I should make up in the big OR. So I resolve to spend less time alone, which is, as you’re aware, a BIG STEP for ol’ Bri. But I turn 20 in like 6 months. 20-somethings are supposed to have all sorts of friends, right? RIGHT?

Go to a concert

Whether this means an on-campus concert or one I find nearby via that cool Facebook app I got, I want to go see more live music, because I absolutely adore live music. That is all.

Get someone famous to @reply me on Twitter

Yeah, yeah, I know. By “someone famous” I can mean anyone from John Green to Phillip Defranco, from John Hodgeman to Zachary Quinto. (But let’s be honest. Who I really want an @reply from is Zachary Quinto)

(mmmmmm Zachary Quinto)

Music: Hey Soul Sister (cover) by Alex Goot

Hello from Bend, Oregon!

It’s not to say that I didn’t hang out with “all my friends” from high school, I did! I learned how to play Dungeons and Dragons with Sean, Morgan, Ben, Sam, and Dylan, I played frisbee golf with Chad and Chris, I went to movies and stuff with Rachel, and I had dinner with Anita, Avivah, Adrienne, and Betsy. Maybe some of the people I thought I’d be friends with forever flaked on me, and maybe sometimes it hurt kind of a lot, and maybe this summer sort of just rubbed salt in those mostly-healed wounds. And maybe this summer wasn’t exactly what I was expecting two years ago, but you know what? Screw the flakes. This summer was pretty great, all things considered, and it’s entirely because of the people I just named, and the others I saw for briefer moments.

That all said, towards the beginning of the summer, I posted this video regarding my summer goals, and I thought I would revisit them now in blog form as a sort of summation. (If you don’t want to see me talk about stupid faces, skip ahead to 2:20 for when I discuss my goals)

Click here to view the embedded video.

Goal #1: Exercising

Goal success: 4/5 Passion Tea Lemonades (I’m at Startbucks and that was the first object I saw)

Overall, I think I did pretty well, when you take into consideration that I haven’t exercised regularly since I was 14, and even then it was only through organized sports. My fitness method of choice was an EA Sports Wii Fit kind of game, which brought me through a variety of exercises for all parts of my body that I can do with or without the console. I haven’t lost any wait, necessarily, which is unfortunate, but I do feel physically stronger, and I can see certain places on my body getting more defined, if not by a lot. Now that I know exercises that I don’t absolutely abhor doing, I think I can definitely keep it up during the school year, especially because of my super OCD scheduling.

Above: "my super OCD schedule for the first week of school"

Goal #2: Writing

Goal success: 17/17 Alex Goot Songs

If you follow me on Twitter, or if you even glance over at the Twitter box to the right of the blogs, you’ll probably have seen some sort of update on my writings. Since the summer “officially” started, I have completely edited Eugenia, written a rough query letter for it, edited over half of Addicted and The Secret Wife, and written 23,303 words (as of 2:19pm on August 18th) in my third spy book, Scourge. I honestly can’t think of how I could have been MORE successful with this goal. Except, you know, getting something published or whatever. BUT WHATEVER. I WROTE LOTS. Maybe publishing with be NEXT summer

But if all that didn’t convince you, maybe this will. The other day, my dad and I sat down and created a Zoho Database for all of my characters (across ALL book universes), so now I have a place to look when I forget someone’s age, hair color, or important quirks. I’ve only entered about 40 characters so far, mostly from Addicted (my first spy book, if you’ll remember), but trust me when I say that it’s AWESOME.

Above: "AWESOME"

Goal #3: Cooking

Goal success: 82/89 Deviled Eggs

Mmmmm. Deviled Eggs. Anyhoozle, I was pretty triumphant with the whole “learning to cook” goal. I’ve perfected my smoothie, learned the best lengths to cook certain vegetables, worked out which foods taste good with other foods, and basically just kicked hunger’s butt. Maybe I’m not the greatest chef in the world, but I can hold my own, and I’m getting better at choosing healthy, self-cooked options rather than quick, unwholesome crap. Hopefully, my roommates will appreciate it. And in any case, Colton is learning to cook healthy things too, so together we shall make DELICIOUSNESS.

Above: "perfected smoothie"

Above: MINI HUMMUS AND CHEESE PITAS. Also: "apple"

Above: "DELICIOUSNESS"

‘

Above: the most flagrantly unhealthy yet delicious thing I made all summer

All in all, I think I did pretty good this summer. But I’m excited to go back to school. I’ll see you soon, Oregon!

Books of appearance [L-R]: The Secret Wife (Micah Reeder), Addicted (Drake Hallow), Scourge (Lee Aranda).

Their love interests (who happen to be the protagonists of the books) are also in order L-R:

You’ve seen these girls before. Allyson Ashland, Blair Hunter, Camden Hailey. <3

These characters are all from my spy series. Camden and Lee are the newest characters in the newest book Scourge, which I’ve been updating you about via Twitter all summer.

Zachary Quinto’s Face

Ok so maybe it has a LITTLE to do with my unhealthy obsession to Zachary Quinto. But let me explain. Sylar, for the majority of the series, is the villain. And he is also completely insane. So insane, in fact, that playing the part was a feat as impressive as anything I’ve ever seen. Zachary Quinto was the perfect man for the part, because he managed to balance the absurdity and complication of the character perfectly. He can switch between emotions deceptively fast, and even though Sylar is portrayed as a cold-hearted serial killer, Quinto still accomplishes what so few actors have been able to bring across- depth. I honestly believe that ZQ is Sylar, the heart-wrenching murderer who craves companionship but masks his emotional chasm with destruction. And do you know why I believe him? Because of his face. His handsome, expressive face. If I were to rate Heroes on ZQ’s acting alone, I would give it 100/5 stars every single time. Speaking of emotional depth…

Elle and Luke

At first, I was skeptical about Kristen Bell appearing in this series. I’ve only really ever seen her in When in Rome, which by all possible standards was an awful movie. So when she was introduced as Sylar’s “love” interest, I was even more concerned. But she absolutely did her part justice, and their relationship was one of the most heartbreaking yet beautiful revelations about Sylar’s character. At first, I was a little bit upset when [SPOILER] he killed her after it seemed he was finally starting to come into his humanity, but gradually I realized that there wasn’t another way. Sylar kills as a coping mechanism, because as much as he craves companionship, he doesn’t feel like he deserves it, and so he murders everyone who he’s ever allowed to be close to him because of how afraid he is.

Then Luke comes rather abruptly into the scene, and his few episodes he manages to shake everything we’ve come to accept about Sylar out of whack. In a hillarious plot twist, the two end up on a road trip together, and it’s clear from the start that although Luke is a little bit afraid of his new BFF, he’s also not willing to take crap from him. Take this conversation, for example, that had me rolling in glee for hours.

Sylar: I can tell when people are lying because I saw open their skulls and rip their abilities out from their brains.
Luke: Wow, so you’re like a serial killer.
Sylar: I’m not a serial killer.
Luke: Well, you’ve got a pattern, you go after specific victims, you collect momentos…
Sylar: Okay! Technically, I’m a serial killer.

Awwwww. Anyways. At one point, a group of government agents track the two of them down and while Sylar escapes, Luke is captured. Because Sylar has learned the location of his father, the whole reason he was on the road trip in the first place, it doesn’t look like he requires Luke anymore, and for the remainder of the episode you assume he’s just going to leave without him. But at the very end, Sylar destroys the government’s van and carries Luke out of the destruction like a sack of potatoes, and all is well in the world again. Although he eventually kicks him to the curb, the fact remains that A. Sylar rescued Luke when he didn’t directly gain anything from it, and B. Luke is allowed to live. This is a tremendous shift in Sylar’s existing paradigm, and it makes for intriguing character development. And that same glimpse of humanity can be seen in his…

Mommy Issues

Of course the show’s serial killer became the way he did because of mommy issues. But the way this detail is revealed is as artful as a Van Gogh, so I can’t say too many things against it. In the first season, we’re introduced to Sylar’s mother (although it turns out she’s actually his aunt) when Sylar learns from Issac (before murdering him, as is his style) that he may very well be the cause of the impending explosion in New York, killing millions. It’s the first time we see that although Sylar is a sick, twisted soul, he is not without depth (have I said that enough yet?). He goes to his mother bearing a gift, in the hopes that she’ll talk him out of being the monster he’s become.

Sylar: It’s just… maybe I don’t have to be special. That it’s okay just to be a normal watchmaker. Can’t you just tell me that’s enough?
Mother: Why would I tell you that when I know you could be so much more?

Unfortunately, she does not talk him out of believing he’s special, and he ends up accidentally killing her. Then for a while he believes Angela Petrelli to be his mother and she’s the first person to coax a couple episodes of “good guy” out of him, but then he realizes he’s been played and goes back to, well, the “bad guy.” Eventually it’s revealed that, as a child, he watched his father (who sold him to his brother, who Sylar believed to be his father, for money) murder his mother by slashing her forehead with his powers. Sound familiar?? These twists were made known through such a fascinating collection of events that even Sylar’s enemies can’t find him solely to blame for his actions. Because he’s also a fantastic source of…

Comic Relief

Maybe I just find his serial killer antics hysterical because I’m sick in the head, but Sylar is honestly the funniest person in the series. He regards nearly every situation he’s put in with the air of someone who clearly doesn’t take it seriously. Life’s just a game to Sylar, and he detaches himself from it in a way that makes everything the other “players” do hillarious. Take Maya, for example. Sylar sort of seduces her in order to use her to get to Suresh to get his powers back, and along the way ends up killing her brother because he was in the way. Maya discovers this when they make it to New York and Sylar is holding a gun to Suresh’s head while they talk.

Maya (coming up from behind Sylar): You killed my brother!

Sylar (rolls eyes) (turns) (shoots Maya straight in the chest) (turns back to Suresh like nothing’s happened)

I don’t know why I find that scene as hillarious as I do (I even tweeted about it!). Sylar judges himself so much better than everyone else that whenever they try to change the plan he’s set into motion, it’s just amusing to him, and he treats them as such. He’s just so over-the-top, so calm and arrogant, that nearly everything that comes out of his mouth is just hillarious. Sometimes, it’s actually a little hard to take him seriously, because he doesn’t take anything else seriously. But that doesn’t make him any less of….

A Hero in a Brave New World

Unfortunately, NBC didn’t allow for a fifth season to wrap up the couple loose ends left hanging, but that doesn’t change the most incredible change in Sylar’s character during the last couple episodes of season 4. After Matt Parkman traps Sylar inside his own mind, Peter dives in to rescue him because he dreamt Sylar would be the savior of a friend of his. Unfortunately, Sylar murdered Peter’s brother Nathan (who is almost on par with Gaius Baltar in terms of obnoxiousness), and because Peter can’t forgive him completely, they’re both trapped. Although only 12 hours or so transpires in the real world, Peter and Sylar feel as though they’ve been trapped for over five years. Eventually, Peter realizes that all this time alone in a desolate New York City has changed Sylar, and forgives him to his past wrongs. They escape, and Sylar ends up being the hero he always secretly wanted to be.

It’s this final episode, Brave New World, that absolutely convinces me Sylar was the main character of the series. While everyone else remains relatively constant for the four seasons, Sylar struggles with the humanity he tries to deny is within him, eventually coming to terms with who he is and how he could use that to change the world. It’s his acceptance of himself and Peter’s recognition of this that allows for them to save the world once again. That can’t be said for anyone else in the series.

Other things regarding Heroes… Where are Molly and Caitlin? Molly was just sort of shipped off somewhere during the third season and never heard from again, while Caitlin was accidentally stranded in a future that Peter stopped from happening, leaving us to believe that she… ceased to exist? What??

HURCUT

I’m not gonna lie to you, people make judgements about me all the time. And that’s fine. People make judgements about everyone. I make judgements. You, reading this blog, make judgements. It’s human nature. Cool. Whatever.

But some judgements are just so batsh*t that I can barely contain myself. So you think I’m mean? A b*tch? No argument there. I’m a teenage girl. Whatever. You think I’m awkward, unsociable? Yup. Congrats, the Mentalist. You got me. None of those judgements mean anything to me because, frankly, in some situations they’re true. And they’re obvious traits, whether or not they’re consistent traits.

So what’s this judgement that I honestly don’t believe even exists about me? That I’m not driven by emotions. That because I disagree with someone about the state of their relationship with someone else even though the first someone is “in love”, I must not understand emotions and being guided by them.

Get why that’s completely ignorant that is yet? If you’ve read even one other of my blogs, you’ll know. But for the one other person out there who hasn’t, let me fill you in. Here’s the situation in which this judgement came up:

Boy likes girl. Girl has boyfriend. Girl fools around with boy regardless, allowing boy to continue insane fantasy about them being together. Girl chooses boyfriend over boy. Boy gets sad, still loves girl. Fools around with boy again anyways. Boy loves girl. Bri says boy is being stupid, boy calls Bri emotionless.

Yeah, ok, I’m sorry, what? Are you honestly implying that because I think you pining after a girl who doesn’t like you enough to break up with her boyfriend is stupid, then I must not understand this concept you refer to as “emotions”? Who do you honestly think I am?

Listen up. I’ve made no secret to the fact that I’ve got some serious trust issues involving, well, everyone. I’ve also made it clear that sometimes I wall myself off in order to protect myself. And do you know why I do these things? Because I’m the most emotional person I know. Everything I do is because of a constantly waging war of anger and sadness and happiness and love and betrayal and intrigue inside myself.

But that doesn’t mean emotion is the only thing that drives my decision-making process. Because as my final post on the Bri 2.0 project discussed, I am something of a contradiction. As emotional as I am, I’m also logical. I’m also not completely stupid.

When I was trying to reason with Mister Judgement, the example I cited to get him to stop being stupid was Sean. Let me be clear. I loved Sean. I didn’t love him like a kid, or a blinded, rebellious teenager. I didn’t love him the way I loved Heroes or Harry Potter. I loved him like twenty thousand people. I loved him like I’ve never loved a single object, animate or inanimate, in my entire life. He was everything to me for a brief period in my life. Every emotion that I felt was entirely linked to the status of our complicated, roller coaster of a relationship. If he was happy, I was happy. If he was upset, I was upset. And when it became substantially clear that he was using me, that I wasn’t as important as I’d hoped to be to him, I had two options. I could, like Mister Judgement, continue to pine after him, badgering him until he caved to my love of pity or until he purged me from his life in annoyance. That could end only in heartache and a continued pattern of panic attacks. Or, I could purge him first, regardless of the love I still had, because if I could move on, in however small increments it took, I would be better in the long run. I would reclaim my life and my emotions for what they were- mine.

But apparently, this logic-heavy decision means that either A. I didn’t really love him because I am a robot, or B. I don’t make any decisions based on emotions because I am, again, a robot.

That’s not why I made that decision, though. I made that decision because although I have emotions, I am not blinded by them. I do not bend to them at every crisis, because I am smarter than that. I am a smart, logical person, that has emotions. WHA-

I know, crazy. Anyways. I just wanted to vent about this, because you can say a lot of things about me, but you can’t say that I don’t have emotions.

…

In other news, did you know Zachary Quinto has a Twitter? My life just got a thousand times better. Alright, back to Star Trek. Enjoy the rest of your Monday!

When I realized your birthday was on a blogging day, it just felt wrong to post the Heroes review I’ve been planning. That just wouldn’t have been right, especially considering the length of our friendship. I mean, holy crap dude. 14 years! That’s like… forever.

Remember when I would come over to your house during elementary school and your mom would make us strawberries and powdered sugar? She honestly probably only did that once, but that’s my one solid memory of your house from then. I don’t know why that was so strong a memory (maybe because it was DELICIOUS), but it was.

There isn’t a time in my life that I can remember clearly without you being in it somehow. I mean, we were five when we met. Geez, can you believe we’ve managed to stay friends for all this time? We haven’t gone to school together since we were 10, and neither of us are known for our talents in socializing. But somehow, we did manage. And I can’t be more grateful for that.

Seriously. You’re the one consistent person in my life, other than my family of course. And for some people that isn’t really a big deal. Because for some people, making friends is super easy. But as you know, it’s not for me. Not at all. Making friends is terrifying to me. So having you there for me for 14 years really means something.

I know I’ve said this before, but I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you. I’d probably be super emo by now, or are they called “hipsters” now? I can never remember. Either way, I’d be a different person without you. A lesser one. Trust me. You kept me grounded, sane. You gave me someone to look to when everything else seemed wrong.

Remember when the whole Sean thing went down? That majorly sucked. And guess who the first person I

told about him was? Yep. You. Heck, I always come to you first, because you know me better than I even know myself, and you always know what to say. I trust you with absolutely everything, big and small. And even though we live in different states for the majority of the year nowadays, I’ve never felt closer to you. Technology is great, isn’t it?

Anyways. This is getting long and sappy pretty fast, so I’d better wrap it up. Final thoughts: you are awesome. Don’t ever change. Also, I forgive you for the whole Marco-Polo-tree thing. Just so you know. Haha.

Your BFFAF (pronounced “BE-FAF”) (“Best Friends Forever And Ever”),

Brianna

P.S. Did I really go that whole letter without actually saying happy birthday? HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

WE ARE SO AWESOME

Deathly Hallows part 1:

Luna’s paintings

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione visit the Lovegood residence early in the Deathly Hallows book to learn more about said Hallows, there’s a short scene while Luna’s dad is getting more tea or something where the three look up into Luna’s room at a series of paintings. The paintings, obviously, were done by Luna, and featured the three amigos, Ginny, and Neville, and the word friends was written all around them. It was such a cute scene that gave Luna importance in the series, and, you guessed it, they skipped it during the films. Without this scene, Luna’s character is just the weird girl who says strange things at opportune moments. And that’s not who Luna is. Luna, in all her eccentricity, is the most grounded character in the series. She’s sweet and fun and completely herself. Luna is who everyone should aspire to be like. But in the movies, she’s just random “comic” relief.

Harry-Ron bromance

In the books, after Ron uses the deluminator to track down Harry and Hermione after they’ve been separated for a few months, Hermione is justly upset with him. While she’s avoiding him, Harry and Ron have a really cute conversation about how Dumbledore knew Ron would need the deluminator.

Ron: “Dumbledore must’ve known I’d run away.”

Harry: “No, he knew you’d always want to come back.”

….Or something to that effect. Either way, it was this really touching friendship moment that was completely watered down for the film. It was only two lines of dialogue, David Yates! AUGH.

That’s about all I had wrong with the first movie…. otherwise I thought it was pretty good. *gasp* Which brings us to the crapstorm that was

Deathly Hallows part 2:

Room of Requirement:

Correct me if I’m wrong, but the entire point of that bunch of kids hiding in the Room of Requirement, where the three amigos entered Hogwarts from the pub, was that they weren’t safe anywhere else. They were what was left of Dumbledore’s army, which they resurrected for the purpose of standing up to the Carrows, two Deatheater siblings basically running Hogwarts after Dumbledore’s fall. In between attending classes taught by teachers on Harry’s side and causing general mayhem, those kids stayed in the Room for safety. The Carrows had even recruited a good number of Slytherin students to patrol the halls and torture “out of hand” kids. And guess how much of this they told us in the movie?

Oh. Hah. That’s right. NONE OF IT. The three amigos follow Neville back through that room into the castle, the kids in the room of requirement cheer because Harry’s back, and then they jump ahead to a scene that doesn’t really make any sense. But we’ll get to that in a second.

Neville Longbottom is a god

The Room of Requirement was an incredibly important plot point to include, because it basically tells us everything we need to know about the current state of Hogwarts. We’ve been with most of these characters since the first two movies- and they get absolutely no air time to explain how badass they’ve all become. Their bravery gives Harry the strength and motivation to sacrifice himself for them. Stupid David Yates.

So taking into account the aforementioned exile most of Dumbledore’s Army, why did every single one of them show up at Snape’s impromptu school meeting? That doesn’t seem very safe… especially when you further realize that Snape’s impromptu school meeting didn’t make any freaking sense. He called it because Harry was apparently seen in Hogsmeade. Oh, I’m sorry, I must have missed tha- NO I DIDN’T. The three amigos might have set off an alarm, but they certainly weren’t seen, and if they had been, they would have been captured while chatting up Aberforth. So, yeah. Way to check your continuity, David Yates.

Important deaths for important people

During the course of the battle at Hogwarts, a lot of major characters die. Colin Creevy, Fred Weasley, Lupin and Tonks, and a whole slew of other people. Guess which of those four I mentioned we got to see struck down in a really epic way? Hah. Got you again. None of them.

Granted, Colin Creevy’s death wasn’t seen in the book, but he was at least mentioned when they started counting the dead. It’s like he showed up to be annoying in the Chamber of Secrets and then completely disappears off the face of the Earth. Sigh.

Tonks and Lupin were the biggest controversy-couple in the books, and were incredibly important in Harry’s life. But they barely get any screen time during their ill-fated romance. Augh.

But my biggest qualm was with Fred’s death. Remember when George lost an ear and we spent like a half an hour on it? Fred gets, tops, 5 seconds. In the last blog, I talk about how the movies should have kept the Percy betrayal story intact, and it would have righted this absolute wrong. In the book, Percy joins his family during the battle at Hogwarts and apologizes for being an ass. His parents seem appeased, but the twins are justly still a bit angry. Then, while Fred and Percy are dueling the current minister of magic -Percy’s boss- Percy yells out something like “Oh, and by the way, Minister. I quit!” And Fred laughs and has this really sweet moment of total forgiveness of his brother, and then is magicked down.

Fred was important, and his death should have reflected that. Like Luna, the twins saw past all the BS in the world and were completely themselves. Remember their totally epic school dropout? And their joke shop that kept people laughing through the worst of times? And Fred gets 5 effing seconds?? WHAT IS WRONG WITH DAVID YATES THAT MAKES HIM WANT TO DESTROY EVERYTHING GOOD IN THE WORLD WITHOUT EXPLAINING WHY.

Release of sexual tension: Ron and Hermione’s first kiss

This is another one of those things that required a bit of work from the earlier movies- specifically, the Hogwarts kitchen scene in the fourth movie. I talked about this in my last blog, so go read it if you don’t remember what I’m talking about.

In the final book, while the teachers are evacuating the school through the Room of Requirement, the three amigos are running up one staircase or another when Ron stops. “We have to go down to the kitchens!” He cried. Hermione rolls her eyes at him. “How can you be hungry at a time like this??” “No, not for food- someone has to tell the house elves to get out of there!” Hermione blinks, and then they share their much-anticipated first kiss. That scene, while also being adorable, completely redeemed Ron of all the crap he put her through in all of the books. It humanized him, made him more than just the whiny yet hillarious sidekick.

But David Yates isn’t interested in humanizing the characters, apparently. He only has eyes for unnecessary explosions.

Harry’s Love Shield Speech:

I think I explain my issue with this failure pretty well in this video:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Which, finally, brings us to…

Harry’s Wand

So Voldemort has been defeated (albeit lamely and anticlimactically) and the three amigos are walking around on a bridge mulling this victory over. At this point, Harry has been using Draco Malfoy’s wand for a few weeks, his own wand is broken in Hermione’s magic bag, and he’s won the Elder Wand. In the books, Harry uses the incredibly powerful Elder Wand to repair his own beloved wand, and then leaves the Elder Wand behind. In the movie? Harry snaps the Elder Wand dramatically and walks away. Sorry, what? So I’m supposed to believe that Harry, for the rest of his life, uses Draco Malfoy’s crappy wand instead of his own, super special and important wand? Really? Screw that, David Yates.

Harry’s wand is basically a metaphor for Harry’s new life. After 11 years of being physically and emotionally abused, Harry’s wand is what finally separates him from a world that has been so cruel to him. And not only that, but in fact, Harry’s wand is super special for another reason- the phoenix feather core is identical to, yes, Voldemort’s old wand, and that link is really important in, oh geez I don’t know, 5 MOVIES, ever since they had that weird connection at the end of the Goblet of Fire.

But no, movie Harry is totally chill giving that up for a dramatic wand snap and a lifetime with Draco effing Malfoy’s wand. Ugh.

In summation: The final movie was a complete let down, and although the filmmakers could have redeemed themselves quite easily and cheaply… they went instead for overdramatic explosions. Yeah, good choice. Good choice.

The Hogwart’s Kitchen

In Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (the book), there’s at least two chapters entirely devoted to Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s forays to the Hogwart’s kitchen, where they meet the dutiful Hogwarts house elves. Hermione starts her anti-house-elf-enslavement campaign, and Ron and Harry enjoy getting free food. It’s a fun, brief portion of the book that becomes completely important in the final movie (which I’ll discuss in the next blog). This defines Hermione’s character as the protector of the small, if you will, and sets up her difference from Ron, the comfortable, slightly racist wizard-born. It wouldn’t have taken long to include this little bit in the movie, and could have been revisited in each subsequent film the way it was in the books- in passing.

Percy Weasley

Probably one of my favorite Harry Potter universe conflicts, Percy Weasley’s betrayal of his family was an incredibly important element of the Weasley family. In fact, he a relatively important character in the earlier movies, before the writers apparently forgot about him. And again, it wouldn’t have taken very long to include it, and revisit it occasionally to remind viewers it’s still going on. Percy’s behavior was typical of wizards during the dangerous climate of Voldemort’s return, and it really highlights the pureness of the rest of the Weasley family as a result. And his unfair treatment of his family makes his return to them in the battle of Hogwarts all the more emotional and meaningful. It gives Fred’s death (which, again, I’ll discuss in the next blog) significance and even more heartbreak.

Ginny’s Trail of Men

This small subplot is much less important in the larger scope of the great failure that was the Harry Potter films, but it’s still worth mentioning. Ginny begins dating, I believe, in the fourth book, and although it’s not touched on much, the point is that it’s supposed to build from there. In the films, Ginny appears for the Chamber of Secrets, disappears for three movies, then starts dating Dean Thomas in the 6th movie and all of the sudden Harry is totally in love with her. Their love story was very poorly executed, because it seemed so random and out of the blue. They became friends first, then she branched out with other guys, which Harry starts noticing more and more as the books continue, and then finally they become an item. In the books, it makes sense. It’s not just convenient as it seemed on the screen.

The Doomed Romance of Tonks and Lupin

Yet another important plot point glazed over by the screenwriters. The Tonks/Lupin romance was built up for three books before they were heroically killed in the battle at Hogwarts. It was one of the most touching relationships of the Harry Potter series, because they were so logically wrong for one another. Lupin’s fears of transferring his ailment to his children or hurting Tonks on accident during his phases were some of the most heartbreaking conversations in the books. The fact that Tonks said “to hell with that” and Lupin eventually gave in was the triumph of love Rowling centered her entire series around. In addition, Lupin has got to be the most inappropriately underused character in all of the films. In the books he’s a father figure to Harry, one of many, but one of the most important, especially after Sirius dies. He’s one of the people Harry brings back with the Resurrection Stone, for God’s sake. But in the movies he’s just the weird ex-teacher with the gross mustache that sometimes turns into a werewolf.

Just as a side note…. what is it with the movie producers and creepy mustaches? Because both Lupin and Sirius had them, and it was very strange. Did mustaches come back into style? Not that I was aware of.

D’awwwww

so intense……..

Companions

So far, the Doctor has had all female companions, with the very small exception of Rory these past two seasons. But Rory’s still a more supporting role compared to Amy’s position on the TARDIS. And as much as I’ve loved these four brilliant, mad women as the Doctor’s traveling friends, I think it’s time for a few changes.

The other night, I thought to myself, the thing Doctor Who is missing most right now is a really solid bromance. And I’m only partially kidding. After so much estrogen aboard the TARDIS, I think the Doctor needs a change of pace. And what’s more different than having a male traveling companion? I think the dynamic between the Doctor and a young man could be fascinating.

To prepare for his role as the Doctor, Matt Smith wrote some Doctor Who fanfiction about the Doctor’s fictional travels with Albert Einstein, who was something of a womanizer. Now, imagine the Doctor traveling with a womanizing young man while being the generally flummoxed romantic he is, and tell me that wouldn’t be hillarious.

Another idea I think would be interesting is traveling with a much younger companion, or pair of companions. What if the Doctor traveled around with a 12 year old girl and her 10 year old kid brother? How would that change his pace and behavior? Where would/wouldn’t he go?

EDIT: Since the initial writing of this post, it’s been announced that Karen Gillan (Amy Pond) WILL be returning for the 7th season alongside Matt Smith. This furthers my assumption that Rory is going to die by the end of the current season, but it also kind of bothers me a little bit. Amy is a fantastic character, but the Doctor needs to move on to something new. Their dynamic is getting old.

Monsters/ Antagonists

One thing I’d like to see more of is the antagonist of humanity as a whole. The Doctor’s had to fight against humanity in the past- when they allowed themselves to be governed into ignorance by a mass-media alien takeover, when they started creating/watching violent reality TV shows that were anything but voluntary, when they captured and tortured the last of the space whales- and those are always really incredible episodes. They reveal things about humanity that we don’t like to talk about, and there aren’t cut-and-dry solutions like usual, because he has to find a way to completely reverse whatever mess humanity has gotten themselves into with humanity. It’s not like a Dalek or Cyberman invasion, where he can just try to wipe out the aggressive species.

I’d also like to see more big-scale invisible monsters, like House in The Doctor’s Wife. The fact that House could control the TARDIS and could not be seen for the entire episode made him all the more scary as a Who villain, and I think we need more monsters like that.

Finally, I think it would be cool to see an alien threat like the Buggers in Ender’s Game, a race of aliens that communicate differently from humanity and thus don’t realize they’re trying to annihilate an intelligent species. Lack of communication is one of the most dangerous things I can foresee in our actual future with hypothetical extraterrestrial life, and that would be a fascinating twist for Doctor Who- trying to make peace between two species who have absolutely no clear way to communicate- no common written or spoken language.

Settings

Finally, I think it’s high time to get some more nuanced settings than past and present Earth. Like Amy in The Time of Angels, I want a planet. The Doctor’s Wife had the most exciting setting of the recent two seasons, and I think we need more of that. I get that Earth keeps the Doctor pretty busy, but he has a friggen space ship. Let’s go out to space!

Or, better yet, visit another spaceship/space station. Like in series 1′s Bad Wolf, or series 2′s The Girl in the Fireplace, or in series 5′s The Beast Below, spaceships make fantastic settings. They’re isolated, so there’s more chance for danger/corruption, and deep space is always a cool place for stuff to happen.

Finally, I’d like to see more into humanity’s future, where, in fact, all three episodes I just mentioned take place. In the fifth season we spent time in the London blitz, 16th century (I think) Venice, present day (a few times), Vincent Van Gogh’s Paris, and Amy’s childhood past. We jumped to the future a couple times, but only in The Beast Below did we get a good, hardy look at humanity’s future. The past is cool, but we’ve been spending a bit too much time there. If the producers don’t have enough money to keep building planet sets, at least get us into the future a while. Maybe you can borrow Firefly’s Serenity set. Crossover possibility? Oh, God, I hope so.

So those are my thoughts on where the Doctor should go in the future. Thoughts? Companion, enemy, or setting ideas? Let me know!

This is the face of badass

The final episode before the mid-season break, and let me tell you, it did not disappoint. This episode brings the word “epic” to a whole new level. My mind is, to say it again, totally blown. WHEW. Once again, just in case someone isn’t paying attention, THIS POST CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS. You have been aptly warned.

Let’s start where the episode starts: With the most epic couple minutes of your entire life. Rory waltzes into a cybermen meeting room, all dressed up in his Roman gear, and decides that he’s totally badass. Example of badassery (although watching it yourself would be a better use of time):

Rory (walks in all badass with lens flares and the like, glaring at cybermen): I have a message and a question. A message from the Doctor and a question from me. WHERE. IS. MY. WIFE?

Cybermen (no response to badassery)

Rory (glares condescendingly): Oh don’t give me those blank looks. The 12th cyber legion monitors this entire quadrant. (paces) You hear everything. So you tell me what I need to know. You tell me NOW, and I’ll be on my way. (stops pacing in front of big window, where tons of other cyber ships can be seen)

Cybermen: What is the Doctor’s message?

Rory (stands completely still as the ships in the background through the window explode, glaring) (Close up): Would you like me to repeat the question?

AAAAAAAAAAAAH. WHEN DID RORY GET SO AWESOME? I could seriously watch the beginning of this episode over and over and over and over…

Ok. Moving on from Rory’s badassery (of which there is a lot in this episode), let’s get to the brunt of this episode.

Quick summary: Eye patch lady takes baby Melody away, Amy promises Rory will always find/protect her. Soldiers gossip about the Doctor, shy away from creepy monks (that, surprise, turn out to be ACTUALLY headless). The Doctor goes around time and space to collect on debts owed by a variety of people. Commander makes a big speech about the Doctor being only a man, then the Doctor surprises everyone by being dressed like a headless monk and completely turns everything around. His army of debt-owers take over the base, Rory finds Amy and brings along Melody. The Doctor apparently speaks baby. Eye patch lady escapes (how? We’ll get to this) and it turns out that MELODY IS FLESH TOO. EYE PATCH LADY STILL HAS BABY. River Song is grown up baby Melody (“The only water in the forest is the river”). The Doctor gets excited, leaves. End of episode.

First thing, how the heck did eye patch lady escape? They had her in custody with our new friend Colonel Runaway, right?? Or did they just let them go after that? Weird. Unexplained. Moving on.

Second, even though nothing really happened until the last few minutes, MAN was this an epic episode. All sorts of people showed up from last season and earlier this season and it had the feel of one of those awesome reunion finales, where all the characters come together for a central goal. Cool.

Third, I just thought this line from Kyle Anderson’s review was funny: “The Eleventh Doctor has an interesting way of dealing with large threats which is to act like he doesn’t give a shit.”

Did I mention that Rory was TOTALLY BADASS?

Fourth, eye patch lady claims that the reason she’s taken Melody for use as a weapon is because there’s a war going on; a war against the Doctor. This brings up a lot of old wounds for the Doctor in which he has to come to terms with the fact that he, good and virtuous as he tries to be, is seen as something of a warrior. For someone like the Doctor, who tries his hardest to keep people from dying during his rescue plots, who is constantly seeking forgiveness for his actions against his people, being known as a warrior, as a killer, as a threat, can’t be easy.

Whew. This episode is just so damn good. It’s got heartbreak (Melody flesh replica, Lorna Bucket death), action (monk vs Doctor’s army), fun (Doctor speaks baby), and secret reveals (River Song is Melody Pond). It was epic in all the right places, touching in all the right places, and, above all, a fantastic sendoff for the summer. If they had to end on any episode, I’m glad it was this one.

Now, for some housekeeping. I said I was going to do a series of 7 Doctor Who posts to correspond with the 7 episodes, but I ended up combining the flesh episodes into one post. However, I’m still going to write you seven posts- the final post will just be what I hope to see in the future of Doctor Who. Savvy? See you Monday!

HOLY CRAP I HAVE 100 YOUTUBE SUBSCRIBERS!! (Actually, since the time of this video, I got 1 more… so 101!)

This was a really cool pair of episodes. The imagery was, admittedly, a bit disturbing, and there were a couple characters that sort of bothered me, but overall, it was a solid 2 part-er. The Rebel Flesh introduced not only an interesting concept that I’m sure they will end up using later on (in fact, they already have), but also my favorite kind of Doctor Who enemy: humanity.

Even though “humanity” isn’t technically a Doctor Who monster, like the cybermen and the Daleks, it’s always my favorite antagonist, because of how interesting the whole dynamic is. When the Doctor fights against humanity, or human nature, in order to save humanity, or human nature, there isn’t a cut and dry solution: you can’t just fight them back, or contain them in some sort of prison, or wipe them out. He has to change their minds, force them to work together against themselves. And I just think that’s a fascinating concept.

But let’s go back to the flesh for the sake of discussing the totally awesome SPOILER-y end. Amy is flesh. Holy crap, Amy isn’t real. Well, she is real, but not at the moment. In the next episode (A Good Man Goes to War) the Doctor speculates someone must have switched real Amy with flesh Amy sometime before America, or before the first episode. Woah. Mind. Blown.

A couple things:

1. The whole idea of the flesh is brilliant, because it makes you completely paranoid about everything. Is Rory flesh/ will he be flesh eventually? Can the Doctor harness the power of the flesh? Does the Doctor have a flesh lab where he creates flesh replicas? Will he eventually have said lab? (I can’t keep saying “flesh” because it’s a creepy word. Like fetus. Feeeeeeetuuuuuus)

2. The entire episode, I didn’t really know who to root for, which, of course, was also brilliant. On the one hand, the Gangers were merely copies of the preexisting humans, and having two versions of the same person, with the same memories, could be problematic, especially when you bring kids into it. (Like that one guy… with the face…. and the kid. How can the kid have two dads that are the same person? Confusing) But on the other hand, the Gangers are just as emotionally and mentally human as their human counterparts, and don’t they have the right to exist without persecution?

3. As my favorite Who blogger Kyle Anderson points out, there are an awful lot of really convenient coincidences that make this episode work. From Kyle:

Matthew Graham’s nickname should be “Deus ex Machina.”  The success or failure of any of the characters in the story comes from coincidence and not from any of their own actions.  It starts right in the post-credit sequence where they just happen to find a duct system in the supposedly impenetrable chapel.  Why go to the trouble of saying there is “only one way in or out” just to change that almost immediately?  They could have said, “The most secure place is the chapel, it would be the easiest to fortify,” or whatever.  Then there’s the idea of the TARDIS, stuck in the ground thanks to a pool of acid, which just so happens to fall directly into a TARDIS-shaped area in the most remote room in the compound.  And the door to this room needs to be held by two people, even though they seem to have ample time to get to the TARDIS before Monster Jen got to them.  Also convenient: No set of “twins” survived.  Both Buzzers and Jens bit the dust, Flesh Jimmy and Flesh Dicken survive, as does Real Cleaves, whom we’re supposed to side with at the end… It’s all her damn fault the whole thing happened in the first place!  Also, she didn’t have a blood clot in her brain in episode one, did she? I swear they never mentioned it at all, but here she has one just so the Flesh Cleaves can also have one. AND, it doesn’t matter anyway because the Doctor had a vial of special clot-unclotting elixir. So, a terminal illness we didn’t even know she had is cured thanks to something the Doctor just happened to have lying around. Thanks, Graham.

And he’s totally right. I didn’t notice these things when I was watching, but that’s because I’m bad at watching/reading critically if I don’t expect to need to. However, it’s Doctor Who. A woman had a baby with a giant alien bee once in the fourth season. Whatever. ALSO. I would point out that the TARDIS probably parked itself in that convenient area of acidy grass because she KNEW it would fall into the space where it was needed. Remember, she knows things, and she always “takes him where he needs to go.” Think about it.

4. Rory. Rory Rory Rory. This is the first time since the Pandorica Opens that he’s taken initiative on something, and I’m very excited to see it. Seriously, I care more about Rory now as a character than Amy at this point, just because he’s such an underdog. And I love Amy. In fact, I wish he got to spend more one-on-one time with the Doctor (on screen), since they have a really interesting male dynamic that’s been kind of missing in the show. But more on that in a different blog.

In all, I thought these episodes, while not my favorite in recent memory, were pretty great, especially as far as setting up later plotlines goes. The whole flesh idea was intriguing, Matt Smith gives yet another incredible performance, and HOLY CRAP AMY IS FLESH WHAAAAAAT. See you Friday

We’ll probably be taking a break during August from TheseFolk, to give everyone time to recharge. But we’ll definitely be back in September, rearing to go!

Seriously. This is probably my favorite Doctor Who episode since Vincent and the Doctor, which, if you know anything about me, you’ll know I also loved. (My favorite impressionist painter and the Doctor in one convenient TV episode? YESS!) I even used a quote from the Van Gogh episode for my video activism class to fuel an entire foster care video project.

So, yeah. Let that give you some foundation for HOW MUCH I FREAKING LOVED THIS EPISODE.

The thing I loved the most, aside from the fantastic writing, was the depth of the story and what it revealed about the characters. I think Amy summed it up best towards the end of the episode.

“Look at you pair. It’s always you and her, isn’t it? Long after the rest of us have gone. A boy and his box, off to see the universe.”

We’ve never really seen the TARDIS in a light like this before. Gaiman has taken an asexual blue spaceship and turned her into a mad, beautiful character, full of life and fun and wonder and complexity. The best parts of the story were when the Doctor and the TARDIS were alone, wondering themselves about the incredulous nature of their circumstances. My favorite exchange:

DOCTOR:
Yes, yes, I have actually rebuilt a TARDIS before, you know. I know what I’m doing. (the DOCTOR is dragging a piece of wall by a rope)

IDRIS:
You’re like a nine-year-old trying to rebuild a motorbike in his bedroom. And you never read the instructions.

DOCTOR:
I always read the instructions!

IDRIS:
There’s a sign on my front door. You have been walking past it for 700 years. What does it say?

DOCTOR:
That’s not instructions!

IDRIS:
There’s an instruction at the bottom. What does it say?

DOCTOR:
Pull to open.

IDRIS:
Yes, and what do you do?

DOCTOR:
I push!

IDRIS:
Every single time. 700 years. Police Box doors open out the way.

DOCTOR:
(throws down the rope and walks over to her) I think I’ve earned the right to open my front doors any way I want!

IDRIS:
Your front doors?! Have you any idea how childish that sounds?

DOCTOR:
(turns away and mutters) You are not my mother!

IDRIS:
And you are not my child!

DOCTOR:
(turns around and walks back) You know, since we’re talking with mouths, not really an opportunity that comes along very often, I just want to say, you know, you (points in her face) have never been very reliable.

IDRIS:
And you have?

DOCTOR:
You didn’t always take me where I wanted to go. (walks away)

IDRIS:
No, but I always took you where you needed to go.

DOCTOR:
(stops) You did! (whirls around, happy) Look at us. Talking. Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could always talk? Even when you’re inside the box?

IDRIS:
You know I’m not constructed that way. I exist across all space and time, and you talk and run around and bring home strays.

IDRIS falls but the DOCTOR catches her.

DOCTOR:
You OK?

IDRIS:
One of the kidneys has already failed. It doesn’t matter. We need to finish assembling the console.

DOCTOR:
Using a console without a proper shell. It’s not going to be safe.

IDRIS:
This body has about 18 minutes left to live. The universe we’re in will reach Absolute Zero in three hours. Safe is relative.

The other fun thing about this episode was the throwback to the earlier days of Doctor Who (which I’ve only heard of, not seen). We finally got to see more than just the main control room of the TARDIS when Amy and Rory were running through the corridors while the bad guy of the episode messed with their heads.

This episode was probably the perfect Doctor Who episode, to agree with my favorite Who blogger Kyle Anderson. It had suspense, hilarity, heartbreak, adventure, foreshadowing, romance, and above all, an understanding of the characters so deep that we miss nothing. If anyone wants to watch just one Doctor Who episode to understand why so many people love Doctor Who, this is the episode to watch.

There isn’t much to speculate on for this episode, same as The Curse of the Black Spot. We did get that hint of foreshadowing from the TARDIS about “the only water in the forest is the River,” but we already know who River is and how she relates to the Ponds.

I’ve never loved an episode of Doctor Who more. And the more I write about it, the more I love it. It’s the most beautiful hour of television I’ve ever watched, and I’d like to personally thank Neil Gaiman for allowing it to exist. The end.

The Curse of the Black Spot was a fun episode, no doubt about it. Nothing that happens in it is necessarily important later on (although our fine captain and his son make an appearance in A Good Man Goes To War), but what would Doctor Who be without these sorts of episodes?

The premise is basically this: the Doctor, Amy, and Rory get stranded on a pirate ship in the middle of the ocean, and the TARDIS sort of disappears and they’re in constant fear of this green glowing woman that takes injured men after marking their hands with a black spot. (Curse of the BLACK SPOT. Get it??) Hilarity and Doctor-genius ensue.

My favorite part of this episode, by far, was seeing Amy swinging from the rigging in her pirate getup, brandishing a sword to rescue the Doctor. I’m not even attracted to girls and I’m totally in love. My second favorite part would probably be the Rory-Amy banter regarding Rory’s reaction to first seeing the Siren.

My only complaint about this episode is that they’re playing up the Rory’s-gonna-die card again. STOP KILLING OFF RORY. They kill him off, or at least nearly kill him off, every other bloody episode. Play-kill Amy once in a while. Now THAT would shake it up.

Once again, Matt Smith gives a masterful performance, as do Karen Gillan and Arthur Darvill. I love this leading cast. Unfortunately, I have a feeling they might be replaced by the end of this season. Why? They’ve got a baby, we know who River is (and she’s tied to them), and Moffat needs a new companion so the Matt Smith era isn’t the Matt Smith-Karen Gillan-Arthur Darvil era. As much as I love Amy and Rory as characters, I also would like to see how Matt Smith deals with a new batch of companions. That might be fun.

NOTE: Just as warning, the next four posts are also going to be Doctor Who series 6 reviews, so if you don’t care about Doctor Who, the next new non-Who blog will be on August 5th (whew is is really already that late in the summer?). Even so, remember that every Thursday and Sunday there are new videos, so don’t forget to come back to check them out!

My Tweet last night at 3am after the movie:

As a fan, the only word to describe how I feel right now is betrayal. #harrypotter

I stand by that assessment. Completely. I was so disappointed by this movie. The first part, that came out in November, was fantastic. It was one of the best done films in this joke of a film series, and I was legitimately impressed. But last night just took a massive crap on everything that was good about the first half of the movie. I’m not exaggerating.

I’ll go into more detail once my Doctor Who blog series is over, sometime in August, because I need to wrap my head around a few things before I do.

Granted, Rachel and I should probably not be able to see movies for the first time together. We’re horribly judgmental and spend the entire time mocking every little inconsistency. And it’s even worse when we’re watching, again for the first time, a movie based on a book that was the summation of our entire childhoods. I will admit that we’re not the best movie-going pair.

But I doubt that even after a second viewing I’ll be impressed. This movie was poorly timed, bizarrely executed, and a downright disgrace to all that makes Harry Potter good. Thanks for the memories, Deathly Hallows, but I doubt I’ll be looking back on the experience with fondness.

So the first half of today’s blog’s title is “plot holes”, which is something I didn’t really even think about until I read this fantastic review  from Kyle Anderson via Nerdist.com (a site that I check regularly, especially when there’s been a new Doctor Who episode.)

Anderson points out

It’s never really explained why Canton needs to pretend to hunt down the members of Team TARDIS in the first place. If the Doctor is so tight with President Nixon, why are he and his friends being doggedly hunted? If it were the Silence using posthypnotic suggestion, why is Canton not affected?… More likely, this was just Moffat’s way of making an exciting and confusing pre-credits sequence. There is no narrative reason given for the whole Area 51 section or the “inescapable prison” being built because there’s seemingly no need for either one.

Oooooo. Good point. Upon viewing this episode twice more (hey, it’s the summer break and there aren’t any new episodes. SO SUE ME) I have to agree with him that the inescapable prison thing was kind of strange. Because there’s a three month gap between Day of the Moon and the Impossible Astronaut, a lot of things in this episode go unexplained. But I have a theory:

Most likely, the reason that there are tons of soldiers hunting down what Anderson refers to as “Team TARDIS” (Amy, Rory, and River) is that the Silence told them to get rid of them, because the Silence perceives them, at least in a small way, as being a threat. The only problem with this theory of mine is that apparently Canton, who is leading the eventually-discovered-as-fake hunt, is unaffected by this Silence command, leading us to believe that

A. Canton, having insider knowledge of the Doctor from the Doctor, is immune to this particular post-hypnotic command, or

B. Moffat wasn’t thinking it through and them being fake-hunted down was just randomly put in there to make it more interesting.

Personally, I hope it’s A, because I really like Stephen Moffat and it seems strange to me that such a big part of this episode went completely unexplained.

And now, onto the regenerating child at the end of the episode, the second mindf#$% of the series (the first being the Doctor dying). We’re led to believe [understand?] that the little girl at the end of the episode is the same one who escaped from her spacesuit prison and is now dying as a result. After a brief conversation with a homeless dude, the little girl throws back her head and regenerates. HOLY SH-

The should let Arthur wear glasses more often *swoon*

So if this little girl is in fact River Song, the speculation in A Good Man Goes To War is that because she was conceived mid-flight on the TARDIS, she was exposed to the time vortex and thus has some of the features of a Time Lord (for example, regeneration). But if this little girl is NOT River Song (which I’m rooting for, because I feel like if she were River that would be too easy), then I have absolutely no idea what’s going on.

Just as a final thought, the whole Rory-Amy-stupid face bit was fantastic. Hopefully, now that Amy has reaffirmed her devotion to Rory (aka Stupid Face) and defined her relationship with the Doctor as her “best friend”, we can get past the whole Doctor-Amy-Rory love triangle and just let Rory have this one triumph in his life.

So now, the Impossible Astronaut.

I thought this was a fantastic way to kick off the new series. It was charming and funny, as the Doctor is known to be, but it was also adequately dark and mysterious. I mean, good God, the Doctor dies before the first ten minutes are up. 200 years in the future, of course, but still. And it’s not just your usual Doctor death, as in he comes back to life soon after. The astronaut kills him in the middle of his regeneration cycle so there’s NO WAY he can be alive.

This leaves us with a few things right off the bat, then. First, of course we’re going to see this death situation resolved by the end of the season. Otherwise, this first episode would effectively end Doctor Who as soon as Matt Smith decides he’s done with it. And, of course, the writers have no intention of stopping Doctor Who anytime soon. So I’m not particularly worried about this whole death thing, more curious to see how Stephen Moffat pulls it off. My theory is that, because of the major Flesh plot twists (which I’ll talk about in later reviews), the Doctor who is killed in this episode is just a Flesh clone. Because Amy says “River, he can’t be dead. This is impossible. Maybe he’s a clone or a duplicate or something.” I would argue that this is major foreshadowing.

You could argue “But Bri, Canton says right after that that it’s totally the Doctor.” And you’d be right. But if you remember correctly, the whole point of The Almost People (episode 6) was that the Flesh were just as real as the people they were created to duplicate. So, hypothetically, the dead Doctor from the first episode could be Flesh and the real Doctor.

The second thing this death thing brings up is- who kills him? [CAUTION MAJOR SPOILER] We know from A Good Man Goes to War that River Song is Amy and Rory’s daughter Melody Pond (“The only water in the forest is the river”), and thus we ASSUME that River Song is the little girl that makes random appearances in the next few episodes. Assuming that River Song is the little girl, we also know that she’s been somewhat trapped in this space suit (the very same one that kills the Doctor). This leaves us with the assumption that River Song, as a little girl, kills the Doctor.

However, I don’t think that’s true, for a couple reasons.

1. River is way too freaked out by the fact that the Doctor is dead. We know from previous episodes that River has known the Doctor since she was a little girl, so it stands to reason that she would remember killing the man she loves, especially if she witnesses herself doing it years later. Clearly, River is appalled by said death, so I doubt its River in the suit.

1. (a) Yes, yes, I know that River says she’s in the storm cage because she killed a man, “the best man I ever knew.” And with all the assumptions from the space suit and the little girl, people automatically assume she killed the Doctor. But this doesn’t make sense because of the above reasoning, and…

2. River Song doesn’t recognize the space suit. This comes up in the second episode, The Day of the Moon, when she, Rory, and the Doctor are rooting around in the Silence’s stuff. She’s analyzing the space suit and wondering at the fact that such a little girl managed to force her way out of the suit. Now, either River is a REALLY good actress, she honestly doesn’t remember doing it, or, my guess, SHE’S NOT THE LITTLE GIRL. Because…

3. It would be way too obvious. So River is Amy and Rory’s daughter. Weird, yeah. But I don’t think she’s the little girl. Now that they’ve revealed [most] of her true identity, even though they’ve been building it up as if she’s the little girl who broke out of the spacesuit and whatnot, I think it’s a little too convenient how everything is fitting together.

So that means that someone else killed the Doctor, after taking control over the space suit. Just because the little girl was at one point wearing a spacesuit and just because River is Amy’s daughter doesn’t mean that she is still wearing a spacesuit when the Doctor is killed by one or that the little girl who escaped from the spacesuit is River. Whew.

*edit* HOLY CRAP. So I just read Kyle Anderson’s review of this episode over at Nerdist.com (which I’m surprised I hadn’t done earlier) (I’ll reference him a lot in later installments) and he brought up an interesting point. He seems to have some of the same qualms with River being the little girl in all these episodes (ie she didn’t recognize the spacesuit and she looks genuinely upset at the Doctor’s death), which leads him to this little bombshell:

The scene in Stormcage at the beginning of this episode where River looks really surprised and wistful about seeing Rory. This is what I think: River, at that point in her life, hadn’t seen Rory in a very long time and I believe that’s because Rory is the “Good Man” whom River kills. She says she kills “The best man she’s ever known,” and that HAS to be her dad, the Last Friggin’ Centurion. The whole series has been making us think someone’s talking about the Doctor but are actually talking about Rory. It only stands to reason that this is just the last instance of it. While I don’t want to see Rory get killed, it will probably be in some heroic fashion and it will inform River’s whole life and relationship with the Doctor and Amy.

AAAAAAAH. River kills RORY?? God, I hope not, but still, I also hope SO. My feelings about Rory are complicated, but HOLY CRAP. HOLY EFFING CRAP. Think about it. It totally makes sense, right? RIGHT??

Other than that, the Silence are creepy, I love Canton Everett Dellaware (mostly because the actor was in Battlestar Galactica and he was awesome), and it was a fun, suspenseful episode to kick off the new series. More reviews and speculations to come.

In which I make the terrible decision to go for a bike ride in the middle of a hot summer day and film my old elementary school. I also talk. Shocker.

The CDs I’m reviewing today are Panic! At The Disco’s Vices & Virtues (Deluxe Edition) and Owl City’s All Things Bright and Beautiful, both which came out fairly recently.

It’s no secret that I love both of these bands (for entirely different reasons, of course), and that I’ve loved them for a while. I’ve reviewed Panic! before, back when my music reviews were supposed to be a thing, and last April I attended an Owl City concert and then blogged about the teeshirt I got as a result during teeshirt week. Suffice it to say, these bands are not new to me.

Now, the last time I reviewed Panic! I was, to say the least, incredibly disappointed. Their album, Pretty, Odd, made me question how much I loved their debut album A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out, which I absolutely, as mentioned, loved. In fact, Pretty, Odd was so bad, I thought they’d broken up.

Clearly, they haven’t. Broken up, that is. They just lost like five members. Now it’s just the drummer Spencer Smith and the singer/lyricist/guitarist/pianist/accordionist/bassist/trumpeter Brendan Urie (no, I’m not kidding). Of course, the only one I really cared about was Urie, the brilliant singer who has been featured in several Fall Out Boy songs. But I’m getting away with myself (drool Brendan Urie drool).

While still not quite up to the brilliance of Fever, Vices & Virtues is, overall, a pretty good album, especially if you try to pretend it’s not a Panic! album. What I mean is that, compared to Fever, it’s pretty meh, but on it’s own it’s kind of great. The more I listen to it, the more I like it. My favorite songs are Ready to Go (Get Me Out Of My Mind), Hurricane, and Sarah Smiles. The first single off the album, The Ballad Of Mona Lisa, is pretty good too.

What I really like about this album is that it’s fun. Pretty, Odd was weird for the sake of being weird, without any of the Panic! flair that we all fell in love with from Fever. While artistically V&V still doesn’t live up to Fever, it was a definite step back in the right direction.

All Things Bright and Beautiful, on the other hand, was fantastic. I know some people don’t like Owl City because they think “all the songs sound the same”, but clearly they haven’t heard ATBB yet. This album takes everything great about Owl City- the poetic, descriptive lyrics, the ambient techno background music, the fun, positive tone- and capitalizes on it. Each song is fresh, fun, and, yes, bright and beautiful.

The first time I heard the song Plant Life off this album, I almost cried with how beautiful it was. I dare you to listen to it without waltzing and smiling. Other favorite songs- Kamikaze, The Real World, and Alligator Sky. “If I were to pluck on your heartstrings, would you strum on mine?” *swoon*

Overall, I like belting the lyrics to both of these CDs while I’m driving to and from the grocery store. Weirdly specific, yeah, but that’s basically the only time I leave my house. And for some reason, my brother and mom don’t like hearing me singing obnoxiously loud in the house. Weird, right? :p

This video is intense. IN. TENSE.

When I was little, I refused to go to sleep until my parents read me a story. And not just any old story. A princess story. A fairy tale, as they were more often called.

“Dad?” I asked one summer evening. “Why are they called fairy tales? Only Cinderella had a fairy in her story…”

My dad chuckled. “Because they fairy rarely come true.” Then he snapped shut the newest story, about Ariel the mermaid, and blew out the candle.

I thought about that and couldn’t help but accept it. But I still loved those stories, even into my teens. And of course, like all little girls, I wanted to be a princess too. The thing about me, though, is that I had the potential.

What’s the one thing that all the princesses had? Beauty. Also musical talent, but we don’t like to talk about that because I was so thoroughly shafted in that department. But beauty was the main factor. That was consistent among all the stories. And I had plenty of beauty. Long, curly brown hair fell gracefully across my narrow shoulders, occasionally hiding my exquisite hazel eyes. I suppose I was a bit curvier than most of the princesses, for my hips were full and sassy, but I was proportionate and fit.

I think even my mother wanted me to be a princess. She named me Amira, princess, as a last minute decision, as the word had just reached our kingdom of that Belle from France marrying the curse-cured prince. Belle was common, like we were, and had no prospects, save for her beauty. That was enough for my poor old mother to hope. My older brother was just plain Bowen, son of Owen, but he never had delusions of grandeur like the women of our family. I just wish I’d listened to him more often.

So I was all set to be a princess, really. Except for the singing part; I was as tone deaf as they come. But I was pretty, remember? Problem solved. Just no opening my mouth.

I spent my childhood listening and dreaming to those stories, and my teen years scouring them for helpful hints. But you know the one thing that none of them ever mentioned? How hard it is to fall in love.

Chpt 1.

Love was defined especially vaguely in those stories, and seemed to be weighted heavily on the fact that each leading girl was beautiful. The only princess to date that ever actually recognize this was Princess Odette from a few kingdoms over.

“You’re beautiful.” Prince Derek told her.

“But what else?” She asked him.

“What else is there?”

Talk about foot in the mouth. Sheesh. But from all of what I could find on that particular story, I wasn’t exactly convinced that he discovered anything else. There was some brief admission of “you’re kind” or some other bollocks, but that was it.

So I just assumed that falling in love with a prince, and vice versa, was too simple for words, and that’s the reason all the stories glazed over that. You know, love at first sight and all that drivel. My brother was the skeptic in the family, not me, so I let him be cynical. Meanwhile, I paid close attention to my looks and my manners and prepared for the day that I would be inevitably invited to a royal ball and Prince Liam would inevitably fall desperately in love with me.

Sigh. Prince Liam. A more gorgeous prince I couldn’t imagine. Even Prince Eric, Ariel’s leading man, paled in comparison to Liam. Four years my senior, Liam had unruly dark brown hair, light green eyes, and an olive complexion that came from riding his horse so often in the summer months. That was about all I knew about him, but really, how much else did any other girl know about the princes they ended up with? They’re hot, rich, and in a position of power. Love conquers all else, or so I’d heard.

I didn’t have any particular skills to speak of, past looking good and smiling at all the right times. That knowledge got me out of being asked to work in the palace kitchens when I turned fourteen, or being asked to be a laundry maid when I turned sixteen. My hands were always too soft and my looks always too revered. Of course I would be asked, when I came of age, to make the trip to the palace to meet the prince. That was pretty much unspoken.

Unfortunately, that’s when my father got sick. My mother had died a few years before, so our income was already limited to my brother’s palace pastry chef salary and my father’s repairman pay. I never had to work, since we all figured I’d be the next princess and I’d use my share of the royal funds to let the men in my family retire. Not my brother, I guess. For some strange reason, he liked his employment. He tried to explain it to me once, but I was in the middle of plucking the dark hairs off of my forearms, so I didn’t hear much of it. Not that I cared. It wasn’t my life.

But when my father fell ill, we didn’t have a choice. It was either find employment at the palace or run the risk of becoming malnourished and ugly. Oh, and my father dying from not enough medicine. That too.

So I rode our best horse to the castle wearing my best dress with my best smile plastered brightly across my face. The queen’s attendant carried out the interview.

“Name?”

“Amira L’Azure.”

“Family names and employments?”

“Brother, Bowen L’Azure, palace pastry chef.” The attendant smiled briefly, something you can’t exactly avoid if you know my brother. If his good looks didn’t get you, his cookies would. “Father, Owen L’Azure, repairman. He’s sick, though, so he can’t work at the moment.”

“Reason for seeking palace employment?”

“My father is sick and needs medicine.”

The woman looked me up and down. “Do you look like this every day?”

“Excuse me?”

She made a general gesture at my person. “Is this your natural look, or did you buy some temporary beauty serum to look nice for today’s interview?”

“Do- do people do that?” I asked, not entirely surprised. The majority of the people under palace employment were good looking.

“It has happened before.”

“Yes, I look like this naturally.” It took effort to keep a smirk off of my face. The attendant frowned slightly and crossed off something on the parchment she was writing on.

“Are you good with children?” She asked.

“I-” No. “Yes, of course. I love children.” The drooling, nose picking little devils.

The attendant nodded. “The queen will have to interview you herself after a week of employment, but for now, I think we’ll put you as the princess Drea’s companion. She has… been difficult as of late, and her last governess fled the kingdom.”

I swallowed but kept the smile steady on my face. “I’m sure we’ll be fast friends.”

“You are dismissed. Come to the castle tonight with your things and we shall move you in straightaway.”

I thanked her. “May I have permission to visit my brother in the kitchens before I leave to collect my personal effects?”

“Of course.” We curtsied to one another and I went to find Bowen.

“Bowen!” I cried when I finally found the correct kitchen. There were four that I’d already checked, each used for a different meal of the day. “Oh, Bowen, I have the loveliest of news!”

He looked up, surprised at my being there, but then smiled. “You will work here now?”

“Yes, as the princesses’ companion!”

My brother raised his eyebrow and inspected the decorative icing on the cake one of his assistants had placed in front of him. “You hate children. More purple flowers, I think. All of the yellow makes it seem unbalanced.” He directed the last bit at the assistant, who nodded somberly.

“I don’t hate children…”

“Yes you do. Although I suppose the princess is eleven, so shes not exactly a child…”

“Positive thinking!” I smiled at him. “Do you have any treats that I can bring home to father with the good news?” I wasn’t usually so gracious, but I was in a good mood.

Bowen picked up on the unnatural kindness as well, but handed me a bag of misshapen cookies. “They taste the same as the ones I just sent up to the princess, but you can’t serve a royal anything short of art.”

I tried one. “Then that their loss. Mmmm.”

He swatted my finger away from a newly frosted pie. “Away with you, selfish sister. Father will need his medicine soon.”

My father was equally suspicious about my new employment.

“The princess is even more spoiled than you are.” He informed me with a frown, chewing on a cookie thoughtfully.

I ignored that, as rising to insults was not becoming. “Here, father, one more sip of your medicine…”

He crinkled his nose and made a retching sound. “It is awful.”

“As awful as you look? Don’t make me force it down your throat…” I threatened. He gulped and accepted the final spoonful. “Now, with my income and Bowen’s, we can afford a nurse to look after you three times a week, so be nice to her.”

“I’m always nice.” He retorted, shoving an entire cookie into his mouth to wash away the medicine.

“And I adore children.” I rolled my eyes at him. “Save some of those for tomorrow. Bowen sent you plenty.”

My father ignored me and ate another before swatting me playfully away. “Go and pack, you silly girl. The palace is expecting you.”

I yelped and smiled with real enthusiasm, rushing away to do just that.

Chpt 2.

The princess had already gone to bed by the time I’d returned to the palace, so the attendant just led me to my quarters, adjoining with the princess’.

“In the morning, when she wakes, the princess will ring a bell.” She explained to me as I unpacked my things into the small chest of drawers by my bed. “You will rise, check in, and fetch warm water for her bath. If you do not get it to her quickly enough, she will ring a second bell that connects to my quarters downstairs. I will ignore that bell for the first week, as the princess is often unforgiving towards new companions, but after that, if I hear the bell, you will be immediately dismissed.”

I found to keep my eyebrows unexpressive. “Where will I get the water from?”

“The kitchens heat up a bucket of it every morning and place it under the princess’ window. There is a pulley in her room that you will lower and then run downstairs to connect. The kitchen workers don’t have time to wait around for the pulley hook to drop. Then you will run back upstairs to bring the water in and fill up the tub.”

“That sounds horribly inefficient.” I noted. The attendant glared at me.

“After helping her bathe” -I gagged inwardly- “you will dress the princess and take her to her lessons. This is very important- you must walk her all the way to her tutor before going about your other duties. She has been known to skip her tutoring sessions if no one is watching her.”

I bit back a grin. Maybe I’d like this girl after all. Then I remembered that I was in charge of her, not just her friend, and sobered up immediately.

“While the princess is taking her lessons, you will report to the kitchens for other duties, most often running to the market or helping serve their majesties’ guests in the great hall.” I nodded. “Your free day will be Sundays, and as requested, all your salary will be delivered directly to your father at your previous place of residence. I would recommend you rest now. The princess rises early.” The attendant nodded at me and left the room, leaving me with a cocked eyebrow and a severe doubt that I’d be able to hold this job for very long.

I had every intention of going to sleep then, but I heard the Prince’s deep, lovely voice from the corridor and couldn’t help myself. I was still in my best dress, so it couldn’t do that much harm. Not as if I were in my nightgown.

“…danced with that Prince Darren from the Netherlands all night!” He was telling another young man, who I recognized as the Duke’s son Theo, Prince Liam’s best friend. “After all that we’ve been through!”

Theo rolled his eyes at his friend. “You kissed her hand and called her a beautiful flower at a ball almost a year ago. It hardly counts as a significant romantic history.”

Prince Liam seemed to deflate, his head and shoulders hanging limply underneath his expensively tailored ball outfit. It was so heartbreaking to watch that I accidentally stepped out from behind the pillar next to my chamber’s door, revealing myself to the boys.

The prince inflated again almost immediately. It was quite gratifying to me, although it warranted another round of eye-rolling from Theo.

“I-I’m terribly sorry, your majesty,” I pretended to stutter. “Tis my first night in the castle and I heard voices. There is so much going on!” I curtsied in a shy yet seductive manner, lowering my face only slightly.

In three long strides, Prince Liam was upon me, bowing. I forced myself to blush, but in my head I was thinking all according to plan in my most wicked way. “No need to apologize.” He caught my hand and brushed his lips across it. “Who might you be?” Theo coughed as if covering up a laugh.

“Amira L’Azure, your highness. I am to be Princess Drea’s new companion.”

Theo snorted and came to stand by his friend, looking me up and down. “Good luck with that.”

“Thank you, sir!” I curtsied a second time, choosing to ignore the sarcasm. A witty retort might be welcome in the city, but amongst such accomplished young men it would be unseemly. Not princess behavior.

“Well, Amira, it has truly been a pleasure.” Prince Liam bowed again, and then he and his friend disappeared around the corner.

Before I could shut the door behind me to silently celebrate, I heard Theo commenting to Prince Liam. “Yeah, ok, she’s gorgeous. But she’s hardly interesting enough to keep my attention.”

“It’s not your attention she needs to keep.” Prince Liam retorted. “You’re not the one who promised his parents he’d be betrothed by the end of the year.”

“Yeah, because I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re also not the heir to the throne.”

“I’m fifth in line!”

“Not the same, my friend.”

Their voices trailed off and I retreated into my chambers. Not interesting, hm? It hardly mattered. I only had eyes for the Prince.

Chpt 3.

It seemed as though only minutes had passed before the little bell above my bed began to ring. The sun hadn’t even begun to rise over the horizon yet. What a horrid little beast. Quickly I braided my hair down my back and slipped into a dress before heading through the adjoining doors to the princess’ chambers.

I curtsied to the disheveled looking young girl. “Your majesty, my name is Amira, and I am your new companion.”

The princess frowned at me. “Well? Aren’t you going to get my water?” She looked meaningfully at the raised pulley hook.

I curtsied again and crossed the room to the window. From almost one hundred feet below me, I could see steam coming off of the bucket of water. Great.

Lowering the pulley, I realized two things. First, the reason I would have to go all the way downstairs to hook the bucket was because the rope was several inches too short to be able to hook from here. Second, the water would most certainly be cold by the time I managed to wrestle it into the room.

“Why is the rope so short?” I asked the princess, glancing over my shoulder. “A few more inches and we could hook it here from the window.”

The princess stared at me. “Are you addressing me?”

“You’re the only other person within the audible vicinity, so yes, your majesty, I am addressing you.” Then I clapped my hand over my mouth. You can’t talk to the princess like that! It was too late to take it back, though, so I waited in silence, keeping eye contact with the princess. Stupid, stupid, you’ll surely be dismissed for that!

After a few moments of considering me, the princess reached under her pillow and revealed several inches of rope and a shard of mirror. I raised my eyebrow. “It doesn’t take long for my companions to be dismissed if my bath water is always cold.”

“And why would you want your companions dismissed?”

She frowned at me, as if she wasn’t used to being questioned. “Because they’re old and mean and strict and not nearly clever enough.”

I untied the knot from the end of the remaining pulley string, releasing it from the pulley wheel. “How’s this for clever?” I asked, leaning out the window and swinging the rope to hook the bucket. It caught, and I gripped the rope with two hands, bringing it back up to the wheel and, after much grunting, pulling the bucket into the room. It was no longer steaming, but it was still warm. With a fair bit of difficultly, I dragged the bucket over to the bathing area and filled the tub.

“Alright, you.” I said to the startled princess. “Get in while it’s still warm.”

The princess was stunned into silence for a moment. Then she became indignant again. “You must help me remove my nightgown.”

Eyebrows raised once again, I went to her bed. “Arms up.” I ordered. Still surprised, she complied, and I yanked off the silk nightgown unceremoniously. “Now into the tub with you.”

I helped her lather up with soap and shampoo, finding it not as strange as I had imagined it. The princess didn’t say a word. “Where do you take breakfast?” I asked as I handed her a towel. I may have taken her by surprise with my inventiveness with the bath water, but she’d had time during her wash to get herself under control again. Fine. Two could play that game.

“I take it here, in my quarters.” She said, raising her chin ever so slightly as she dried her arms.

“Well, that’s going to change.” I told her, taking a day gown off of a hanger. “You think I want to spend all day cleaning up your crumbs? Not likely.” Princess Drea opened her mouth to angrily protest, but I cut her off. “Your highness, I promise, a trip out of your room for morning meal will be well worth your time. I promise.” The prospect of food not only cheered me up, but it gave me an idea.

The princess seemed intrigued, and I took that as another small victory. “Follow me, your majesty.” I said after I helped her into her gown and found a pair of matching slippers. “Have you ever been to the kitchens before?” I asked in an attempt at conversation.

“No.” She replied sullenly. “My other companions didn’t think it was a place for a princess.”

I considered that. “Well, I’m going to be doing things a little bit differently. But.” I stopped walking and bent down to meet the princess’ intent stare straight on. “That does not mean you should expect to get away with things. You will still go to your lessons and act civilized.” I thought for a moment. “I’ll make you a deal, your majesty.” Drea looked suspicious. “You don’t try to sabotage me, and I promise to be fun.” I held out my hand. “Deal?”

She placed her small, soft hand in my grip without tearing her big blue eyes away from mine. “You can call me Drea.”

I grinned in victory, turning again. “Well then, Drea, let’s get something to eat.”

At the breakfast kitchen, I let the princess order our food, to the amusement of the cooks. We were presented then with large plates filled with eggs, sausage, and toast. “But where will we sit?” She asked me, staring down at her food. I doubt she had ever had to carry it herself.

“We have one more stop.” I told her, leading her down the corridor, past the lunch and dinner kitchens and into my brother’s territory.

“Your finest table and pastries please, Sir Bowen.” I winked at my brother as Drea came into view, her eyes wide with wonder at all the sweets.

He gaped at me.

“Who is Sir Bowen, and why is he wearing that silly hat?” Drea asked, frowning up at my brother.

He raised his hand to his chef’s hat self consciously. “Does my hat not please you, your majesty?” He asked jokingly, making a half bow. The princess giggled. “Follow me, ladies, and I’ll bring your pastries straightaway.” Bowen led us to the small break room where I remember waiting for him to finish his shifts. There were two small tables with three chairs each. Drea and I sat down at one while my brother disappeared again to fetch something sweet.

“Bowen is my brother.” I explained to the princess as she dug into her food excitedly. “He’s worked here in the kitchens for several years now.”

“Do your parents work here too?” She asked curiously. I smiled to myself that I’d already gotten through to her.

“No. My mother died many years ago, and my father is a carpenter. Was a carpenter.” I corrected myself. “He’s sick. That’s why I came to work here. He needs medicine.”

“That’s very good of you.” The princess approved. “Most of my companions only wanted the elevated status.”

I declined to mention my plan of marrying her older brother. “I’m glad you approve.”

Bowen appeared again then, bearing a plate of bite sized custards. His hat was now upside down, which only made the princess giggle harder. “I hope these will be more to your standards than my poor hat, majesty.” My brother bowed, and his poor hat fell onto my plate. He made a big show of retrieving it and apologizing before retreating back into the kitchen.

Drea surveyed me as I reached for a custard. “Do I have to go to my lessons?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because someday you’re going to rule a kingdom. And if you aren’t educated, then how can you make good decisions for your people’s welfare?”

“That’s a good answer. Thank you for not saying something stupid.” She agreed. “Do I have to call you Miss L’Azure?”

“I beg of you not to.”

“Ok.” She chewed a custard of her own. “But do I have to call you Amira?”

“That is my name, Drea.”

“Can I call you Ami?”

“Bowen calls me that sometimes.”

“So is that a yes?”

“Maybe.”

“Please? What if I’m in trouble and need to call your name but I don’t have time to yell Amira?”

I laughed. “And what kind of trouble do you think you’re going to be getting into?”

Drea shrugged. “Well, what if?”

“Fine. Fine. Ami it is.” We grinned at each other. The clock tower tolled outside. “Oop! Time for your lessons!”

Drea frowned and looked sadly at the pile of uneaten custards. “Will your brother have to throw these away now?”

“Tell you what. I’ll have him put them in a bag for after your lessons, ok? Just promise it won’t spoil your afternoon meal.”

“Promise!”

I gave Bowen her request as we left the kitchens, and realized that I had no idea where to take the princess for her lessons. “Now it’s your turn to follow.” She announced proudly, grabbing my hand and pulling me up the stairs.

And then I also play Dungeons and Dragons for the first time.

That’s basically the entire premise of the show. It takes the mysterious and occasionally troublesome Torchwood from being a side-story to a main one. We learn more about everyone’s favorite Captain Jack and see a more cop-style take on aliens without the Doctor’s tiresome “no killing” rule. Overall, it’s an interesting concept and a fun watch, but I do have some issues.

First of all, the most obvious problem I have is the lack of the Doctor, ever. I thought for sure he’d make an appearance during the season finales, but nope. Every once in a while Jack or the couple episode guest star Martha Jones will make a reference to the “right kind of Doctor”, but that’s about the only time he even comes up. Considering he and his ex-companion Rose are the whole reason Jack is basically immortal, I would have thought there’d be more crossover. But no, nothing. In fact, Jack never actually reveals how/why he became the way he is during an episode (although it was revealed over on the main show), nor does he ever make a definite statement on who this “right kind of Doctor” is. I get that it’s just a sideshow for Doctor Who, but I feel like it should also stand up on its own better, which is most assuredly doesn’t do. If you didn’t have a Doctor Who background (ie if you haven’t watched since the 2005 series reboot) you would have no idea what was going on for a lot of the time.

Second, the characters kind of annoy me sometimes. In particular, Gwen and Owen. I know Gwen’s supposed to be the female lead, but GOD does she have to be so annoying? She’s so whiny and tiresome and I just want to throttle her sometimes. She’s in love with just about everyone but her boyfriend/fiance, and then she gets all angry when people talk badly about said boyfriend/fiance. She’s a hypocrite and a coward and is sort of useless in the end. Like, what does she actually do? Tosh is the computer/technology expert, Owen is the doctor/medical examiner, Jack is the leader with all the excess knowledge that comes with his immortality, and even Ianto has background with Torchwood and cleans up after all their messes. Gwen’s thing is that she’s compassionate. Ooooooooo. BORING. Also, useless. Somehow she also became the second in command even though prior to Torchwood she’d never shot a gun or heard of aliens and she doesn’t even have seniority.

Then there’s Owen. Awful, weird looking, selfish Owen. I didn’t even realize until a couple episodes in what his worth was. He doesn’t strike me as a doctor at all. He’s also obnoxious as crap. He had more moments of good then Gaius Baltar of the Battlestar Galactica series (who I hate with every fiber of my being), but I still found myself wishing he was dead.

That all being said, I still really enjoyed this series (if only because of my Doctor Who background and my very obvious love for Captain Jack). I liked that we got this insight into Jack’s past, even if a lot of it seemed random and not very revealing in the end. I like the science fiction cop show feel, because I also love cop shows (I regularly watch The Mentalist, Castle, NCIS, NCIS:LA, CSI: NY, Psych, and NUMB3Rs when it was still on air).

Overall, if you have seen the last five and a half seasons of Doctor Who and you’re looking for something similar but a little more grown up (because I don’t think I’ve seen this much sex in a TV show since Daniel Meade from Ugly Betty), check out Torchwood. It just got picked up for another season, too, so look forward to that!

PS. The Ianto-Jack relationship, while ultimately anticlimactic as far as screen-time goes, is ADORABLE.

Every boy I’ve ever dated (including Sean) told me that he loved me, and every single time it was over the phone.

Mike told me he loved me about three days after we started dating (keep in mind, we’re both barely 15). We’d been talking on the phone and he had to go, so he hurriedly panted “love you!” and then promptly hung up. I was sitting on the carpet of my room pawing through the remnants of my makeup collection, sizing it up like the 15-year-old girl I was. The first time a boy told me he loved me was, as you can tell, very romantic.

Cody told me he loved me via text messaging, a few months after we started dating. At least this time the time line made more sense. We were texting about something else and somehow it came up that he sort of wanted to say something to me but he didn’t want me to freak out about it and I told him I felt the same [as of yet unnamed, ambiguous] feeling, and then he told me he loved me. D’awww.

Sean told me he loved me over the phone at 2am during the summer before my senior year of high school. It was even more of a surprise than the other two, partially because we’d met maybe once at this point, and partially because the way things were going I thought he just wanted to be friends. In fact, just hours before this phone conversation, I’d stood out on my deck, in the rain, and decided I didn’t want to get overly attached to him because I was bound to get hurt. Then he dropped the L bomb and what was I supposed to do? I loved him too, with my whole heart, so much that it sometimes physically hurt. But of course, I ended up getting hurt. We won’t go into that again, though.

The other common thread between these three boys was that when I started nearing my decision to break up with them (or, in Sean’s case, my decision to honor his decision to go into his first year of college unattached) I started this “you, too” thing. They’d say they loved me at the end of some conversation, and because I wasn’t really feeling the love anymore but I didn’t want to hurt them just yet, I’d reply with a simple “you, too.” Of course, this was more obvious than I’d originally thought it would be, because each boy picked up on it immediately and got very, very upset.

There really isn’t a point to this post, other than to remark about the similarities between my sole three romantic interludes. Maybe it was also to muse on the fact that, for being so easily “loved”, I sure spend a heck of a lot of time getting rejected. It’s just strange, I suppose, that every notable romantic endeavor I’ve ever entered into at some point included the words “I love you.” Because people say love isn’t an easy thing to attain, and yet something about me inspires it in the men I’m romantically attached to. I wonder what, if anything, that says about me.

Interestingly enough, my room has changed slightly since the filming of this video.

You remember Craig, right? He used to blog under the name Adventure Captain Pants on this very website. We traveled to LA last summer to go to VidCon together. He also appeared in several of my videos and before we left for college started a collab channel with me, TheAdamCastles. To refresh your memories, here are a few examples:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Click here to view the embedded video.

If you got through all three of those videos, you have a pretty good idea what our friendship was like. Random, fun, and close. I drove him to school almost every morning (we’re neighbors, have been so since we were five), and I was the first person other than his older sister (who didn’t believe him) that he came out to. For the first two or so years of high school, I was the only person he would talk to, because he was so shy. Sometimes we would just sit in my car in his driveway and talk for hours on end, until his cats were jumping all over my truck and the sun was nowhere to be seen.

So yea. Suffice it to say we were best friends. Got that? Best friends.

The first video embedded in this post was filmed on Craig’s last night in town before going off to college in Texas, at our high school. After he left, we texted, emailed, made videos, skyped, phoned, and even wrote letters. We were closer than ever, even 2000 miles apart.

And then came September. Apparently, some event I’m unaware of transpired between us (translation: nothing happened) and he stopped talking to me. Stopped returning texts, emails, videos, calls, the lot. Sound familiar? Oh, yeah, it’s EXACTLY WHAT DYLAN (and this guy named Taylor… different story) DID TO ME. With absolutely no provocation, Craig (and Dylan. And Taylor) stopped talking to me. And the few times I did manage to get him to respond to something (see: twice) his emails were sharp and unfriendly. He deleted me from his Facebook friends (cold, I know) and effectively cut me out of his life.

“I feel bad that you feel bad. But I don’t feel that my actions are wrong, which is what I don’t understand.” -December 2010

Yeah, thanks Craig. THAT explains a whole lot.

So in conclusion, for some reason my best friend no longer wants to talk to me, after absolutely no explanation or fight.

“I’ve been fully aware this entire time what an supreme asshole I am being.” -December 2010 (same email as above quote)

Awesome. So you’re self aware. *high five*

It’s gotten to a point where I no longer cry when I think about this, which is what tipped me off that I should share the situation with you all. Of course, every time I walk by his house to walk my dog, which is unavoidable, a little part of me dies. And of course, when I’m in one of those moods where everything sucks, this is the first thing my masochistic mind goes to.

No one else who personally knew Craig knows why he’s doing this. Not even Bart, who spent a lot of time with the two of us and who knows me better than anyone else (besides Rachel and, disgustingly, Craig). His behavior is a complete mystery to me and everyone else we knew who was privy to this information prior to this blog. And it sucks.

But I guess this is just one of those times where I have to buck it up and get over it. I’m very obviously not going to get an actual answer out of him, so the only thing that’s left for me to do is pick up the remaining pieces of my constantly-ravaged heart and work on putting them back together. I won’t let him do to me what Dylan and Sean did. I won’t stop my life because of him. I don’t deserve that, and clearly, he’s not worth it.

So for those of you who have been with me for this whole post, thank you. Thanks for listening to my BS personal problems and my deranged rants over the years. But I think I’m getting better. Don’t you?

Since being home I’ve been much busier than I expected, mostly because I’ve apparently matured to the point where I do dishes all the time and find myself compelled to grocery shop. It’s very strange. Even my mom has noticed a change in my behavior- less and less do I leave dirty dishes by the sink, laundry lying around, or trash all over the floor. I think I’m becoming -gulp- an adult. Which is weird. Very, very weird.

I’ve also been busy because a few months without stress of any kind is beyond me. It’s like I unconsciously seek out things to do for the very purpose of feeling that twinge of stress I usually only get when I’ve got an essay or something to finish. Things I’ve been doing to keep myself medicated with a regular dose of stress:

1. Starting new writing projects (a book about scamming reality shows, a play set only in interrogation rooms)

2. Editing old writing projects (revising Eugenia to a point where I’ll actually want to share it with people again)

3. Making videos (2 a week, one for BOW and one for These Folk, is harder than you might think)

4. Learning to cook (something I never expected myself to do. It’s so… domestic.)

5. Brainstorming speeches for next season (I might do a Tina Fey prose- fun!)

6. Starting a new job (for the first time in almost three years)

Most of that is pretty self explanatory, but because I hinted at it in my sad little Friday post, I feel like I owe you all something. I’m still getting an average of about 40 views a day, which is great, and I don’t want to let those 40 people down. (Lies. 30 of those hits are probably my dad. Sigh)

I’m now the official social media consultant for The Knitting Ranch. This basically means that I’ll be helping the owner with Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, LinkedIn, and her blog. In addition to that, because she knows I’m comfortable writing, I’ll be doing some, well, writing for her as it pertains to her business. Blurbs, statements, that sort of thing. It’s pretty exciting, especially considering it means I don’t have to get a “real job”. Plus, I’m actually using my talents, rather than flipping burgers or staring boredly out the window of a nursing home (been there, done that). Social media is something I’m not only comfortable with, but good at. I know how the internet works, and I know how to use it to its full potential.

Whew. So that’s basically what I’ve been up to. This summer I’ll be pushing myself creatively harder than ever before, because the impending doom of adulthood is looming, and it’s never too early to start earning a living.

Rachel and I had to stay up for our 12-3am Relay for Life time slot, so during a viewing of the King’s Speech, Chad and Chris came over and we ended up making pancakes.

In which I stab myself, make polenta, and utterly suck at disc golf.

In which I talk about a book and discuss my utter failure at disc golf.

1. Campus events. No matter what size school you’re at, your college is going to have events all the freaking time. Sometimes they’re student performances, like dance recitals, plays, and band or choir concerts. But sometimes they’re also things like dances, celebrity lectures, magic shows, and film screenings. Take advantage of these things, because they’re specifically planned for you and usually don’t cost much, if any, money. You’d be surprised how much fun you can have.

2. Community outreach. A big part of a college town’s economy (and culture) is its college, so oftentimes businesses will give college students discounts and deals. In my town, there’s a movie theater just off campus that offers dollar movies for students (They’ve had Inception, Easy A, and a whole bunch of others), and nearly ever cafe or diner gives you a few bucks off of meals if you show your ID. On Thursdays, you can go to the bowling alley for free, and the pool hall has a few hours every night where you can do the same thing. Getting off campus to have some fun doesn’t have to be expensive. Pay attention to these deals and plan your outings with them in mind.

3. Screw sleep. Let’s get real for a minute here. Yes, your priority in college should be your classes, because you don’t have to spend $30,000 to play beer pong. But that doesn’t mean you have to go to bed at 9pm every single night. We’ve all had times in our lives where we’ve had to deal without sleep, and while it’s sometimes uncomfortable, it’s survivable. Sometimes events go late, like dances and film screenings, and you don’t have to feel guilty if you go. Staying up late with friends probably shouldn’t be a daily habit, but every once in a while won’t kill you. Trust me. Live a little. Just don’t be stupid about it.

4. Get involved. People have been telling you this since high school, but it doesn’t make it any less valuable of advice. You don’t have to be a varsity athlete to play sports, and you don’t have to be the next Bach to play music. Join a club, intramural sport, or musical campus group. Audition for a play, enlist in an academic group, or even join a study group. There are so many opportunities to take advantage of on a college campus, and it would be a shame to let them pass you by.

Or not. If you’re careful, you can avoid both the freshman fifteen and extreme indigestion while still remaining within your meal plan.

1. Variety. Don’t be that kid who only ever eats pizza and tacos. I’ll give you that dining halls aren’t known for their great variety in foods, but there is definitely more than freaking pizza and tacos. Trust me. At my school (which is admittedly more impressive foodwise than most) there’s a salad bar, a sandwich station, a pasta toss, a stir fry station, the pizza area, the grill (for hamburgers and such), and then a section that either caters entirely to vegetarians or cooks a recipe a student has brought from home. Don’t just go to one or two- it’s been proven that the best way to lose weight is to eat a variety of foods so your body doesn’t get bored.

2. Find something other than bread. From the list above, the only station that isn’t predominantly carbs (pasta, bread, rice, noodles) is the salad bar. That’s where they’ll get you, the massive amounts of bread. I know salad is kind of a crap meal, but it won’t kill you to have it once in a while. Try and load up on fruit or oatmeal at breakfast, instead of toast and instant waffles, because for the rest of the day, it’s bread or air.

3. Keep track of your meal plan. First semester, I ran out of money on my meal plan about a month before Christmas break. Ouch. Some colleges allow you to check your balance online, and others you can just ask when you’re checking out how much money you have left. Keep on top of it, or you’ll end up hungrier than ever.

4. Figure out the best cooks. At your dining hall, there will probably be a semi-regular rotation of chefs working at various stations. Try out each, and figure out who makes the best pasta, or grills the best burger, and only get those foods when those people are working. It’ll help you with your variety and ensure your food is better.

5. You don’t need desert at every meal. If you school is anything like mine, the desert area is the biggest, piled high with cookies and brownies and cake. I know it’s tempting, but you don’t need it for every meal. Try to limit yourself to one desert a day, or even less, if you have self control (I don’t). Those brownies will be there tomorrow. And the next day. You don’t need them all the time.

6. If you can, take your food to go. My school offers “to go” boxes that you can get food in so you can bring them back to your dorm. If yours has a similar policy, get extra food and take it as leftovers. That way, you get two (or three!) meals for the price of one.

Here are some tips I learned:

1. Figure out when people most often shower. Communal bathrooms are notorious for not having enough showers for the amount of people who need them. But there are usually certain times of the day in which the showers are completely open. Keep your eye out for this, and plan accordingly. If you have to, only shower really late at night. There are rarely any people in there at 1am.

2. Try out every shower. Did I mention communal bathrooms suck? Because they do. What makes them suck even more is that usually there are only one or two decent showers out of the bunch. So make sure you figure out early which showers have the right amount of pressure for your personal hygiene needs.

3. Establish a regular sleeping pattern for your roommate to observe. If you’re like me, you probably value a decent night’s sleep before classes, and you usually don’t leave your room after about 9pm. Make sure your roommate knows the times in which you’re usually in bed, so if they’re out an about they know to be quiet upon returning. Also, it usually tips them off when they need to get their friends out of the room so you don’t have to ask.

4. Keep your side of the room contained. There’s nothing more annoying than finding your roommate’s pants littered around the room where you’re likely to slip on them and fall when it’s 8am and you have a Spanish quiz you’re not prepared for. Your side of the room doesn’t have to be pristine, but at least keep the mess on your side. It’s common courtesy, and your roommate will greatly appreciate it.

5. Establish good relationships with your neighbors, even if you aren’t friends. The walls in college are very thin, and at some point you’re probably going to have to yell at the people around you for being obnoxious at three in the morning. This yelling will be a lot less awkward and a lot better received if you already know your neighbors. Plus, you’re probably have to walk by them in a towel to take a shower or in pajamas without makeup, so if you all like each other, it will be less painful. Trust me.

6. Don’t blast music. I don’t care what time of the day it is, if it’s 9am or lunchtime or after midnight. No one wants to hear your shitty techno dance remixes. Put in headphones, or at least turn it down so that it’s contained to your room.

7. For the first few weeks, leave your door open as much as possible. Trust me, most everyone you’ll meet in your dorms are as lost and alone as you are. Leaving your door open, even for just the first week or two, will give you the opportunity to say hi and get to know people. There’s almost no effort involved and it’s great if you’re a social recluse like me.

8. Wear flip flops in the shower. I can never understand when I see people showering barefoot in the communal bathrooms. That floor is disgusting. Those showers are disgusting. *shudder*

9. No one cares what you look like in the morning. Seriously. For a while I was really self conscious about leaving my room without at least doing my hair or something, but then I realized that everyone (well, most everyone) looks like crap in the mornings, and no one is really looking. Unless there’s someone on the hallway you’re super eager to impress at all hours of the day, you don’t need your makeup done before you go take your morning dump.

10. People are going to have sex next door. Deal with it. Why is it that 3 in the morning is a good time to romp? I don’t understand. But unless you’re going to an uber religious school, you’re probably going to hear at least one hookup next door by the time you’re done with your first year of college. If you’re the person having sex, try to keep it down. People are trying to sleep. If you’re the person trying to sleep, put headphones in and just wait it out. They’re drunk college students. How long could it last?

Sorry for the late video. I was cooking all day and editing for These Folk, and this is all I could get to you. BUT. I did post a video on my allotted day, so… I think I should get props. Alright. Time for bed. I have a physical and then an allergy shot tomorrow morning. Yay.

I say sort of because it isn’t about being asked out, or asking someone out. Not exactly. Because, see, before you ask someone out, you usually want to be sure they like you, right? Like like you. And sometimes that’s the most difficult part.

And you know what I realized this morning? I’ve never told a guy I’ve liked him before. Not directly. I’ve flirted with people, sure, but that’s not nearly the same. The guy has always made the first move in my life. I didn’t tell Kaden and John in 2nd grade, didn’t tell Taylor in 6th grade, didn’t tell Dylan or Thane 7th-9th grade, and I didn’t even tell my boyfriends. And I’d like to think I missed out on a lot of opportunities because of it, “it” being the ambiguity I allow between myself and someone I’m interested in because I’m severely afraid of rejection.

So I did something rather cowardly but also rather bravely. I told someone I liked them.

I did it over Facebook direct message, so feel free to call me out as the coward that I am, but in my defense, he lives over 1000 miles away and it wouldn’t have made sense to wait until next year because then the entire summer would have been wasted on the aforementioned ambiguity. And you know what happened? I got rejected.

Don’t worry, he was really, incredibly nice about it. He simply likes someone else. But we agreed we really enjoyed being friends and didn’t want to lose that.

I’m not going to pretend I’m not a little bit disappointed. But more than that, I’m proud. I’m proud that even though I chose one of the most detached forms of communication to let him know how I felt, I still did it. I still put myself out there in a way that I’ve never even considered doing before.

This is me applying what I learned in Bri 2.0, that if I want something, I have to say something. I can’t just expect other people to come to me, because that’s not really how it works. Relationships, friendships, they’re a two way street. Epic romances don’t just happen, you have to work for it. You have to care enough to risk getting hurt.

And even though my first time taking a risk like this didn’t work out in the slightest… that’s ok. Because now I know I have it in me to be the person I like to pretend I am. Maybe next time I’ll even do it in person. But let’s not get too carried away.

It’s another “create” week, and I’m in Arizona!

Well, ok. It’s not completely full of crap. There were some things on the list that I definitely needed. But they also left some important things out. So here’s my revised list of what you should bring your first year of college:

1. Vacuum. I’m dead serious. You only need a little one, a handheld one, but you definitely need one. You have no idea how dirty dorm rooms can get, especially if you’re a girl. One word- hair. At the end of the year, I was vacuuming my desk, there were so many dust bunnies. It’s nasty.

2. Sheets that fit. For some reason colleges think it’s a good idea to provide you beds that no department store ever has sheets for. Keep an eye out for flyers specifically from your college that sell the correctly sized sheets- they may be a bit more expensive, but at least they fit.

3. Electric kettle- As in one of those water heating dealies. It’s wonderful, especially if you don’t have a kitchen. I used it almost every day, for oatmeal, hot chocolate, tea, instant coffee, soup when I was sick, you name it. You can get them cheap at Target too, so make sure to pick one up.

4. Winter clothes (provided you’re going somewhere that has a winter)- Usually you’re packing for college during the summer, and that can trick you into forgetting key winter items. For some reason, I left my winter pea coat at home when I first packed. Mistake. MISTAKE. You might think you can get away with picking up winter clothes when you’re home for Thanksgiving or something, but you can’t. At that point it’s mid-November and cold.

5. Soap (of all varieties)- Not only do you need soap for showering, but you also need dish soap, laundry soap, and maybe even regular hand soap. College is dirty, especially in dorms and especially when you use a communal bathroom. You can probably get away with just rinsing your dishes for a little while, but trust me. You’re going to wish you had soap if you don’t.

6. Extra bags- You’re going to end up with a lot more stuff at the end of your year than you originally brought, so make sure you’re prepared. I’m an idiot, so I actually brought home some extra bags because I didn’t think I’d need them. Hoo boy, did I need them. It doesn’t hurt to have extra baggage laying around. You never know.

7. Food- Granola bars, trail mix, whatever. You need something nonperishable to snack on when it’s 2 in the morning and the dining hall is closed and you’re so hungry your stomach is devouring itself.

8. Flash drives/external hard drives- Especially if you don’t have your own printer (which is a bonus recommendation), you’ll need something more reliable than email to keep your assignments on.

9. Laundry hamper- Honestly? Speaks for itself.

10. Work out/ bum clothes- You know, the teeshirts and shorts that you wouldn’t wear out in public but you keep anyways. When I decided I didn’t want to be fat anymore, I realized at the same time that I didn’t have any good workout clothes, not perceiving a need for them. Also, they’re just nice to have so if you go on a service project or something you don’t get nice clothes all mussed up.

That’s about all the stuff I can think of, other than the obvious stuff, like underwear and school supplies. With this list, your college experience should be off to a good start.

The roadtrip home from college.

Not much has been going on in my life lately. I got home from school with all my crap last Wednesday night, then I was sick until about… today. Now I’m more just sniffly than I am actually sick.

Since my return from college, I’ve watched a lot of TV. I’ve decided to watch Ugly Betty in its entirety on Netflix, and after that I’m going to start Friday Night Lights from the beginning (I only started watching last season ish). Augh. I’m so lazy.

On the writing front… there hasn’t been much. I’d planned to spend this summer editing Eugenia and Dawned, but I’m gonna be honest. I don’t have a lot of motivation. I’m sort of wiped intellectually, if that makes sense.

On the plus side, though, I got all As this semester, so I’d like to think that’s a pretty decent end to my first year in college.

Speaking of my first year of college. My now massive amount of experience in college has spurred a new how to series. How To: Survive your first year of college, coming in the next few weeks! I’ll teach you how to handle the dorms, roommates, classes, food, and just plain being away from home. Would that be interesting to anyone? I don’t care. I’m doing it anyways.

In other news… it’s kind of hard to woo someone from 1,100 miles away. Just sayin’.

This week is story week, so my video (I switched days with Simon) won’t make any sense until you watch everyone else’s.

This is my character-by-character analysis of the show and what I think they need to do in order to cling to their audience for another season.

Rachel: We get it. She’s a fame-crazy nutcase who loves Finn and is crazy. Did I mention that? That she’s crazy? Because she is. Completely, absolutely crazy. And it’s getting tired. I like what they’ve been doing- giving her friends and lines that aren’t totally self centered, but I feel like it’s kind of cheap in regards to character development. Ok, so she’s slightly less crazy nowadays, but it’s been two seasons. Let the girl have an episode where we as an audience don’t want to collectively slap her in the face!

Finn: Oh God just let it end. I don’t care about Finn and his “meh” singing ability and his towering height and his dumb smile. He isn’t a good enough singer to waste so much valuable air time on as a character. Why is he the lead again? He might just be the dumbest guy in the world. Let’s recap. At the beginning of the series, he was dating Quinn and wanting desperately into her pants, but she was a good Christian and always denied him. Then Finn’s best friend got her drunk on wine coolers and knocked her up. Then she had the baby. Then he dated Rachel, who at one point in a jealous tizzy (for something I don’t really remember) also cheated on him with aforementioned best friend. So they broke up. Then Finn starts cheating with Quinn on her new boyfriend, Sam, who she was really adorable and sweet with, and now they’re dating again even though sometimes he inexplicably can’t keep his eyes off of Rachel. …what? I DON’T CARE. STOP PUTTING HIS STORIES IN THERE. I’M DONE WITH FINN.

Mr. Shu: *shudder* Mr. Shu gives me the creeps. He’s only a couple years older IRL than some of his on-show “students.” Just something about him makes me cringe. He looks weird when he lip syncs and I don’t really like him as a character all that much. Cool, he’s an ex-Glee member with the occasional delusion of grandeur. Also he’s a Spanish teacher with stiff curly hair. I just find him incredibly creepy and I wish they’d stop spending so much time on his boring home drama. Your wife went crazy and pretended to be pregnant and then you got divorced and now you drool over the OCD guidance counselor. I. Don’t. Care.

Quinn: Augh. Same as Finn, I’m kind of over Quinn as a character, and like Rachel, I don’t think she’s been given enough character development. Also, did we just kind of forget that she was PREGGERS last season? I feel like that’s one of the only interesting things about her, so why don’t we talk about that more? I get that she’s trying to distance herself from the shame, but having a baby isn’t something you just do and then move on from. It’s deeply emotional, even if it was an accident, it will change you forever. So why is she still a raging bitch? Also, does she not hang out with Brittany and Santana anymore? They were all tight as cheerios, but now… Quinn mostly just cheats on people and her two ex best buds make out. Do the writers realize that this means Quinn has pretty much… 0 friends? Hm.

Artie- I feel like we don’t hear enough from Artie. Maybe they think because he’s in a wheelchair we’ll forget he doesn’t actually have anything interesting going on about him other than the fact that he’s apparently the go-to rapper of the club. I’m sorry, what? It’s definitely new, but… really?

Tina- Do we know anything about Tina, other than she loves Mike Chang so much she sometimes cries when she sings about him? Weird. Give her more air time. I’m done with the whiny white kids for now.

Mike Chang- Even the characters on the show don’t just call him “Mike.” He’s the designated pop-and-lock-er. We might actually know less about him than we do about Tina. Change that. I find him amusing.

Brittany- Brilliant, hillarious character. Don’t change a thing, but if you must… let her perform more. Singing and dancing wise. She’s fantastic at both, and one of the most well-rounded talents on cast. CAPITALIZE ON THIS!

Santana- I like where they’ve been going with her character, what with giving her a reason for the crazy. As with Brittany… let her sing more. She’s got a really great voice and I think everyone would appreciate a little less Rachel and a little more Santana.

Puck- He’s also a fun character, and we see a lot less of him this season, which is a shame. He’s HOT. I’m over his thing with Lauren, though, because it’s a little too weird for me. Also, I feel like he also needs to be reminded every once in a while that, biologically, he’s a freaking FATHER. I like his friendship with Artie, though. It’s unexpected but actually kind of works. They need to do more with it, though.

Lauren- New character, meant to be a little cringe-inducing. Eh. Stop giving her so many lines, I don’t care enough about her story to want to hear her blab all the time.

Mercedes- WHY DOES SHE NOT SING MORE?? She might be the best singer on the dang show, and yet we always seem to forget that because she gets a song maybe once every three episodes. Augh.

Kurt- I am so DONE with Kurt as a victim. Boo hoo. You were bullied and then you moved schools and then you moved back because you’re a spineless sob story. I understand they want to make Kurt more than the stereotypical sassy gay friend, but honestly, his being the constant-victim is almost worse. I want them to turn him into something of an Ugly Betty’s Mark. He’s sassy and confident and funny, yes, which Kurt has the potential to be, but he also has a well-rounded back story and is interesting as a character.  (I miss that show so much please bring it back)

Darren Criss (Blaine)- I love you more than life itself. I don’t care that you’re basically the only Warbler that sings. You’re wonderful and beautiful and they should give you more airtime. (SHIRTLESS airtime. Amiright?)

Sue- Keep her as she is.

Sam- I actually really like Sam as a character, poor guy, especially now that football season is over. He seems like he’s genuinely nice, a new one for this show. Give him a girl, he deserves it.

Korovsky- I dunno how to spell his name. He’s Kurt’s bully, and I’m over him. He can’t sing or dance and he’s really just an annoying side story I couldn’t care less about. Songs or GTFO.

Did I cover everyone? I think I covered everyone.

Childhood week! Also… I’m sick again. Woo.

What I expected:

I had a lot of weird expectations for college. First, I expected there to be this pool of single, datable guys that I could just pick from at any given time. Second, I assumed all my classes would be incredible and thought provoking and fun. Third, I didn’t think I’d make any friends past my roommate.

What I got:

There isn’t a pool of single, datable guys I can just pick from at any given time. Relocating isn’t like Twilight wants you to think- not everyone will think you’re the freaking coolest most beautiful thing ever. You’re just one freshman in a sea of other freshmen, biding your time. Once I realized this, I had pretty low expectations for romance. And then in the past two months I’ve been hit on by five separate people, and I even made out with one of them (twice!) after only knowing him about two weeks. That’s not like me. That’s not like me at all. But you know what? I’m not an idiot, and I’m not a slut. I’m just a girl. A girl who has been kissed in the last two years. The best part is I don’t feel bad about myself because of it. It’s just kissing. I wasn’t emotionally attached, and he certainly wasn’t either. And that’s ok. Because I have other things in mind for my life.

My classes are not all incredible and thought provoking and fun either. Some of them are a lot of the time. But mostly, they’re just… classes. They’re both harder and easier than the ones I took in high school, but in the end, I’m still in school. Next year should be better- I’ll actually get to start taking classes for my major (and minor?).

Finally, though, friends. Friends. That was a hilarious concept to me for a while. I knew friend, singular. Rachel. Rachel was my friend. What, other people could make that word plural? WHAT? I didn’t have high expectations for myself here. I assumed I’d be good friends with my roommate and that’s about it. I don’t need other friends, I told myself. I’m here to get a degree and learn to be a responsible adult.

And then I went on my voyage and met Maya and Ellen. Even though Maya gradually stopped hanging out with us, Ellen and I got closer than ever. Then I met my neighbor Gavin, who turned out to be one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. Then Gavin introduced Ellen and I to Alex down the hall, who then introduced us to Michelle. Michelle was in my FYS class, along with Gavin, Henry, and Desi. Then I signed up to have a radio show, where I met Dion, the guy who had his show after mine. I also joined the speech team, where I met Mark, David, Dan, Shane, Blaise, Lindsey, Lilly, Nicole, Colton, and Gustavo. Through speech meets I met Dalton, Laramy, Dalicia, and Chris. Then I met Kevin from down the hall, and Jackson from watching a movie, and Michael from class (and Dion). Throughout the year I got more acquainted to the people on my hall, including my roommate Jenn, Tiara, Aysia, Gabe, Rupa, Alex H, Sebastian, Michael H, and everyone else.

Before I knew it, I was taking walks at midnight, watching Borat and talking until 4am, going on weekend excursions to Portland with no plan, riding the transit after dark, dancing in my junior homecoming dress until 1am with strobe lights flitting across my bare arms, and screaming Disney songs on a swing set after not having showered for five days.

The best part about college is that people who become my friends seem to genuinely like me, something that, let’s be honest, doesn’t happen a lot to me. In high school, it seemed like most of the people I hung out with were only friends with me for convenience and lack of anyone better to sit with at lunch. They were passive aggressive, jealous, angry, and sometimes just plain nasty. Most of the time I would have rather pulled out my teeth than spend more time with them.

But here… here it’s different. Maybe it’s because we’re all out of place. Maybe it’s because people are more mature. Or maybe it’s just because the people I graduated with kind of sucked on the whole. It’s really freeing to realize that people aren’t like that for the rest of my life. And it’s even more freeing to realize that I might actually enjoy the next three years.

So. College. So far, so good.

In which the boys are gross and mean to me and I pop my colla’ like a boss.

This is the final section of a larger collaborative project for my video activism class, but Michael (the director) and I (the editor) loved it so much we knew we had to upload it in its singularity for the betterment of mankind.

Starring:

Alex Hintz- Protagonist/ Narrator
Dion MacDonald- Douche #1
Colton Markham- Douche #2
Bri Castellini- Fallen Artist #1/ Camerawoman/ Chief Editor
Kevin Taucher- Fallen Artist #2
Conner Murdock- Nerd Artist
Michael Henderson- Director/ Writer/ Cameraman

For my music notation class I have to write a song as a final project. This includes melodically notating the lyrics and figuring out some form of piano accompaniment. Here is a picture of my progress as of two days ago:

The song I’m doing is one I wrote earlier this year called Single. I had another version of Single that I posted a music video for, but I decided I wanted to redo it. With, like, actual music.

Single is about Sean. “You only like me when you’re single” type of deal. The lyrics tell the story of me realizing he’s a selfish jerk and saying that I’ve got better things to do than wait around for him to realize that I was the best thing he ever had. It’s a rather empowering song, considering how long his crap went on.

Anyways. I had to explain the song a bit to my music teacher when I went in for help on the arrangement. I obviously didn’t give him much of a background past “he was only friends me when he was single and it was convenient for him.” My poor professor didn’t need me to explain to him Facebook meetups and other lurid details.

So this morning in class before anyone else got to the room, he admitted he still didn’t understand my song entirely. “Why would you be with a guy that ignored you?” was essentially his biggest concern.

I told him it was complicated.

I found this whole thing amusing. If I can’t laugh about Sean, crap, where would I be?

See, it’s dangerous because then I got it into my head that I’m a poet again. This happens periodically, where I have this great burst of crazy that can only be expressed with the

broken lines of

free

verse

poetry.

But I’m not a poet. Really, I’m not. I’m a fiction writer, and a blogger, and occasionally an essayist. Poetry is something that should be reserved for those of us that drip flowers from their tongue and ink straight from the arteries surrounding their heart. I am not one of these people. My poems are just barely contained rants broken up strategically so that they appear to be what they most assuredly are not: poems.

This faze will pass, I’m sure. Sooner than later, I hope. The problem with my writing poetry (or whatever it is that I write) is that something about those strategically broken lines opens something in me. It forces me to look at things differently, and reevaluate how I feel about people, events, myself. And it always comes just when I thought I was secure. Safe. Safe. Secure. I said it more than once. That means something bad is going to happen.

The funny thing about my non-poetry is that it’s the most honest I can possibly be without actually saying anything straight out. I reveal more through twenty to thirty lines of nonsense than I do in a 300 word blog post or a two hour Facebook chat.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this. All I know is that there is a dance tomorrow night. Semi formal. I’m wearing a dress. My black one, the one I wore to two homecomings in a row even though that’s supposed to be some sort of horrible female faux paus. And I don’t know why I’m doing this.

That’s a lie. Yes I do. What I don’t know is what’s going to happen. And that really freaks me out, because up until this point I’ve had complete and total control over what has been going on in my life, which is rare. Sure, it’s because I don’t actually have any idea what’s going on half the time with the people around me, but at least I’m in control.

That’s another thing about poetry. I don’t have any control over it. That sucks. Because sometimes I’ll write something, and then I’ll look at it, and realize it’s true, and hate myself for it. And then I’ll be mildly impressed that my subconscious has managed to dig something like that up. And then I’ll get lonely because I remember that one of my best friends is being deployed to Afghanistan in January even though Osama’s dead and my other best friend is home without me and my other best friend won’t talk to me because apparently I’m no longer cutting it for him.

See, this is what poetry brings out in me. The self pitying. The angst I like to pretend I left in my 8th grade journals. The deep, clenched loneliness that can’t be lifted no matter how many Reeses Pieces I consume, and no matter how good Ryan Reynolds looked on the cover of that GQ magazine. Because when it comes down to it, even after the

strategically broken lines,

and the

sassy inflection

sometimes I’m still sad. And I don’t want to be sad anymore. I just haven’t found the right combination of things in order to maintain a more consistent good mood. But I think I’m getting close.

My final Budapest video!

He used to call me

darling.

Among other

equally archaic terms of endearment.

So the term has a weird association with me.

It also reminds me of the color

green.

A muted green, almost gray

like that thermal shirt he wore

over the white teeshirt

in that picture on his Facebook profile

that makes him look 30.

He also used to call me

ma cherie.

That’s French for

“my darling”

He went to France once.

Paris.

He told me a story

about when he was drunk

(because the drinking age is lower

in Paris)

He told me a story about

mooning a tourist boat.

I don’t know why that’s something I so distinctly remember about him.

I wasn’t even there.

I didn’t get to Paris

for another year and a half.

Paris

as they say

is the city of love.

And I thought about that a lot

as I walked along the edge of the Sienne

tripping over cobblestone streets with a

Bella Swan-like affinity for falling down.

It was the same river where that boat got a front row view of

his pale, bony, drunk ass.

That connection was interesting to me.

We eventually met, of course, but I don’t think I ever felt so

connected

to him, the way I felt when I was in Paris.

And I think that’s partially because it’s the city of love.

Because I did love him

I loved him with my whole heart, and with whatever else I could scrap together.

I loved him with such an intensity

it physically pained me

crushed me like a fallen hunk of cement

until I could no longer breathe.

And the worst part about that love

that deep, affectionate, unruly love

was that it was wasted on him.

And I hated myself for that.

I didn’t hate myself because he treated me like

bargain shop shoes

I didn’t hate myself because he made me feel,

at least sometimes,

like I was the most beautiful girl in the world,

like I was strong

sexy

incredible.

I hated myself because he didn’t know he was an asshole,

and I did,

and I decided to pretend to forget about it.

Either way

every time I hear

“darling”

I cringe

and then I smile.

Everything seems kind of far away

like I’m looking the wrong way through binoculars.

That’s weird.

The paper crinkles in my hand a bit,

and although I’m sure it’s only loud to me

I cringe.

Even as I gaze out

and speak awkwardly into the microphone

I don’t really see anything.

Just shapes, colors, textures in his hair

God, that hair is curly.

But why am I not looking at you?

Honestly, you’re really the only one I want to impress

The only one that makes me feel both powerful and

incredibly, utterly, unendingly

insignificant.

You make me want to be smart,

not just pretend to be smart.

I read a poem about a friend

and I hear a few chuckles here and there

and a few sighs of sympathy.

Then I read a poem about penises,

and wishing I could pee standing up.

My face feels like there’s a millimeter thick mask on my face

that burns like the heating pad

my mom used to give me when I had cramps.

It was ugly and light turquoise

and it reminded me of sickness, and hospital rooms.

Have I ever even been in a hospital room?

Because I’m a good speech goon,

I look up from time to time as I read,

taking the time to pause strategically,

continue blushing from the whoops and waves of laughter

but I don’t really see anything.

I see him, but that’s mostly because he’s right up front.

And when I say I see him, I use the word loosely

Because I don’t really see anything.

Hypothetically, you’re right behind him

and because I’m higher up, on the stage, behind the podium

I should be able to see you

But I don’t.

I think I’m… afraid.

Afraid to look up at you and see you not laughing

See you just staring at me blankly

as I ramble on about yellow Hummers and boobs.

I think what scares me the most, though,

is looking up and seeing you laughing your ass off

and still feeling

inadequate.

My friends like to call me an old person, because generally my bedtime falls between 9pm and midnight at the VERY LATEST, and averages out at about 10:30. Even weekends don’t alter this pattern. Gimme a break, I’m usually tired by like 4pm. I’m still a teenager. It’s practically in my biology to be perpetually lethargic. Whatever.

Anyways. Lately, I’ve decided to stop being such a boring person. Because let’s be honest- I’m kind of boring, all things considered. I don’t really get out much. The reason my most recent blogs haven’t been about my life is because, well, I don’t do anything. Most of my time is spent either in class, doing homework, eating, sleeping, watching Scrubs on Netflix Instant Play, and going to Blockbuster with Ellen and Colton.

So as I told my friend Jackson the other day, I’ve decided to start saying “yes” to more things, regardless of the time of night. And this has led to me having a myriad of late-night adventures that I thought I should share, just to prove that I’m evolving as a person. Because I totally am. Evolving as a person, that is.

About three or so weeks ago, I was on Facebook at around 10:30, my usual bedtime, if you remember. My friend Jackson was also online, and somehow we decided to watch a movie. Although I was already in my pajamas, I figured it couldn’t hurt, so we watched Borat together until 12:30am, and then talked until well after 3. I had to get up at 8:30, but I had a great time.

Three days after that, he found his way to a cafe just off campus where Ellen and Colton and I were finishing up dinner, and I ended up following him back to his room to watch a movie, Equilibrium. Awesome movie, by the way. We hung out from about 9-3:30am, watching YouTube videos, listening to music, and just hanging out.

And then just two nights ago, Saturday night, my friends Dion and Michael (who I’ve never actually really talked to in real life… hah) were hanging out and asked if I’d like to join them. Again, I was already in my pajamas, and halfway through a Ricky Gervais movie, but gosh darn it, how often do these opportunities come up? It wasn’t like I had to get up early the next morning. So I met them in Dion’s room, and we took an hour long walk around Forest Grove, just talking. After that we went back to Dion’s room to watch an episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and two episodes of some other show on Adult Swim. I ended up back in my room around 3am.

The point? Well, really, the point is that I’m making friends. After I met Ellen it didn’t seem like I really needed any more, but that’s kind of a pessimistic way to see the world. Why not try to make as many friends as I can? They can’t all turn out to suck, like most people in high school.

I used to think growing up was comprised of taking on more personal responsibility and entering into a serious, long-term relationship. But it’s not really about that, is it? Not entirely, at least.

Saturday morning Colton, Ellen, and I were having a conversation about how much middle school sucked. Colton claimed that if he ever has kids, he’ll homeschool them for that period of time, but I disagreed with his fix. Middle school sucked, but then so did high school. They’re useful, though, those years of torment and passive aggression. They teach you to depend on yourself, and how to discern between good and bad people.

But I can see his point, too. Because middle and high school have hardened me significantly. I now have something of a “trust quota” in which I can only handle having so many people in my life at a time before I start getting paranoid. Losing friends to ridiculous and unexplained circumstances will do that to you.

That sucks. That sucks a lot. Why should seven years of school ruin the rest of my life? Why should Craig, Mia, Kelli, Zach, Dylan, Sean, and Taylor’s actions limit the number of friends I’m psychologically able to have at a time? Why should the crap they put me through set the precedent for the rest of my life?

So you know what? Screw sleeping. I can sleep when I’m dead. I have friends to make.

How do you pronounce Eugenia?

“You-Jen-EE-Uh.” It’s the combination of “Utopia” and “Eugenics”, so you basically pronounce it like that.

Why did so many people die?

Because people have to die in order for a point to be made, especially in speculative fiction. Also, I’m a sadist.

From Emily: Although I liked it all, I did notice a giganto change in voice(idk if that’s the right term or not, but I hope you get what I mean) from the beginning to the end.  Was that a purposeful thing?

On some level, it might have been. There’s a definite shift in the feel of the story from beginning to end, especially when we get to the darker parts of the FF system, so that may have been reflected in my voice/tone. But overall, I didn’t necessarily mean for it to be that big of a change in voice, just in story. If you could point out a couple of places where you saw that happened, or specific examples, that would be a lot of help. Thanks, Emily, and your hair looks great!!

From Tiara: In three separate occasions, you wrote how old Emma was, starting by saying she was 6, then 5, and then saying that she was celebrating her 5th birthday. How old is she?

Ah. Emma is supposed to be five, turning six. I should probably fix that… haha. Thanks for pointing that out!

From my dad: How long did it take you to write it from idea formation to completion?

I can honestly say… I didn’t set out to actually finish Eugenia. It was born from Bri 2.0 as just something to play with on Thursdays, my “write fiction” days. I started writing the story about the same time that I posted it; January 28th, 2010. I finished writing it on October 2nd. So… it took me longer to write than Dawned (my NaNoWriMo book), but it was still under a year.

Also from my dad: Is Meg based on anyone real or I know? How about any of the other characters?

There are bits of real people in all my characters, and generally my protagonists have a lot of me in them. However, Meg is a bit different. She’s a lot less sarcastic than I am, and not nearly as closed off, like most of my characters reflect. Specifically, though, I can’t give you who people are supposed to be. They’re all kind of unique, with bits of everyone I’ve ever known fit in randomly.

Again from Dad: How many times have YOU read it?

Ugh. Not nearly enough, clearly. I try not to read my books all the way through over and over until I’ve finished them, because it tends to discourage or distract me. But I’ve probably read it in its entirety five or six times. And I’ll be reading it even more this summer.

Dad:  Toward the beginning, you hooked me with Meg sitting in the tree listening to class, then eventually approaching a student in a grocery store (Decklan??). Some very suspenseful writing. Did those suspense and some of the action scenes come naturally to your story development, or did they require more “work” to write?

Yes, it was Decklan that Meg approached first after class and then at his job at the grocery store. I guess I didn’t realize that was suspenseful. Weird. But action and suspense come pretty natural to me. I’ve been writing spy novels for the past three years, so even though I switched genre, I’m pretty set in my ways. If there’s not at least one fight scene (in something I write), then I get bored. Sometimes I’d have to consult Google or my many male friends for specifics in the action scenes, but on the whole I just sort of go with it.

But why did ANDY have to die?

Because Andy was too nice. There’s not a lot of impact in his death for the readers (my fault, it’s only the first draft, so I’ll fix that later) but the point I was trying to make was that if you fight fire with fire and elitism with elitism and violence with violence, good people are going to die. And that’s not ok.

Why did you decide to write in this genre, since it was your first deviation from spy novels?

I decided to write a speculative fiction (“social science fiction”, “dystopian”, whatever) novel for a couple of reasons. First, I wanted to, as you pointed out, deviate from spy novels because they were getting a bit old and I needed a change. Second, although I wanted to change genres, I wanted to still include fight scenes and spy elements. Third, I wanted to write something with a tinge of social commentary. So this seemed like the genre for all of that. Now I’m addicted to it. It’s practically all I read anymore.

WHY DID YOU END IT THAT WAY ASIFUADFKJHASKJLFHWEIAF ANGER?!?!?

Ah, the ambiguous ending. My mom has already expressed her distaste with it. However, I stood by it when I wrote it, and after a Studies in Fiction discussion on “speculative fiction,” I stand by it just as much. Here’s why:

Eugenia is “speculative fiction.” That means that the events that occur in the book are centered around what the world could be like, if we don’t change some behavior in the present time. The modern behavior I’m condemning in Eugenia is that of intellectual elitism. But that’s not important right now.

The Studies in Fiction discussion I mentioned was in relation to the books Woman on the Edge of Time and The Handmaid’s Tale, both speculative fiction, and both with ambiguous endings. We realized in class that the ambiguous endings of the books actually made them stronger, because in the end, it doesn’t matter what happens to the characters, not really. The ambiguity means that, if we as a society changes whatever caused the story to begin in the first place (our penchant for intellectual elitism and the failure to elect people to office that will actually do something), then it doesn’t matter if Blunt backs down and the FF system is demolished. We’ll be able to make sure Meg and her friends never have to go through it at all.

From my dad: Why did you decide to write this book?

This book was birthed out of a lot of influences, some of which I’ve already talked about. But the real reason that I wrote Eugenia was simple: I wanted to explore the marginalization of alternate intelligences. Sure, Meg and Julie may not be able to test very well or do complicated mathematics. But does that make them any less intelligent? Not necessarily. I hate it when people assume that text scores and academia are the only ways to measure someone’s worth. Creative endeavors are just as important as political or academic ones. In the next draft of this book I’d like to explore this further by putting more of an emphasis on the specific creative talents of the Outties, to further drive my point home.

The bell rang, and it was immediately obvious that Ms. Greb was going to be late again. It was hard to blame her; her office was at the other side of the middle school, and her waddle wasn’t speedy, to say the least. The picture of studious, I opened my Spanish text to look over the vocabulary again. “Bookshelf” was giving me a problem. Estantería, estantería, estantería. I silently repeated.

Ten minutes had passed, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Zach stand up and swagger over. We were all sitting on one side of a long row of tables, and he stopped right across from me. I didn’t look up, knowing what was coming. At this point in time, we were about 11, and he was still a good three inches shorter than I. Unfortunately, that didn’t much matter. He leaned forward, placing both hands on the table between us, leaning in close. That’s when the yelling started.

To be honest, I don’t actually remember the words he used. “Fat” and “ugly” were definitely mentioned at least once, but all I can actually recall is the yelling. How loud it was. How hurtful. And how I couldn’t look up from my book, not even when he heard Ms. Greb approaching and hurried back to his seat with a smirk. No one else said a word, and class started as soon as she appeared in the doorway.

The question that I, like most victims of schoolyard bullying, asked was simply “why me?” Now that I’ve been removed from the situation, it’s no longer really a question of why a stereotypical bully would pick me, and those like me, as a target. I’m the easiest victim they could have possibly chosen. I’m trusting, prone to self-esteem issues, and I’m something of a recluse. However, the question I never considered is much more intriguing to me as an adult: Why did they turn to bullying at all?

According to Canadian Psychology in 2007, “Bullying is defined as repeated aggression in which there is a power differential. Two elements of bullying are key to understanding its complexity. First, bullying is a form of aggressive behavior imposed from a position of power: Children who bully always have more power than the children they victimize… Power can…be acquired by knowing another’s vulnerability” – in my case, raging insecurity and a naivety that would embarrass Charlie Brown- “and using that knowledge to cause distress. The second key element is that bullying is repeated over time. With each repeated bullying incident, the power relations become consolidated: The child who is bullying increases in power and the child who is being victimized loses power.” -Lucy will always pull the football away, maintaining her position of power in the relationship, and Charlie will always fall on his butt- “Through our research, we understand bullying as a destructive relationship problem.”

Oh really? Bulling is a destructive relationship problem? What a concept!

But maybe if I look closer at my three major childhood bullies I can begin to understand what I’ve never been able to: the bullies themselves. First, what caused them to become bullies, second, what was and is often done while the bullying occurs, and third, what those years of inflicting pain on others will mean for them.

Zach, I’ve had the most time to think about, so we’ll start with him. He lived down the street from me with his parents and older brother, Ben. Ben was a piece of work, let me tell you. He was about three years older than us, and he was horrible. Once, after getting off at his bus stop, Ben mooned the boy sitting behind me as we drove away. Another time he and his friend Travis defecated and urinated in a series of jars and opened them for the rest of the bus to bask in. Being related to that can’t have been easy. So maybe Zach’s aggressive behavior had to do with his misplaced respect for his older brother.

Or maybe Ben abused him at home and the only way Zach knew how to retaliate was to take it out on someone weaker, for example, me. His home life may have seemed, from the outside, to be normal, but Susan Swearer of The Washington Post would have me step away from these assumptions. “Researchers have found that elementary school bullies are more likely than non-bullies to have witnessed domestic violence during their preschool years.” (2011)

Cheryl E. Sanders and Gary D. Phye further back up this possibility. “Bullying is associated with families in which people do not treat each other with respect.” (p. 130) Whatever Zach might have been to his parents, who seemed nice enough, he was certainly not respected by his brother.

Then again, maybe that wasn’t the issue at all. As TIME Magazine’s Belinda Luscombe asserts, “Mean kids, mothers tell their wounded young, behave that way because they have unhappy home lives, or feel inadequate, or don’t have enough friends or because they somehow lack empathy. But a new study suggests some mean kids actually behave that way simply because they can. Contrary to accepted ruffian-scholarship, the more popular a middle- or high-school kid becomes, the more central to the social network of the school, the more aggressive the behavior he or she engages in.”

For reasons I still can’t entirely comprehend, Zach was a fairly popular figure in the schools we shared. Kids loved him. He dated every girl on our bus route (excepting me, of course) and had more people vying for a seat next to him in the cafeteria than I care to recount. So maybe his increasingly elevated social status had something to do with his bizarre aggression towards me.

Or maybe there was a recessive sociopath gene that unfortunately ended up surfacing in both Zach and his brother. All I can hope is that neither of them reproduces.

While we’re still close to the subject of social status as an influence on bullying, though, let’s move on to my next bully. Dylan didn’t require an audience the same way Zach did, but if there were other people bullying me, he wasn’t slow to chip in. We became friends through a mutual love of basketball and a lack of other options for companionship, and for the first few months, it was great just having a place to sit at lunch. It was not to last, however. Sometimes the bullying was about stupid things, like calling me a lesbian (a word we’d all just learned the year before) or refusing to pass me the basketball and forcing me to run back and forth with my team without ever getting to contribute. Other times, however, he’d send me IMs like “You’re dorky, nerdy, strange, and annoying. I’m done.” It was times like those that I actually found myself wishing there was an audience, so that maybe someone would step in, defend me. But there never was.

As Dylan rose in popularity through sports, it should have been obvious I wouldn’t have a place in his new life, even though I was his confidant on nearly everything. He told me things I doubt he’s ever told people since, and I never repeated them. But I was not “up to speed” socially, and so I’d have to go. The majority of our negative interactions surfaced when he would tell me, in private, how worthless I was, especially in regards to his status.

The ever-comprehensive WebMD backs up my conclusion. “Researchers found that children who bullied were often motivated by a desire to increase their popularity and that they chose generally unpopular victims to avoid losing social status.”

But my bully experience wouldn’t be complete without a fellow double-X chromosome. Mia. After one of the headier betrayals by Dylan, I craved female companionship, believing (wrongly) that I could hide from the pain amidst my fellow females. Admittedly, for a while, I could.

Mia, the queen bee of the group I ended up a part of, didn’t take to me very quickly. Prior to my “enlistment”, she had been known as the writer, the intelligent yet creative one. But I’d already written a 35,000-word manuscript and filled journal after journal with political rants and age-appropriate depressing poetry. If anyone could have stolen the writing spotlight, it would have been me.

Eventually, though we became friends, good friends even towards the end of high school. During our senior year we attempted to get into shape through running together, which failed miserably. We had differing political views on several levels, but we were cordial about expressing them and often met up for one on one study sessions.

There had always been a sort of darkness about Mia- even on good days her “teasing” felt a lot more like “soul-crushing”. I’d never been mean to her, never spilled a secret she entrusted me with, never tried consciously to cross her in any way. I was just… there.

We were both on the forensics team, and our senior year we both qualified for the national tournament in different events. Even as our team suburban pulled out of the driveway to make the long drive to Kansas City, Missouri, I knew this trip wasn’t going to be fun. Almost immediately, Zach-like remarks started flying from her mouth and into my head. I’d ask how long the total drive time was going to be, and even though I wasn’t addressing her, Mia would yell back something about how I had no friends and no one liked me. She laughed as if it were a joke, but repeated it and similar sentiments so often over the next four days that it was hard to take them lightly.

She even enlisted two other boys on the trip to call me horrible names like the ever-so-inspired “fat, ugly, and stupid” (do bullies have some sort of summit where they decide on these things?) as well, and after the second day of competition, it had gotten so bad I was having silent panic attacks in the bathroom, clutching my sides and trying to keep under control. Eventually, once I’d been eliminated from my event, I had my dad buy me a plane ticket and I left, after two separate crying episodes. I haven’t spoken to her since.

Her form of bullying was not original. According to JRank’s Online Psychology Encyclopedia, “although the stereotypical bully is male, girls engage in bullying behavior almost as often as boys.” Is it sexist that this fact is a surprise? Because I don’t think there’s ever been a time period where girls have been nice to one another. “Their tactics differ, however, in that they are less visible. Boy bullies tend to resort to one-on-one physical aggression, while girls tend to bully as a group through social exclusion and the spreading of rumors.”

Partly, I think Mia’s behavior has to do with her obsessive need to control, the root of which I’m not sure. She liked to have influence over the way people felt, and the only way she found she could do that was to make you feel so small that you had no choice but to give yourself over to her radical mood swings.

Ask Man Online has an even more sobering possibility. “Studies of adult bullying provide converging evidence that bullies tend to have certain personality traits in common, including authoritarianism, a strong need for control and a desire to dominate. Other research has suggested a small but consistent relationship between bullying and narcissistic personality disorder, which is characterized by a perception of oneself as a special, elite person deserving VIP treatment, a lack of empathy toward others and a tendency to be exploitative.”

Interestingly enough, this is actually a fairly accurate depiction of Mia. She was radically liberal and amidst our highly conservative school she often exhibited elitist behavior. Once, she asserted that voting should be a privilege, not a right, and there should be some sort of intelligence test before entering the booth. Even the narcissistic personality disorder is consistent with this girl’s conduct.

We’ve looked at the past, so now let’s look to the “present”, or at least the present as relative to the periods of time the actual bullying was going on. There are innumerable resources for schools to try and combat bullying, and the two most common approaches to bullying are the class meetings and individual interventions.

Dan Olweus’ 1993 book aptly titled Bullying at School: what we know and what we can do offers a summary of what a class meeting should consist of. “An important aid in counteracting bully/victim problems and creating a better social ‘climate’ in the class is for the teachers and the students to agree on a few simple rules about bullying. Although there may already exist some general school rules or behavioral guidelines, it is of great importance to create a set of rules aimed specifically at bullying- both direct and indirect. These rules should be expressed in as concrete a manner as possible.” (p. 81)

We got anti-bullying pep talks almost every month during elementary school, and even during some classes in junior high. But the sentiment was taken as seriously as the ones about not texting in class, once that became an option (boy, do I feel old. “When I was your age, we didn’t have text messaging!”). I don’t think there’s a school in existence, public or private, that doesn’t have some policy against bullying that’s reiterated regularly. And yet according to the National Center for Education Statistics (2007), about one-third of middle and high school students reported that they’d been bullied in the last six months. So clearly, telling people that something isn’t ok doesn’t necessarily stop the behavior. Even when a teacher notices bullying occurring and chooses to punish the instigator, it generally just forces the efforts to become more covert.

And that’s where Olweus sees individual interventions being particularly useful. “If the teacher knows or suspects that there is bulling in the class, he/she should not delay taking action. It is important to initiate talks quickly both with the bully or bullies and with the victim… it is much easier for the teacher to have these discussions with bullying students if some of the measures previously described have already been implemented, for example, the class rules against bullying.” (p. 98)

There are only two ways a teacher would “know or suspect” bullying is occurring. One, they could see it themselves, in which case they would treat it like the rest of the school does, with some form of reprimand. As with being caught texting, reprimand usually just drives the practice “under the table”, literally. But the only other way a teacher could find out about bullying would be if a victim sought help.

I’m not sure if you’ve every been bullied, especially if it was more emotional/verbal, but in my experience, telling a teacher is just about the worst thing you can do. Not only will it mark you as a tattler, it will also give them an incentive to come after you. See, before, you’re only a victim because you’re an easy target with some combination of traits that make you vulnerable. But once you tell an adult and get the instigator in trouble, your innocence deteriorates. Now it’s not your glasses-and-braces combination they hate, but the fact that you got them into trouble.

Of course, physical bullying is another issue entirely, and I’m in no way recommending that victims of bullying should just keep their heads down and wait for graduation. I’m just saying that, in my specific position, going to an adult wouldn’t have made a difference, and it would likely make things worse. If you are honestly in danger, whether it be physical or emotional, however, I have only two tips. Make a responsible adult aware of the issue and never go anywhere alone. I don’t care if you don’t have any friends (been there, trust me), latch yourself onto a group and make sure you’ve always got an audience of people who at least don’t completely hate you.

So we’ve now explored both the past and “present” of bullying from the bully’s perspective, but what does the future have in store?

Wendy Craig, a Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario psychology professor, doesn’t have good news. “Bullying left unchecked in the playground leads to severely maladjusted teenagers and adults… Our data very clearly indicates that rather than growing out of it, these kids grow into much more serious and significant problems, on both sides of the coin… Boys who bully repeatedly have been shown to engage in delinquent acts later in life 100 per cent of the time, and 94 per cent commit acts of sexual aggression. Among girls, 100 per cent of those who bullied were shown to be physically aggressive in their relationships.”

She goes on to discuss how bullies victimize peers in school and romantic partners later in life, which is a link I’ll admit I didn’t see at first. I never thought of it that way. All this time I perseverated on how awful going to parties at Mia’s house was when I should have been anonymously emailing her new boyfriends with warnings like “Handle with caution: she’s crazy. And not in a good way.”

Professor Craig’s conclusions were not unique. “By age 24, up to sixty percent of people who are identified as childhood bullies have at least one criminal conviction. A study spanning 35 years by psychologist E. Eron at the University of Michigan found that children who were named by their school mates, at age eight, as the bullies of the school were often bullies throughout their lives. In this longitudinal study of bullies, many of these children, as adults, required more support from government agencies” (Psychology Today, Sept. 1995).

There’s no shortage of statistics and articles bemoaning the effects of being a victim, but the perspective that is often unexplored is that the bullies might have been, at one time, a victim as well. A victim of a harsh family, a victim of social anxiety, or simply a victim of their own unbalanced biology. They may be able to delude themselves into believing that bullying, in the moment, makes them happy, but it’s clear that most find it difficult to “grow out of it”. And that’s sad.

What’s even sadder, though, is that bullies like mine are a byproduct of our culture, the same as diabetes and the Jonas Brothers. Our Western society is so individualized that we’ve forgotten how to work together, forgotten how to cooperate in order to achieve goals. We’re so obsessed with this bizarre concept of having power over other people that we ignore the opportunities to collaborate. In Eastern cultures, like China, where the community is favored over the individual, bullying is much less prevalent. “Young children in China are intentionally taught how to be good citizens and get along with others. The structure of the school organization and daily activities contributes to the formation of children’s behavior. Teachers’ close supervision and direct instruction focus children on making the right choice for the good of society. Rarely, then, do instances of bullying occur.” (Childhood Education, 2008)

We are where we live. It’s not to say that an individualized society is always a bad thing, but when it comes to bullying, it certainly doesn’t help. The problem is that there’s no gray area between independence and collaboration; you have to choose on or the other.

As a victim, I may be more prone to depression, anxiety, and schizophrenia, but at least I probably don’t have a criminal conviction in my future. Either way, I’m just glad I’m finally out of public school.

Works Cited:

Craig, Wendy M., and Debra J. Pepler. “Understanding Bullying: From Research to Practice.”

Canadian Psychology May 2007: n. pag. Web.

Swearer, Susan. “Five Myths about Bullying.” Washington Post 30 Dec 2010: n. pag. Web.

Sanders, Cheryl E, and Gary D Phye. Bulling: implications for the classroom. Academic Press, 2004.

Print.

“Why Kids Bully: Because They’re Popular.” TIME Magazine 8 Feb 2011: n. pag. Web.

Boyles, Salynn. “What Motivates Kids Who Are Bullies?.” WebMD (2010): n. pag. Web.

<http://www.webmd.com/parenting/news/20100325/what-motivates-kids-who-are-bullies>.

“Bullies.” JRank Online Psychology Encyclopedia. N.p., n.d. Web. 21 Feb 2011.

<http://psychology.jrank.org/pages/100/Bullies.html>.

Averil, Farah. “How Do Bullies Become Bullies?.” AskMen. N.p., n.d. Web.

<http://www.askmen.com/entertainment/special_feature_3700/3762_how-do-bullies-become-

bullies.html>.

Olweus, Dan. Bullying at School: what we know and what we can do. Wiley-Blackwell, 1993. 81, 98.

Print.

“What happens to Bullies?.” Bully Beware. N.p., 17 Oct 2008. Web.

<http://www.bullybeware.com/faq/bullying/62-what-happens-to-bullies.html>.

Arndt, Janet S. “Exploring Bullying: An Early Childhood Perspective from Mainland China.”

Childhood Education Aug 2008: n. pag. Web. 2 Mar 2011.

Today I was cyber stalking him because I’ve read all his books and I’ve been having withdrawals and I realized that he has a contact email for fans. This was incredibly exciting, so I decided to shoot him a quick note.

“Dear Mr. Kluger,

I’m writing this because, after writing raving reviews for you on my website ever since I read My Most Excellent Year, it seemed silly to never let you know how much your books have meant to me. I’m a freshman in college, and a declared creative writing major, so someday I hope to publish fiction novels as well. And even though I can never hope to twist and tangle heartstrings the way you do, I can always hope, right?

Just to give you more of an idea of how crazy I am about you and your books, I thought I’d share two of my favorite blogs I’ve written about your books. The first was written as a part of a theme week (Book Characters I Love And Am Meant To Be With Week) about Charlie Banks of The Last Days of Summer, my absolute favorite book in the world. http://brisownworld.com/?p=3422

The second is a review I did for my school paper on Almost Like Being in Love that I enjoyed so much I published on my website as well. http://brisownworld.com/?p=2888

I hope you’ll read them, if only to better understand what your writing has done for one young girl from small town Colorado.

Thank you, and I hope you have another book in the works, because the world needs more Steve Kluger novels.”

And then, not ten minutes later, I get this:

”

Bri, thanks SO much for the note.  All of the novels have been significantly autobiographical–you already know from the Author’s Note in Last Days of Summer that it was a projection of what my father’s life could have turned out to be like if he’d had a hero to champion him when he was a kid, and how Joey was an amalgam of me and my Dad.  Almost Like Being in Love sprang out of falling in love with my (straight) best  friend during a senior class production of Brigadoon in high school and included other wince-inducing real-life events like the time I faked a pain in an upper left molar so I could go in for a root canal I didn’t need just because my new Japanese American dentist was too damned cute to have to wait six months to see him again.  But My Most Excellent Year was the real labor of love:  Hucky Harper is a deaf version of my ten-year-old nephew Noah, right down to the hangaburs, his mad face, and his stuffed dog named Shut-the-Door (the purple balloon story happened to us when he was 3-1/2); my sister-in-law Lori (Noah’s mother) is Lori Mahoney, particularly her pathological refusal to sneak down to the empty expensive seats during a ball game; my sister-in-law Alejandra (who goes by “Alé”) always said that the one role she always wished she could have played was Lilli in Kiss Me, Kate (her audition song when she first moved to New York was “The Music and the Mirror”), Phyllis Bryant is one of my dearest friends; Lee Meyerhoff and I have known each other since we were in third grade; Augie is me when I was that age; T.C. is me when I became a Big Brother to an 11-year-old without a father; Ted is mostly my brother Garry (with a touch of my father, who built the planetarium and the state map for two of my school projects); and when I was 15 years old and wanted desperately to see the Tony Awards (which were sold out), I snuck out of boarding school in my school blazer and slacks, took the train into New York, tried without success to find a standing room ticket, and wound up pulling open the gold-painted stage door at the Shubert and telling the stage doorman that my mother–Carol Channing–had forgotten to leave my ticket at the box office.  Two things worked in my favor:  (1) I may have been 15, but I looked 12, which made it appear extremely unlikely that I was pulling a fast one; and (2) I was obviously telling the truth since it would have been so easy to prove that I was lying.  “Miss Channing, is this your son?”  “Why, no, dear.  I’ve never seen this boy before in my life.”  So he waved me in and told me where to find Mom’s dressing room.  When he wasn’t looking, I took a detour up the stairs leading to the stage and watched the entire thing from the downstage left wing with the celebrities waiting to go on.  That’s why I always felt that this particular novel was more a matter of creative reporting than creative writing–though I get a big kick out of sharing the emotional by-line with the people I love.

Steve.”

AAAAAAAAHHHHHH. THE AUTHOR OF MY FAVORITE BOOK WROTE ME BACK.

Of course, this meant I just had to send him another email, but I’ll keep those to myself. I just really wanted everyone to know how incredible this was. It’s a good day. A very good day.

The reaction to the new pictures, of Bluff and his conquests, had an immediate and violent effect. Everything he’d been convincing our crowd of went straight out the window. I rushed to find Emma and Julie to make sure they were out of the way of the mob. It turned from rally to riot in seconds.

Strangled and varied screams erupted from the crowd as the images sunk in. Bluff, momentarily stunned by the new pictures, was struck silent. Regaining his composure about a minute later, he tried to calm the building storm with more weak photoshopped excuses, but he’d lost his handle on the situation. These pictures could not have been so easily manipulated, and even our fickle audience had picked up on that.

“Stop FF. Stop FF.” They chanted, getting louder with each repetition. My heart swelled for these people, these wonderful, peaceful people. Not one of them made a lunge for the police that had accompanied Bluff, although several threw things at the Senator himself. This was exactly the kind of action that I wanted to spread. Civil disobedience, not civil war.

Bluff, however, was in favor of only one thing; his accumulated power. And he wasn’t giving it up that easily. I didn’t hear the order he gave to the policemen standing dumbstruck around the stage, but they didn’t hesitate for long.

I threw Julie and Emma, who I’d corralled towards the edge of the stadium, to the floor. “They’re shooting! Everyone get down!”

The chanting cut off immediately, replaced by a serious of unified screams of terror. The policemen opened fire on the crowd randomly, not stopped when they started to stampede.

“Meg!” I heard my name, but in the confusion I had to hear it again to register. “MEG!”

“Decklan! Oh, thank god you’re ok.” I reached for him, but noticed that tears were streaming down his face. “What? What’s wrong?” My voice had an unpleasantly high edge to it.

“Andy. They got Andy.” He replied with a dead voice. Emma and Julie and I didn’t say a word. “He took the fire meant for this group of teenagers. They got away. He didn’t.”

Even amidst the chaos, my ears went deaf. Time didn’t seem to slow down, it seemed to absolutely stopped. For a moment, I was blinded by images of Andy laughing, Andy playing dolls with Emma patiently, Andy posing for Julie’s figure sketches. Andy, who was so full of love and happiness. Andy, who could find something beautiful in Senator Bluff if given the chance. Andy, the simple environmental science student.

I didn’t have time to scream, because Luke did it for me. With his gun and his rag tag group of “rally security”, he was firing back.

If all hell hadn’t broken loose before, it did now. “Luke, no!” I hollered, but my holler was drowned out by the stampede of terror. The crowd, previously content running away from the stage, were now caught between the gunfire from both sides.

“Luke!” I yelled again, running for him. “No! This isn’t the way! You’re making it worse!”

He heard the last part as I all but knocked him over as I screamed it at him. “If we don’t fight back, they’ll kill more people!” he raged back, taking aim again.

“So will you!” I argued loudly.

“Meg, we can’t just sit here and let them shoot innocent civilians!”

“There… there has to be a better way.” I gasped, struggling to maintain control of myself. The blood smearing the floor around me was making me dizzy and unstable.

I looked back to Julie and Emma, who were being held back by Decklan. They were both shouting something at me, but I couldn’t hear them. I started back to them, but they shook their little heads violently. Switching tactics, they began pointing behind me until I finally understood. They wanted me to go on stage.

“No. Way. In. Hell.” I said to myself, shaking my head at them. But their pantomimes only got more violent, before I realized that they were right. If I didn’t say something soon, more people would die, and they wouldn’t all be at the hands of the Senator. And I couldn’t stand to have more blood on my hands.

It took surprisingly little time to maneuver my way onto the stage, as most people were attempting to get as far away from it as possible. Bluff was still standing with the microphone in his hand, seemingly catatonic with shock at how the situation had unravelled. Without stopping to think, I grabbed the end of the microphone in one hand and lashed a hard kick at his stomach, separating him from the technology. I turned up the volume on the bottom of the microphone and yelled at the top of my lungs, “STOP.”

To my great surprise, the booming of my voice as it echoed off the walls was enough to shock everyone into halting their actions. Even the police shooters turned to me, possibly relieved to end their mass murder.

With everyone watching me expectantly, I was suddenly stricken with major stage fright, but the thought of the riot made me start talking.

“What in the hell does everyone think they’re doing?” I asked angrily, sweeping my gaze across the arena. “You, policemen. Since when did your jobs require you to murder peaceful petitioners at random?” The lot of them at least had the decency to look ashamed, even stricken. “And you, my comrades in rebellion. Don’t you remember what this day was supposed to be about?” I pointed to the large mural hanging behind the stage, a collaborative piece from Julie and her artist Outlier friends. It depicted two hands clasped in an eternal grip. “It was supposed to be about stopping this stupid, senseless violence. It was supposed to be the spread of knowledge, not bullets. What gave you the idea that it was ok to stoop to their level?

“Don’t you understand what he’s doing?” I kicked at Bluff, who was still sitting on the floor in surprise. “He’s making us look like what he’s trying to hide about himself. At the end of the day, no one would have remembered who started shooting. The only thing they’ll know is that people died because we wanted to play some music and share some art. And our cause will be marred with death and blood and pain, as if it isn’t already.” I threw a disparaging look at Bluff. “Those pictures, although I wish I didn’t have to clarify, were one hundred percent real. I wouldn’t even let my technologically savvy comrades enhance the lighting.”

I took another long look across the scene in front of me. “Six years ago, I was five points on an IQ test short of the privilege to live. I wasn’t seen as useful to society, so in an effort to control population, I was sentenced to death. I was fifteen feet from the gas chamber that my best friend perished in before I got the idea to run. Maybe you don’t personally know anyone who failed the test. Or maybe you do. But is anyone prepared to argue with me that this system is justified in any way? The poor socioeconomic decisions of our ancestors is not an excuse to enslave children for being bad test takers.”

Bluff had stood up again, his wide chest heaving not two feet away from me. Instead of stepping away, I turned straight into him, holding his eye contact. The deafening silence returned until I decided to break it.

“The way I see it, Senator Bluff, you have two options. You either shoot me with that gun you’ve been trying to hide in that holster under your suit jacket and continue the random slaughter of innocent and peaceful citizens, or you can get the hell out of our way.”

~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note:

OK! FINISHED! Whew. Next Friday I’ll do a Q&A (if there are enough Qs for me to A) about the now finished first draft of Eugenia. Ask any clarification questions you require, or just give me feedback. I will also probably have to write a bit on why I feel like the ambiguity of the ending is justified for the genre in which this book is written. But feel free to ask about it anyways.

What would REALLY be helpful is if you could leave comments on each “part” that you see a need for editing, because Eugenia is FAR from over. This is, keep in mind, my very, VERY first draft, and it’s subject to change quite a lot. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Love, Bri

So this is my social cheat sheet regarding the relationship between appropriate greetings and the relative relationship with the greeter. The relationship with the greeter will be in bold, and the appropriate greeting will be in regular text. Then, at the end, I’ll tell you how I feel about people who ignore this.

Stranger- If you must make eye contact, make it short. Facial expressions need not change. The most appropriate form of greeting, however, is to pretend to text or look for something in your bag in order to avoid eye contact at all costs.

Have a class together- The above Stranger greeting is still acceptable, but a smile/grimace or a small nod is also appropriate.

Have a class or extracurricular and have spoken more than once during said class or extracurricular- A small but friendly smile. Again, the Stranger greeting is still acceptable, but it might be harder to pull off. Above all else, though, NO SPEAKING. YOU DO NOT KNOW THIS PERSON WELL ENOUGH FOR A “HI” AS YOU PASS.

Have a friend in common and have hung out in the same space at least once- A small but friendly smile or a short “hi”. This is the point of no return, meaning that it’s no longer appropriate to pretend to text. I mean, you can still try, but it will probably fail.

Have had multiple short, if uninvolved, conversations- A slightly larger smile and a full “hey”. Depending on how much you like this person, you may find it appropriate to add a “how’re you?” However, this is risky, as you aren’t really friends yet and it’s unsure of whether they’re ready for this kind of relationship.

Live nearby or next to person and have had conversation because you share a personal geography- A smile size of your choice, but no further niceties are required as you will most like have a conversation with them later because you live nearby. However, if this greeting occurs in one of these shared areas, such as a community bathroom or the laundry room, a “how’re you?” is entirely appropriate and recommended.

Friend that you only see when you’re around other people and never really hang out with one-on-one- Same as the Multiple if uninvolved conversations. A slightly larger smile and a full “hey”. Depending on how much you like this person, you may find it appropriate to add a “how’re you?”

Relatively new friend- A smile and hello, plus an open mind about potentially stopping your forward momentum for a short conversation. You’re friends, but you’re new friends, so don’t expect to or expect them to stop for long, but just know it’s a possibility. Don’t be too freaked out. This is natural.

Friend- No tricks here, greet them however you like, but make sure you do greet them. If you pull a Stranger on them, you either aren’t very good friends or you won’t be for much longer.

Friend you haven’t seen in a while- If the greeting is a surprise, an “oh my gosh!” and a hug is acceptable. A small conversation is also a good idea, although if you’re in a hurry don’t worry about being rude if you have to cut it short.

I think that about wraps it up.

Ok. So here’s the thing I have beef with: When people don’t follow these rules. I think these rules are legitimate and fair. I don’t think I’m taking any liberties, and I don’t think I’m letting too much of my own social anxiety override it. But when you greet someone in a way that’s above the appropriate level, for example, a person you live near but have never talked to starts telling you “good morning!” before you’ve even brushed your teeth, I freak out.

It’s these social anxieties that I explored a little in my short story Flummoxed. I know it makes me a little crazy to be thinking so specifically about these sort of issues, but come on. I think I have a little right to get suspicious when people ignore their relationship level with a person when they greet people. Does anyone else know what I mean??

When Harry Met Sally- As if I didn’t already have problems with unrealistic romantic fantasies. This is a dangerous movie to show a single girl.

Mega Shark versus Giant Octopus- If the title doesn’t tickle your fancy, maybe the bad CGI battle sequences and ridiculous “science” montages will. Perfect for the peanut gallery.

Air Bud- A childhood favorite. Also, I miss my dog.

Garden State- Zach Braff can act, write, and direct?? WILL YOU MARRY MEEEEEE?

You Again- That movie about a girl’s former bully marrying her brother years later. Predictable, uncomfortable, and sometimes inadvertently funny. Not something I’d see again, though.

2010: Moby Dick- The hilariously bad retelling of the classic white whale story. Spoiler: the whale can walk on land.

Bolt- SO. CUTE. Still miss my dog.

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs- Loved the book as a kid, the movie was meh. Meh.

So yeah.

During our many planning sessions, I hadn’t even considered what an issue it would be to transport all the necessary people to the stadium. There wasn’t a good explanation for ten large vans full of random people leaving from my parent’s house to a “medical conference” at the stadium. So we went in waves.

I was a part of the first wave at two am, since it wasn’t like I needed the extra sleep. Along with me were Julie, Decklan, Luke, Andy, and a cranky Emma, plus two Outliers and a random contact of my parents. The random contact’s name was Edgar, and he was our technical expert. He and Luke would be working to set up the lighting for the musical performances and getting the projectors my parents had purchased to display our pictures and stories on every wall of the arena. You wouldn’t be able to turn away from the images of the tortured children or the gas chambers. It would be exceedingly unpleasant, especially for those of us who had to see it first hand, but it was necessary. We couldn’t expect change if no one knew what had to be changed.

The next wave of people arrived at five am, then at seven am, ten am, and noon, until everyone involved in setting up was present.

It took two burnt out bulbs and four hours for all the projectors to start working, but once they did, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Those pictures were the real reason we were here.

At three in the afternoon, Jon was set to announce the locations for the rallies in all the cities participating, so once two thirty hit, everyone started to get antsy. I glanced at my program for the fiftieth time that hour.

We had four musical acts, the final of which would include Emma’s original piano compositions. In between those sets, we had three slam poetry readings. There were tables lining every edge of the stadium piled high with art and writing anthologies and mix tapes. Today, everything was free.

Three entire rows of seats up from the ground level were covered with drawings and names. All the Outliers had written and had the resident artists draw pictures of every person they’d ever known to perish under the FF system. If possible, we also included stories. Throughout the day, I found myself staring at Zia and Gruber’s seats, next to one another. This is for you. I told them silently.

At exactly three o’clock, our first musical act, Daniel Shauf from our Tulsa stop took the stage, poised for our first curious visitors.

To everyone’s immense surprise, Jon’s announcement brought in hundreds of people, mostly college age students. Within minutes, the doors were jammed with people flowing in as if a dam had burst somewhere. Daniel was an instant success amongst them, even though many looked openly uncomfortable with the pictures on the walls.

Police officers followed soon after, but there were just too many people to try and shoot. I even saw some drop their weapons off with Luke and join the dancing students.

Decklan and I stayed off to the side of the craziness; I tucked myself into his side for comfort. The scene before us was overwhelming, more than I’d ever hoped for. Someone started a petition that was being passed around the dancing mob, and by the end of our first hour, we’d filled ten pages with signatures.

It wasn’t until far into our second hour that Bluff himself made an appearance. At first, the dancing mob had been too preoccupied to notice him, but eventually his large police posse became evident. He strode right up to the stage, and with the help of the two most forward officers, lifted his bulk onto the stage. By now, everyone had seen what was going on and had fallen silent. The current musician stopped playing his ukelele and stepped back from the microphone with a sarcastic bow.

Bluff cleared his throat. I held tight to Decklan’s hand as I listened to the silence that followed. It actually hurt my hears, having grown used to the pounding of hundreds of feet and chest vibrating bass speakers.

“Have you been enjoying yourself?” Bluff asked cynically, his gaze penetrating the crowd. They swept back and forth across the room, and I got the idea that he was looking for me. I shrank against Decklan.

“That’s nice. I’m glad the students of New Diego have had a good day.” He paused again. No one uttered a sound. I caught sight of a few people trying to inconspicuously leave, afraid of punishment. “But I’m afraid that it’s time to return to reality.” Bluff gestured towards a graphic image of one of the children medical experiments. “Are you all so blind that you can’t comprehend simple photo manipulation? Do you really believe your government would do something as heinous as experimenting on your less intelligent offspring?” I watched as the audience shifted uncomfortably. “It isn’t hard to make a child’s skin look green with a computer program. Stage makeup is more convincing than this bile.”

Decklan gripped my shoulders firmly, as I was shaking. “Don’t, Meg. Don’t provoke him. Not yet.”

“There’s one picture that we didn’t include in the slide show. Because I wouldn’t let them.” I told him through gritted teeth, not taking my eyes off the Senator.

“What are you talking about?”

“The girls. The little girls.” I said. And that was enough. I took one glance back at Decklan and saw the information click inside his head. Then he nodded at me.

Staying low, I ran to find Luke, frozen at his position behind the laptop broadcasting the projections. “I need to change the display for a second.” I told him.

“The pictures you’re looking for are in a folder labeled ‘filth’.” Luke muttered, staring at Bluff, who was feebly pointing out “proof” of photo manipulation.

Nodding, I started to exit out of the slideshow, but stopped and turned back to Luke. “Luke… I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head with a thin smile. “Don’t be. It’s been a weird couple of months for everyone.”

“I just… I don’t know how this is going to end. And I wanted you to know that I am sorry, just in case…”

Decklan would have cut me off and told me not to think like that, but Luke just nodded. “You’re amazing, Meg. I really hope you don’t die.”

I chuckled softly, pressing “escape” on the keyboard. “Me, too.”

Concluded in part 46!

There hasn’t really been much going on in my life, not things I can report on. For personal reasons, of course. I’ve been sick, that’s something. It sucked, but it was something. Oh, and I’ve also officially become obsessed with Zach Braff. Writer, actor, director, producer…. wow. Garden State. WOW.

Instead of continuing to ramble, I thought I’d just type up this thing I wrote during a lecture on Tuesday. I quite liked it, and I hope you will to.

Gah.

Look over at me. Let me catch you doing it. Let us then both smile sheepishly and look away.

Then let us venture our gaze back, and let it hold. Let the sheep fall from the smile, let it become real and vivid and wonderful. And let it carry past this moment and explode into a thousand million moments, multiplying as if by mitosis. Let is move through time and be unencumbered by tangible obstacles, detached yet forever entwined. Let us exist beyond things, beyond pettiness and drama, and let us just be. Always happy, but fully so. Never shallow or empty as it will always threaten to be. Let us just be.

All you have to do it make eye contact. Just for a second.

Yeah. Or not. My mind gets up to strange things when it’s allowed to wander.

I think that the kid, Josh Framm, played by Kevin Zegers, has a strong Zac Efron vibe. Everyone else disagrees, thinking it’s more Leonardo DiCaprio. While in some of his newer pictures I concede, I still hold that there’s a Zefron vibe above all else.

PROOF:

Kevin Zegers/ Zac Efron

FURTHER PROOF:

FURTHER PROOF:

Kevin Zegers from Air Bud

I WIN.

We didn’t have any time to waste. Julie and Michalea Findle, the outlier we’d picked up from Las Cruces, designed some posters and flyers, then Andy went undercover to a print shop he’d made contact with to get copies. The amount of people that had suddenly become sympathetic to our revolution was still surprising to me. I’d been imagining having to make all the copies ourselves.

Decklan and Andy, the most unknown of our group, were in charge of spreading the propaganda. As we’d anticipated, the signs were taken down as immediately as they could be found, but word started getting out.

My parents rented out the stadium space for a “medical conference” on the date we’d settled on, and Bluff didn’t even question it. Turns out, “kidnapping” Emma was the best move I could have made. Not only had it reunited me with my family and convinced them that I was not an abomination to society, but it was also the perfect cover story. My parents were so relieved to have Emma back from their mad elder daughter, so why would they conspire with her?

Although I’d come to terms with the idea that I was a very visible figurehead, I didn’t like the idea of being in charge. I left major decisions to Decklan and the little group of people that liked to hear themselves talk. If I was present at their meetings at all, I only spoke up if asked a question. This was no longer my revolution, my lone attempt at reuniting with the society that had shunned and tried to murder me. This was something much bigger.

I spent a lot of my time with Emma and Julie, basking in the familiarity. Even with Decklan holding me as I slept, there were times I woke up screaming, remembering the children in the medical prison and Laurie’s defenseless body. Being around the younger girls calmed me, reminded me that life was not all death and sadness. That there was always hope.

Julie had visibly grown up in the past few months. She took her job as poster designer very seriously, conceptualizing a new one every few hours. And incredibly, she still had time to make up other original creations to sell and decorate at our rally. Her productivity was astounding, and guilted me into penning a few poems. But I didn’t have the brain capacity to be creative. I was too busy being stressed and anxious. Planning a revolution was exhausting business.

Emma had aged as well, but in a more literal sense. Her fifth birthday occurred two weeks before our rally, and everyone took that opportunity to take a much needed break. We pulled out all the stops, preparing food that could have lasted the entire city for months. No one worked that day, not even the compulsively productive Julie. That day was a day of rest and celebration. But we weren’t just celebrating my sister’s birth, as beloved as she was among the “rebels”. We were also celebrating our own progress, and for those who had only recently been enlightened by our cause, their rebirth.

In the meantime, Jon was as busy as ever. The producers of Outties were right to hire him; he was an immediate hit. Even though he’d been off air for months, he had built up quite a following, and most of them were anxious for him to begin broadcasting again. After the massive response from the audience one week into Jon’s new slot, Outties stopped being a rebel channel bouncing back and forth on the airwaves. They picked one station, and they didn’t care who knew.

Naturally, Senator Bluff was none too happy that a rebel radio station was broadcasting support for Outliers and their sympathizers, and arranged a team to hunt down their location to put an end to the “traitorous talk”. Outties was one step ahead of him. They hit the road, never staying in one place for more than a day, taking their broadcasting equipment and their secret weapon, Jon, with them. The revolution I’d unwittingly started the day I approached Decklan after class was going public. Very public.

If I was being honest, I would have admitted that I didn’t know what to think. It was all too overwhelming for me. The past year had been the most bizarre of my life, even more bizarre than the year Gruber rescued me from my execution. And that was saying a lot. Life on the run takes a lot to get used to. But then again, so does heading up a revolution.

Luke graciously accepted that whatever relationship we’d had after my fight with Decklan was basically disintegrated. Instead of brooding, he threw himself into defensive preparation for our rally. Although I was unhappy about it, he’d been building up a stockpile of weapons.

“To keep us safe.” He explained to me in a reasonable voice. “It’s not going to take long for Bluff to figure out where we are. And if you think he’ll ask you to step off the stage with a please and thank you, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Having a defense against Bluff’s inevitable rage was a good idea. I just didn’t like the precipitation of violence. The whole point of this series of country wide rallies was to end the senseless torture and murder that had been going on under society’s nose for generations.

The night before the rally, I didn’t even try to rest. At first I had resolved myself to pacing the night away, but Decklan complained I was making him even more anxious, which was really saying something. So instead, the two of us sat up against the backboard of the bed, holding each other. I kept my face pressed into his chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath. It was as if I had to remind myself what I was fighting for.

I was fighting for my right to love Decklan as a full member of society, but it was more than that. I was fighting for my right, and the rights of those in my situation, to live. And even if the next day’s rally didn’t amount to anything, I would keep fighting until Bluff figured out a way to kill me.

Continued in part 45!

(ONLY TWO SEGMENTS LEFT! WE’RE SO CLOSE!)

(Also, fyi, I’m not completely sold on the way I ended it yet, so bear in mind that this IS a first draft)

My “life in a day” video.

Videos starting next week!

The first thing is the nature of my failed relationships. My friend Ben asked if it was on purpose, that I broke up with the boys the way they asked me out. And upon rereading my post, I realize it does sound like that a bit. So I guess the first thing is really my defense.

Mike, my first boyfriend, mister instant messenger, and I broke up three times before we were finally done for good. The first time was a week after we’d started dating, and we hadn’t even hugged. That was a mutual, in person breakup that lasted for about a weekend. Then we got back together. Then, several weeks and hand holdings later, on the day of a dance (I know, it wasn’t my fault) it occurred to me that I didn’t actually like like Mike, I just liked being liked. So I took him aside at lunch and told him I thought we should just be friends. Then he wore me down over that weekend before I finally gave in again.

The third and final time we broke up was actually unplanned. We were instant messaging on the Wednesday before a four day weekend (Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, if that wasn’t clear). Mike was the type of clingy boyfriend that called me about every two hours, and I was starting to get really sick of it. Plus, there was this other guy I was starting to fall for (but more on that in a second). So I asked him, quite reasonably I thought, if I could have some space that weekend. I asked if we could just not talk for those four days so I could sort some things out in my head.

At first, I thought he was receptive. But then he started hassling me about “what way I was leaning” even though I’d never said I was considering dumping him, and then he started saying things about how “if you’re doubting it then maybe we should just end it” and finally I just got so annoyed with him I was like “yeah, you know what? You’re right. Let’s end it. There.”

Of course, then he freaked out and didn’t talk to me for a year, but that’s another story. Which brings me to boyfriend #2.

Cody. We started dating officially the day after freshman year ended, and I broke up with him the month after sophomore year went the same way. We didn’t have the same difficulty Mike and I had, breaking up and getting back together, but there was another issue with my need to get out of the relationship. See, Cody couldn’t yet drive, and I hadn’t been driving long enough to drive other people. Also, it was the summer, so the only time we saw each other was when I drove somewhere and his parents dropped him off at the same location or when I drove over to his house.

That left me with very limited options. I couldn’t ask to meet in a central location like a coffee shop to talk because that would mean his mom would have to drop him off and then pick him back up again after being dumped. But I also couldn’t just show up at his house to dump him, because again, his parents would be there and that would just be awkward. Especially because his dad already didn’t like us dating because I wasn’t tall, thin, or blonde enough. Not even joking.

So I broke up with him over the phone while sitting cross legged on my best friend’s bedroom floor. I’ll admit it wasn’t my finest hour, but it was another one of those things that I just had to get over with in whatever way possible.

With my defense of my actions out of the way, this leads us to thing that needs to be addressed #2: girls are cowards too.

One of the many enraged boys who read, or at least snarled at the title of that blog, made an interesting point. If I’m so unenthusiastic about the way the boys in my life have chosen to make their moves, why don’t I do it myself? Girls can ask boys out too.

To which I’d like to say… fair enough. Times are a’changing, and I’m not entirely blameless. (However, I would just like to make it known that I had to trick Mike into our first kiss because he was too nervous to do it himself. So… there.)

If I ever ask a boy out, fine, you all have my word I’ll do it in person. But I doubt it’ll ever happen. Once I’m aware of someone’s interest in me I’m as confident as anyone, but I’ve been misled too many times before and I don’t trust that someone actually likes me until they say it straight out. Also, it’s a damn small school and the likelihood of running into a failed date is higher than getting an STD in a brothel.

That was graphic. Sorry.

Anyways. Hope you’re enjoying Eugenia, because there are only a couple installments left before it’s officially complete. Also, if I can find some time tomorrow, I’ll start editing and narrating my Budapest videos, so hopefully they’ll start coming out this Thursday and beyond. See ya!

After I’d showered, dressed, and eaten, I was invited to a conference in the dining room with some of the conspirators that had been making the big decisions.

“We’ve got a whole underground movement on our hands, Miss Carroway.” A man called Amberly told me.

I wrinkled my nose at the formality, and Decklan winked at me from across the room. “Meg, please.” I told him kindly. “Is the movement contained to New Diego? Because one city won’t do us much good.”

Amberly looked particularly excited at this question, as if he’d been preparing for it all night. “Well, not exactly. The movement is the most cemented here, but we’ve managed to get chapters, if you will, in ten other major cities. Your parents have been especially helpful in that regard.”

I looked to my father, who shrugged with a sheepish smile on his face. “Your mother and I have had many close collaborators over the years, and we’re well respected. It doesn’t take much to convince people, once we show them the pictures and videos that you all have been collecting.”

There was suddenly a strange urge in my arms to hug this man who I’d written off as an emotionless robot so many years ago, but I controlled the urge. That was my new goal, to keep myself under control. To try and remain calm. A random burst of affection in the middle of a revolution meeting wouldn’t fit.

“Where are these cities? Concentrated on the west coast?”

“No, they’re fairly well spaced. Two on the east coast, four on the west coast, including New Diego, and the rest are dotted throughout the country.”

“Is it enough?”

“Well, that depends on what they will need to do. We were hoping you would come up with something.” Amberly looked down at the table, probably afraid I’d have another breakdown. The problem with being so well known amongst my fellow revolutionaries is that I had no secrets.

“Actually, I have an idea about that.” I told him with a smile, trying to put him at ease. “Our resident artists and musicians gave me the idea. What if we staged a sort of giant concert/protest?”

“A concert/protest?” My father looked at me questioningly.

“Yeah. We have enough musicians for a full live concert, enough artists to sell their pieces and decorate the area, and enough of everyone else to do… whatever. Poetry readings. Slideshows of our pictures from the gas chamber and the… medical experimentation lab. We could make a giant event of it. We could get our sister city revolutionaries to put on similar events on the same day.”

People were starting to nod, including my father, but Amberly wasn’t convinced yet. “I can see the potential in this idea, but I’m not sure how we would pull it off. How can we get people to attend without alerting Bluff? We can’t exactly broadcast the location.”

“We won’t have to. We’ll advertise the day and the time, but not the location. My parents can rent out the stadium downtown for a science convention or something, and once the rally starts up, it’ll be obvious who’s running it. We can feed Bluff some false information to throw him off, but in the end, I think it might be good to draw him in. He can’t arrest people for going to a concert, not the people who aren’t Outliers. It’ll be our chance to show people what’s going on at a large scale. Do we have contacts at any of the TV news stations?”

Amberly nodded. “The four biggest, plus a couple smaller scale ones.”

“Fantastic. We’ll let them know as well. We should pick a date and start getting posters printed up soon. Bluff will try to take them down, but the mysteriousness and the borderline illegality of it will draw people in. Everything’s more fun when it’s forbidden. We should also send Bluff some flyers.”

“We’ve been sending him art pieces and mix tapes almost every day.” Decklan told me. “I even designed him an end table.” I laughed. “So that should be easy.”

“Could we buy an ad in the local paper?” I asked the room. There were several excited nods. “Great. Now, let’s set a date.”

“Do it on the fifteenth of next month. That’s when the kids born in October have to take their tests.” Julie said. I hadn’t even seen her, sitting in a far corner of the room and sketching.

There was silence in the room, but we all knew she was right.

“That gives us just over a month to plan.” My father said.

“We can do it.” I said confidently, making eye contact with Decklan. He smiled at me.

“Then let’s do it.” Decklan agreed.

Continued in part 44!

Harry Potter shirt. Oh yeah. You know you want a piece of this action.

So a few weeks ago, when I wrote Flummoxed, as a lot of you probably guessed, much of that story was true. That’s kind of what it’s like up in my head. I’m constantly realizing how socially inept I really am and, thus, constantly looking for ways to get out of social interactions. Sometimes, I swear this is true, I plan my bathroom use schedule around the times I know the least amount of people will be around. But that’s not what I want to talk about today. I want to talk about something else that I mentioned in Flummoxed that happens to be based on real life. The whole “being asked out” thing.

Ok, I just reread Flummoxed and, as it turns out, I didn’t actually extend on what I thought I did, but that’s ok. It’s still relevant. So in the story, the protagonist, Hailey, is asked out by microwave boy Seth (it’s funny because of what the real life “Seth” turned out to be in my real life) in person. This may not seem too odd, but to Hailey, and to me, it’s rather significant.

See, I’ve never been asked out in real life. Mike, my first boyfriend, asked me to be his girlfriend over instant messenger. I then broke up with him two months later…. over instant messenger. To be fair, the first time I broke up with him I did it in person, but still. Cody, my second (and last) boyfriend, asked me out over the phone. One year and one month later, I broke up with him… over the phone. I was asked to homecoming my freshman year by a friend of the person asking me, homecoming my junior year over Facebook, and Prom my senior year over text message while I was stoned on pre-wisdom teeth surgery meds, drooling and watching Revolutionary Road with my mom. Hot, right?

And I’ve been musing about this fact for a couple of weeks, since I realized the pattern. I’ll give you that this seems to reflect poorly on my generation and only goes to further prove how person-to-person interaction has been deteriorating since cell phones and the internet. So what do we do? Hold a seminar to let boys know that they should stop being cowards?

Ugh. I might not be so interested in this had I not been striking out left and right with guys since coming to college. Like Hailey, there was a part of me that assumed the dating pool would be significantly widened once I got to school. Obviously, this is untrue. For me, at least. And then there’s the girls I know who’ve had like four boyfriends since August and all I can do is just stare at them in disbelief.

I’m not saying I’m getting impatient for a boyfriend. That’s not what I mean by this blog at all. I’m just saying… that I think I’m due for being asked out in person. There. I said it. CHALLENGE INITIATED, UNIVERSE.

In other news, this week I hung out with people more than once who are NOT Ellen and I’ve made plans this weekend with people who are Ellen and who also aren’t. I think this means I’m making progress, no?

Honestly, I’m just trying to live up to the “and other musings” part of my title right now. But I swear, I’m making other friends. Be proud of me. New These Folk video/ Eugenia section Sunday, and hopefully I’ll start uploading Budapest videos next week.

Budapest videos should start sometime NEXT WEEK!

Not that anything went on. I’m not that unrecognizable. But still… geez.

So last night at 11:40 (I’d fallen asleep already) I got a text message from Dion. “What are you doing this week?”

Broad question, no?

My reply was something like “Going to class. You?” Keep in mind this is 5 o’clock the next morning. I had to pee. My body doesn’t cooperate with my sleep cycle. Anyways. He had mentioned a few weeks back that I should watch Arrested Development, but I lamented that getting me hooked on another TV show would just make me more of a shut-in. So he proposed a solution. He’d watch it with me, thus ensuring I have at least SOME sort of human interaction.

So the plan was to watch in his room on Wednesday night. But then, on a later Facebook IM chat, he decided he was too excited about watching the show so he asked me what I was doing tonight. I said, accurately, nothing. So tonight, at 6pm, I was at Dion’s door to watch Arrested Development.

We watched the first five episodes on Netflix sitting side by side on his bed as he ate his dinner (and he ate it in a weird order… ice cream cone, then half a sandwich, then some french fries, then Pepsi, then the other half of the sandwich, then more french fries). He made me a family tree so I wouldn’t be confused, complete with character and actor names. It was very helpful.

Then, he had to do homework and I went back to my room, and who immediately started texting me but Kevin, my recent short story’s inspiration (if it helps, I’ll call him “microwave boy”). Yes, that short story was awfully ironic in a lot of ways, but this is the internet and I don’t want to spread anything that might reach him.

Anyways. I have to pass Kevin’s room on my way back to my room, so for good, creepy measure, I take a picture of his door and send it to him. He is amused and asks me what I’m doing. I say nothing. He says he’s watching TV. Then he asks if he can come over, because he’s been bugging me about watching Firefly. Apparently, you can’t be a complete nerd until you’ve seen it. I say ok, and a few minutes later there’s a knock on my door.

So then I spend the next two hours watching the pilot episode of Firefly with Kevin, sitting side by side on my bed. Then he leaves, and my roommate, who came in and started doing chemistry sometime around the first half hour of Firefly, yanked out her headphones with glee. “SPILL!” she commands.

And so I tell her everything I’ve just told you, which, to be honest, isn’t much of a story. It’s just kind of hillarious. Especially if you know me, which most of you do.

I mused about this (in a much more censored way) to Dion, and asked him if I had game. He said yes. “Muy mucho” apparently. So it must be true.

This is an amused webmistress signing off. Oh, Universe, you do such strange things sometimes.

Jenn, my roommate, thinks it’s the hair. I’m inclined to agree. This morning’s bed head was CU-UTE.

Benjo, our Tuesday, has dubbed this style of vlogging (holding the camera backwards on yourself) as BriStyle, because I do it a lot on this channel. I’ve started a trend! Yay!

First of all, I’d just like to extend my congratulations to LOL, OMG, and FYI. I always think it’s cool when internet language is recognized by society as valid. Remember when “google” made it into the dictionary? Most exciting day of my life.

But second, back to Mr. Stangel. His tweet very concisely integrates both old media’s condescension towards the internet and old literature’s arrogance towards new literature. And I have but one attack I’d like to make against both of these views.

Stop being an idiot. Seriously. Every word in the dictionary was new at some point. That doesn’t make those newest words any more or less “real” or “legitimate”. It just makes them new. Like I said in my tweet, that’s the point. Language is the combination of letters to communicate. Whether you accept it or not, LOL is a three letter word that conveys humor or amusement. Just because it’s a different way of saying “haha” or “giggle” (both of which I’m sure you have objections to as well) doesn’t mean it isn’t communicating its purpose. I use LOL a lot, both in notating books I’m reading for class to mark passages that amuse me and in blog posts where I’d like to point out the irony or absurdity of a statement. I don’t use it because I’m somehow inferior to you and your old media friends, I use it because it’s the most succinct way for me to get my point across. The most succinct way for me to communicate the idea I had in mind.

And just so you know, I didn’t have to whip out my thesaurus (I have three) to use the word “succinct”.

Another thing, more specifically on your dictionary dig. In my reply to you, I claimed that yes, we (at least some of us) do use the dictionary, but I fear this will become another point of contention, so let me dispel some possible concerns right away.

When you say “use the dictionary”, I’m going to have to assume, based on the tone of your tweet, that you meant a physical dictionary. I’m not ashamed to say that, in that case, no, I don’t use a dictionary. But I also don’t drive a horse-and-buggy, because it’s just not efficient. I have a variety of online dictionary sources that I cross-apply when deciphering word use, and that doesn’t make me any less of a logophile. It just means that when I want a word, I can find it much easier, no matter where I am, and I don’t have to waste time flipping through a pocket dictionary that gets out of date at the end of every year.

Just because I don’t do things your way doesn’t mean I’m doing them wrong. What’s the point of innovation if you sneer at it? I see you’re using Twitter. Isn’t it supposed to be the death of language as we know it, or some drivel like that? I have news for you, Mr. Stangel. The world changes, and with it, so does language. That’s the inevitability of progress, and it’s neither good or bad. It’s just… different.

WTF, Eric Stangel. W.T.F.

Luv&kises<3,

Bri

This video doesn’t make any sense. I was out of my mind with sleep deprivation. Enjoy.

So I’m at the Portland Airport right now at exactly 5:04 AM, waiting for my TheseFolk video to upload and for my flight to Salt Lake City to board. I’m sipping a peanut butter shake (I thought it would be more breakfasty, but no, it’s a chocolate-peanut butter milkshake) with the taste of coffee cake and milk still on the back of my pallet. Families file in and out of the waiting area, desperately trying to find something healthy to grab for breakfast.

A printer sounds behind me, but everything else is silent. It’s too early for rousing conversation, and there are few to none young children around to complain about the early hour and the long waits.

I continue sitting, with my knee high green socks and my beat up, fully-stickered laptop across my folded legs, and breath it in. I kind of like airports, I realize. I mean, I’ve spent enough time in them lately. I like how straightforward it is to get around. I like the abundance of coffee shops.

As Luke drove us away from the facility -Decklan was still too much in shock to drive- images flipped through my mind like a sporadic slideshow. A raven-haired thirteen year old girl, curvier than Julie and I put together. Bluff’s naked and hairy chest. An archaic four poster bed.

I hadn’t said a word after I got exactly three pictures. We’d exited the building in complete silence. But I couldn’t take it any more, and finally I let out the scream I’d been holding in. I felt the vibrations of the sound rumble up my chest and erupt through my mouth, tearing at my vocal chords. I heard the sound bounce off the inside of the car and reverberate back into my skull, where it stayed and fit into the soundless mouth of the girl in the room. The room may have been soundproof, but it didn’t take a scientist to watch someone scream.

Luke and Decklan didn’t try to stop me, didn’t tell me to tone it down. They just sat in silence, watching the road gravely.

Finally, my throat gave out and I gasped for air soundlessly. My fingers trailed up the outside of my neck, feeling it throb painfully. I wouldn’t be talking for several days, which was fine with me. It wouldn’t have been able to say anything anyways.

We met Jon at the decided location, a hotel, only an hour and a half later. Our eyes were rimmed with red.

Luke and Decklan took turns describing what we’d seen, unable to finish the story on their own. When words finally failed, they just handed the camera over. Julie crawled over to me and buried her head in my chest. I wrapped my arms tightly around her and we both sobbed silently.

Jon left the hotel room for a moment to report to Outties.

“They offered me a job.” He announced when he finally returned.

“What do you mean, a job?” Andy asked, having pulled me and Julie onto his lap. I couldn’t bear to take my face out of Julie’s soft hair, so I didn’t.

“Outties. They want to fly me to New York, where they’ve been broadcasting from, to take over the DJ position. I was nationally syndicated before they fired me, and Meg, your parents have been giving out the station at a crazy pace. They think that if I were the main DJ, they’d get more support.”

“Dude.” Luke said. I could practically hear his eyes bulge. “You should do it.”

“You think?” I felt the bed underneath my human knot depress, guessing that Jon had sat down.

“Absolutely.” Decklan added. “You’ve been itching to get back in a booth for ages.”

“Besides, we’ve got plenty of people now. We can afford to lose you.” Andy said, not unkindly. I didn’t think it was possible for Andy to be unkind.

“They’re sending a private plane to the airport down the road tomorrow morning. Once I get to New York, I’ll take over the main DJ post.”

“That’s really awesome, man. Seriously. You’ll be great.” One of Andy’s arms left being wrapped around me for a moment to slap Jon on the back.

“What about the other kids?” Julie asked from inside the Meg and Andy sandwich. “The ones they just got. It’s not too late to rescue them, is it?”

I finally looked up, watching the people around me carefully. Laurie was thinking hard. “We should be able to get them out. They probably won’t start experimenting right away. You guys said every room you saw was full, right?” Decklan, Luke, and I nodded in unison. “That means that these new kids are just waiting to replace the kids that… don’t make it.”

“But we don’t know where they’re keeping them.” Luke said.

“Doesn’t matter. Decklan, you said that you think it’s built near a Reg community, right?”

“Well, that’s what I assume. But we didn’t see one- they’re probably a lot further in.”

“How much further, do you think?”

Decklan shrugged. “Several miles.”

I started catching on to what Laurie was planning, but my throat was too ravaged to help her out.

“Do you think we could find it tonight?”

“If it exists. We’ve still got a few hours of daylight.”

“Perfect. Meg, Luke, I’m going to need you guys to come with us. And Julie, if you want.” She looked at me, as if asking my permission. I shrugged. “Ok, who wants to drive us?”

“Drive you?” Asked Decklan. “Why”

Laurie winked at me, knowing that I’d caught on. “Because there’s a possibility that we can rescue a lot more people that we expected- and pull the rug out from under Senator Bluff.”

<THIS IS WHERE A CHAPTER BREAK WOULD USUALLY BE BUT I’M MAKING UP FOR LAST WEEKEND YOU’RE WELCOME>

In the end, everyone went. The community, of about 150 people, was ten miles or so past the facility. The residents hid in their little houses until the four of us Outliers held our naked forearms up in the air and Andy started yelling “We come in peace! We come in peace!”

We let Laurie describe her plan. What she hoped was that if enough people wanted to help, we could storm the facility from all sides, using some people for search and rescue and others for demolition. The idea was that if we overwhelmed them thoroughly enough, they’d tell us who was able to be rescued safely and who wasn’t, for fear that we’d lock them inside as we destroyed the building.

A surprising number of people signed on, although none of them would even consider it without seeing the four Outliers for themselves. Many even rubbed at the area where the tattoo should have been, as if we were trying to con them. Others demanded to see proof of the travesties being committed within the mysterious metal box they’d learned to steer clear from. But in the end, we’d managed to recruit a good majority of the little town.

We started in right as the sun was emerging, and it was clear Laurie’s plan was going to work. The security was seriously lack, probably because it was so unlikely that someone would come across it, let alone want to attack it.

The biggest men, Andy included, went in first, breaking back doors and hunting down the security force. The next wave included the agile but smaller people like Decklan, Luke, and me. We went to capture a few of the scientists to ascertain which children were still in a state to be rescued and nursed back to health. I was already in the building before the third wave went in, but I knew they would be going to find the children who had been brought in the previous day. There was a final group of people, with which Laurie stayed, to keep watch and make sure no one escaped that wasn’t supposed to.

With the aid of two of the townspeople, Luke and I captured two scientists. The first was uncooperative, so Luke shot him. I didn’t like that very much; the entire purpose of our revolution was to stop the unnecessary killing, but immediately the other scientist began to tell us what we needed to know.

Decklan and a few other men had found another cooperative scientist, so we compared our scientist’s respective stories. They matched, so the next task would be finding the children. Not wanting to take any chances, I had my scientist go in first to the rooms unprotected to make sure this wasn’t a last ditch effort to inflict some damage.

The rescuing aspect took a bit longer than I had expected. Even these children, the ones who would be able to recover, were much too weak to walk. I grabbed a few of the bigger men that were still running around to help us carry them out. Decklan got word to me that Andy had found several large busses, probably waiting for their next batches of victims, and was starting to make trips back to the little town’s local hospital. It would be completely overwhelmed, but there wasn’t any other choice. We couldn’t exactly take them into town. Not yet.

Someone nearby swore loudly, running through the halls to find me. I was half-dragging a small girl from her room, trying to get her outside. “Laurie.” Decklan gasped, “They’ve got Laurie.”

“Who’s got Laurie?” I asked, handing off the little girl to a bigger man.

Decklan sucked in his breath. “The first wave missed a couple of the guards who were taking naps in the garage with the vans. They grabbed Laurie and a few of the other people standing guard and drove off.”

“Is anyone following them?” Even if they didn’t have hostages, we couldn’t afford Bluff getting alerted about our involvement here. The townspeople would be punished, likely in a painful way.

“I’m waiting for Andy to get back, and I’m going to follow them. Do you want to come along?”

I ignored the look from Luke as I accepted. I wasn’t big enough to be much help here. Decklan handed over a gun he’d lifted from one of the ambushed guards and ushered me outside. We’d need to leave as soon as one of the vans got back. The situation was under better control now, with no other guards around. It was less important to move quickly.

“What are we going to do about the children?” I asked Decklan as I weighed the gun in my hand, feeling odd about holding one. “You know we can’t leave them in this town, or at least, not all of them.”

“I was thinking about that.” Decklan waved down the next van, and we climbed in. He started driving even before I was all the way in. “I’m thinking that once we get the kids more stabilized, we could use these vans to start driving them back to New Diego. Maybe your parents could get a couple more cars out here.”

I nodded. “I’m sure my mom has friends at the hospital that would help out once we’re back in town.”

We stayed silent for a moment as Decklan scanned the highway in front of us for the car the guards had taken. “There. I see them.” he sped up slightly.

“Decklan…” Thinking about the rescued children brought another, worse thought to my mind. “What about the children that don’t escape? The ones who are past a cure?”

He glanced at me. “Since this is your revolution, I thought I’d leave the decision up to you, but Andy and I think it’s best if, when we destroy the facility, we make sure to destroy them too. The scientist I captured said that most of them aren’t even lucid anymore. They wouldn’t feel it.”

I shuddered at the thought, swallowing hard to keep my breakfast down. Unable to speak, I just nodded. Decklan took out his phone and briefly talked to Andy while speeding up a little more. Now I could see what car we were following, a small blue town car. They turned off soon after Decklan hung up the phone somberly, and we silently followed. Now that we were closer, I could see the guard in the passenger seat was turned around, seemingly yelling at the three people they had taken.

The back of Laurie’s head was shaking, clearly not answering the question. The guard lashed out at her, and when the man next to her tried to comfort her, the guard lashed at him as well.

That was when our luck ran out. The driver glanced in his rearview mirror and had spotted us, recognizing the van. They sped up, and the guard in passenger seat was yelling with more vigor. I watched his face turn red, then purple, before he reached for his gun.

“No-” I managed to get out, but there was nothing we could do. The guard in the passenger seat had decided that since Laurie and the other two weren’t talking, they couldn’t risk keeping them alive, not with Decklan and I on their tails. I watched him pull the trigger, and then watched Laurie’s body slump forward.

With a strangled yell- it had been a stressful couple of days- I pulled out my gun. Decklan shouted something at me, but I couldn’t hear him over my rage. Taking aim, I shot and managed to hit the man in the shoulder. The car swerved, and I shot again, this time at one of the tires. The back left blew out and caused the car to skid into a fence.

I didn’t wait for Decklan to continue slowing down. Leaping from the car, I took aim and finished off both the guards who had been getting out of the car. The blood was pumping so loudly in my ears that I didn’t hear Decklan come up from behind me to take my gun. I did, however, feel his hands linger on my shoulders before going to see if the other two townspeople were alright.

My feet felt heavy and I found that I couldn’t move, let alone help Decklan get the shaken townspeople out of the car. So I just stood there uselessly, my hand still curled as if I was holding a gun, staring at the two men I’d just killed.

“Meg.” Decklan said into my ear. The car was empty of the living now. Had time passed? I blinked. “Meg, there’s nothing else we can do. We have to get out of here before someone comes and finds us.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but I couldn’t find the words. I felt my tongue in my mouth, moving around my teeth, and briefly forgot it’s use. “Ungh” was all I managed to get out before Decklan gave up. Gently, he took my shoulders again and led me back to the car, and when it was obvious I was in no state to buckle my own seatbelt, he did it for me.

No one talked on the way back, but time had stopped registering with me.

I stayed in this haze for several more hours, or so they told me. I wasn’t conscious for most of it. And if I was, nothing made sense. The world had become a series of shapes and blurs. The one thing I did register, though, was the color red.

Luke was wearing a red shirt that day. Part of my mind remembers screaming and pushing him away, seeing the gun wounds I’d inflicted on the two guards, seeing Laurie. The other part of my mind reasons that I may have made that up. But it acknowledges that red had become anger and pain instead of warmth in a very short amount of time.

The cars that had comfortably fit three or four people on the way out were packed down with twelve or fifteen, mostly children under the age of fifteen. I was in a car with Julie, Luke, and nine of the rescued children. We were about a day’s journey away from New Diego, and I hadn’t spoken yet. Julie, normally so pushy, just sat with me quietly, clutching my hand and burrowing her head into my shoulder. It was such a natural position that I couldn’t help but feel comforted. Every once in a while Luke would pat my knee or arm, but other than that he kept to himself. Didn’t want me to start screaming again, probably.

Upon arriving back at my parent’s house, I was surprised to find how much had changed. The previously barren monstrosity that they called a home was filled to the brim with people, each claiming a small area to practice whatever craft they wished. One man had the far side of the dining room, his paintings covering every square inch of the wall. Emma had opened her room up to her fellow musicians, where they were hard at work composing and writing. There was so much beauty in the house, with the art and the music and the words scrawled onto the demure wallpaper, that it overwhelmed me.

My room was the only one that had been untouched. My mother explained this to me when I looked at her questioningly, still unable to talk.

“Well, sweetheart, you’re the leader of this little rebellion! You at least deserve a little privacy for that feat!” With a wink and a smile that was still unfamiliar to me, she left me to my dark thoughts.

I’d been crying for a good fifteen minutes when Luke came in to see me.

“Meg?” His voice was alarmed. Probably used to my catatonic silence. “Meg, what’s wrong?”

“I… can’t… do it.” I finally managed to get out.

“Do what?” He sat down on the bed next to me.

“Be the leader! I can’t! I won’t! I’m not… strong enough! I’m not calm enough! I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THIS.”

Luke tried to wrap an arm around me, for comfort I guessed, but the sobs were wracking at my chest from the inside and I pushed him away, curling up into the fetal position. He stayed with me for a little while longer, but it was clear that I didn’t want anything to do with him at that moment. He who could kill so easily. He whose eyes went red with bloodlust every time a Bluff conspirer walked nearby.

They left me alone for the next few days. My father would sometimes come in with a plate of food, but I couldn’t even look at it without my stomach retching. Emma and Julie made an attempt sometime after the first night home, but I couldn’t even stabilize my shaking long enough to give them a hug. The pain and worry on their faces was too much for me, and I buried my head in a pillow.

Finally, at the end of the second day, through which I had not stopped crying longer than a couple of minutes, Decklan let himself in. I’d seen him the two times I’d gotten up to use the toilet, but he’d never said a word.

“Luke says you yelled at him and made him leave.” Was that amusement that I caught in his voice?

I said nothing in return, still shaking.

The bed bent when Decklan’s weight came down next to where I lay, curled up. “Meg, talk to me.” The gentle edge of his voice only made me cry harder. My body was so tightly curled now that I couldn’t move at all.

Decklan, emboldened by my not kicking him out, lay down next to me, draping one arm protectively over my clenched form. He put his face in my dirty hair, making no comment about its abundant greasiness. “It’s going to be ok.” He whispered.

That was night, and by the time the sun rose and I had woken up again, Decklan was still there. At some point I must have rolled over and relaxed my position, because I’d woken up with my head in his chest and both of his arms cradling me. My appetite seemed to have returned at full force, but I didn’t want to move, so I didn’t.

We stayed that way for a while, not talking, not moving, but listening to each other breath. My incessant crying had slowed, then stopped completely. Something about the warmth of his heartbeat in my ear had calmed me down.

Finally, Decklan broke the silence with an exaggerated sniff and a gagging sound. “Someone needs a shower.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Then I hiccuped. Then Decklan laughed, and I joined him. The past week had been so surreal, and it felt good to let myself breath easily again.

I started to stand up, having gotten a whiff of myself, but Decklan caught my hand and pulled me back down to the bed, wrapping his arms around me once more. “You’ve been brilliant, Meg. Absolutely awe inspiring. You can absolutely, without a doubt, do anything. You are beautiful and strong and amazing, and none of this would have been possible without you.”

I let myself relax against his strong yet gangly form. “I love you too, Decklan.”

Continued in part 43

(awwwww happy cheesy ending of a chapter)

I’m not shy. I’m more… socially flummoxed. If I know you, I’ll talk to you. If I don’t know you, I will probably be friendly, unless you have some characteristic that I dislike, for example, talking too much about inconsequential things, answering more than one question in a row inadequately but believe you’re the smartest person in the class, or just having one of those faces. You know what I mean.

So when I came to college, I have to admit I didn’t have high expectations. Sure, there was a point when I believed there would be a pool of dateable guys ripe for the picking and a reasonable number of people similar enough to me to be my friends. But as the weeks went by, I stopped leaving my door open for forced socialization and resigned myself to the fact that most of the men on campus were either taken, gay, or alcoholic.

And that was fine. I had one friend, Sharon, who was equally as reclusive as I, and my roommate was tolerable. The boys in the rooms around me were good for fixing my printer and throwing things at when I was in a mood. Maybe it wasn’t as different as high school as I would have hoped, but at least no one was actively mean to me. I also wasn’t living at home, which was a definite plus.

“Morning.” The guy from down the hall -Seth?- murmured, as if unsure. I managed a weak return of the sentiment and a passable nod. We passed and I glanced down. I was wearing my flannel, rainbow reindeer Old Navy pajama bottoms, a too-large University sweatshirt, and my mouth tasted like pre-teeth brushing garbage. Even my hair, normally long and curly, was a vague shadow of it’s sometimes-glory. I say sometimes because, let’s be honest, curly hair has a mind of its own and if you’re lucky you’ll get two days of reasonable wearability a week.

I continued my absurdly long trek to the community bathroom thinking. Had I ever actually had a conversation with Seth? We had mutual acquaintances and lived on the same floor… oh. Right. The microwave incident.

Let me just say this in my defense; when I say, to use the word again, absurdly violent things to people, it’s not because I’m a sociopath. It’s that I find overdramatic sadism funny.

That’s not really helping my case, is it? Let’s continue.

We’re not allowed to bring our own microwaves from home, because they would short out the entire building’s power. If you wanted something warmed up, you had to make the hike to the kitchen that the entire building -three stories- shares. It’s on the first floor. I’m on the third. To hell with that.

But recently our building invested in a microwave for the hall. Just one, solitary, occasionally malfunctioning microwave bolted to the table it’s set on. Because, you know, we wouldn’t want someone sneaking it away under their shirt or something. Whatever.

My unyielding weakness for asiago cheese was my undoing. It always has been. I didn’t feel like walking to the dining hall for lunch because I had laundry in the washer and like hell was I putting pants on before I actually had to be in class. So I sliced up some of my cheese onto some of my coveted wheat bread -new years resolution- and headed over to the microwave. If I had to walk 8 miles to take a shower, I at least deserved a grilled cheese.

Right as I rounded the corner to get to the microwave, though, I saw Seth step up and place something, probably a burrito, inside it. At this point I had two options; wait in awkward silence and risk him choosing a conversation topic I wouldn’t be able to keep up with adequate social grace, or make a move.

“I’m going to have to kill you know, you know.” So sue me. I went with option 2.

He glanced up at me and furrowed his brow.

“You got to the microwave first. So now I have to kill you.” I spoke slowly, so as not to confuse him further. Maybe he was slow?

“It’s only forty seconds…” He replied with a smirk, catching on.

“Forty seconds that I’m unwilling to wait.”

“Right. You couldn’t kill me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. What would you do?”

In my head, I profiled Seth. He was tall, with almost bowl-cut blond hair and nerdy glasses. Not geek-chic glasses with thick black rims, but the glasses your mom made you get when you found out you were far-sighted. The ones with the thin, chrome wire that look perpetually dirty. He wasn’t bad looking, I supposed, in that adorably dorky, World of Warcraft way. Oh yeah, I could definitely take him.

“I’d light you on fire. With my mind.” I finally replied.

He laughed. “That’s impossible.”

I scrunched up my face in concentration. “Just try me.” Fire, fire I chanted in my head.

He chuckled once more and the microwave went off.

“You’ll get off easy this time, but I’m watching you.” I told him as he retreated, laughing quietly.

My sandwich didn’t turn out as I’d hoped- the bread was so thin it melted more than the cheese. But I’d had a normal human interaction- normal as relative to me, at least.

Jackson, my iPhone, buzzed in my pocket. Dinner later? It was Sharon.

Sure. 6 ish?

Sounds good.

See you then.

I’m only a little bit ashamed to say that I was partially disappointed. It wasn’t that I didn’t like eating dinner with Sharon; we were good friends, and I enjoyed her company. But I’d just started a new book and if I got dinner alone I’d be able to read and eat, something that apparently isn’t appropriate when there are other people around. But whatever. When you’ve only got one friend, you learn to be flexible.

That was all two days ago. Had Seth and I graduated to a regular greeting level now? I wasn’t trying to be his friend. One friend is hard enough to keep track of. There’s birthdays, major holidays, big trips to bring things back from, and obligations to do things outside of school. I was just making conversation so I would appear less crazy than I actually know myself to be. If he’d tried to talk to me like a normal person at the microwave, the game would be up. I couldn’t compose myself like a normal person. Small talk terrifies me.

Like there’s this girl in my acting class, Karen. Karen is tall, thin, and well liked by the football team. In addition to that, the one hobby she could come up with when we were all introducing ourselves was exercise. Not running or swimming, or something less intimidating like reading, my choice. Exercising. What? Whose one defining hobby is exercising? Certainly not someone I’d find myself around. She was friendly enough in class, but they all are. I went to public high school. I know your game, pretty Karen.

Except pretty Karen’s friendliness isn’t confined in class. When she sees me around campus she not only says hello to me by name, but also asks me how I am, if we had any homework, or just anything that came into her mind. She wasn’t just being friendly, I realized. She was being familiar.

What are these people’s angles? I’m not the type of person they should be associating with! It’s not that I’m not pretty. Well, ok, I’m not. But I’m not repulsive. I’m a little on the short side and it wouldn’t kill me to work out more and get these hips under control, and it might be in my best interest to get a nose job if I had limitless money and no other skills to speak of, but I’m ok. Reasonably good looking, we’ll say. I’m reasonably good looking.

But still. Tall, skinny, football player attracting girls are not friends with me. They do not know my name or make small talk while I’m brushing my teeth.

Speaking of brushing my teeth. I had now finished my fifteen mile trek to the bathroom and begun that very ritual. Had to get it in before the cleaning ladies got here, otherwise I’d be forced to go to the second floor bathroom, and that would potentially force me to meet new people. We can’t have that, now, can we?

I finish, make the excruciating twenty mile journey back to my dorm, and sit down at my computer with my cooling bowl of dinosaur egg oatmeal. New friend request on Facebook. I swear to God if it’s someone else from high school I’m going to- oh. Hi, Seth.

I accept, because I figure once college is over I can just delete him, just like I deleted the majority of my high school peers. But it seems wrong to ignore the request when I’ll have to see him every day for at least the next three months.

Immediately, he likes one of my recent status updates, something ridiculous. I’m mildly amused, but class is in ten minutes and I haven’t put pants on yet. God, what is it with me and pants?

I run into Sharon on the way. “Lunch today?” She asks.

“Sure! I’m done with class at 11:30.”

“Cool, see you sometime around then?” She poses it as a question. We’re equally socially flummoxed, it seems. Even with people we know. There’s always that line, that line that you never know you’ve crossed until you’ve been in enemy territory for thirty miles and it’s too late to retreat or say you just “got lost”. You don’t want to screw up the one friendship you have, so we’re careful. Always careful.

“Yeah, sounds good. See ya.”

“Bye.”

Seth’s admittedly more attractive roommate Len is in this class with me. We’ve never even had a murder conversation, let alone a reason to reach the morning greeting level. Too bad. I wouldn’t protest it, although his attention might be even more unsettling. More out of place.

It’s also too bad because he’s one of those guys who knows he’s attractive. And that’s about the least attractive trait you can have. There’s nothing wrong with being confident, but he crosses a line somewhere. A line similar to the one with me and Sharon. But different.

Class passes slowly. The weekend is only a day away and we’ve just turned in our first major essay, so there isn’t much to talk about past semicolons and what we’ve learned so far. I make lists in my tiny red moleskine, feeling superior and alternately guilty for not paying attention.

On the way back to my dorm room -where else would I go?- a girl from down the hall smiles at me as we pass each other. I manage a weak nod and grimace. Please don’t tell me we’ve reached the point where we’re familiar enough with the notion of one another that we have to do this every time we see each other. She returned my ID card once when if fell out in the stairwell. I once handed her a paper towel. Her roommate is in my film class.

No, there’s no way the unwritten rules of social interaction require consistency in greeting already. I can probably get away with pretending to text at least 60% of the time, mostly because she doesn’t know me well enough to understand the full scope of my unpopularity. Who would I pretend to text, my mom?

Shit. My mom. I forgot to call her last night. I’d have to do that between my next two classes. I repeated my intention a couple times in my head to make sure I’d remember. Otherwise I’d get lost in Liz Lemon’s hilarious antics and forget I even have a mother. That might actually happen, terrifyingly enough.

A guy, Andy is his name, smiles and says hello to me. I return the sentiment in equal enthusiasm. He’s so consistently stoned that I don’t have to worry about either his intentions or my lack of social grace around him. Not like he’d remember. If anything, college has made me appreciate pot heads.

I decide to change my regular path to go check my mail. Along the way, I recognize Daniel, who is in my night class on Tuesdays and also did a fantastic job in the play the night before. This is your chance to appear normal in a genuine way! My excited mind realized.

“Daniel?” I venture, walking up to where he sat. He was even on my way to the mailroom. What a lucky break. He doesn’t hear me. “Daniel?” I try again.

He finally looks up, a little bit afraid. He’s not socially flummoxed, but actually shy. Immediately, I regret my choice, but it’s too late now, so I power on.

“You did a really great job in the play last night.”

“Oh.” He looks surprised. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, you were awesome. Congrats.” Oh, God, shut up Hailey, just shut up. I tell myself.

“Thanks.” He even manages a little smile.

I’m so sorry Daniel. I say in my head as I retreat, ashamed. I have become that which I hate the most. A small-talker. Poor Daniel. I practically ambushed him.

No mail. Oh well.

I take the stairwell on the far side of my building so I can reach the bathroom on the way back to my dorm. No sense in making that thirty mile hike both ways. My business done, I emerge again, ready for a peanut butter sandwich in my dorm room and some rousing NBC comedies.

Seth appears from around the corner, his room much closer to the girl’s bathroom. “Toilet room”, as its sign proclaims.

“Oh. Hi, Hailey.”

Well, look at you! Even knows my name! “Hi, Seth.” Yeah, I know your name too, mister. Paranoia creeps in. Probably, he’s seen me around campus with Sharon. I’m really not fishing for compliments when I say that she’s ten times prettier than I am. It’s already happened once this year, a guy pursuing me and then switching his affections at the last minute. Not that I really care; I’ve decided I’m going to be Jane Austen, always writing about epic romances and never actually having one myself. Seth hasn’t moved towards his door, so I brace myself for whatever comes next. He’s not really Sharon’s type, so I struggle to find a combination of words that would let him down easy.

“Would you like to go get bubble tea with me sometime?”

I realized something that day. My first boyfriend asked me out over instant messaging. I’d subsequently ended the relationship through instant messaging. My second boyfriend asked me out over the phone. I broke up with him over the phone while spending the night at my best friend’s house. This could either mean I was doomed to break up with boys in the same manner that they asked me out in, or that I was finally ready to graduate to being asked out in real life.

“Bubble tea?” I ask, buying time to get all these thoughts in order.

“Yeah. You ever had it? It’s kind of… weird… but in a good way.”

“Oh, right. I think Sharon’s told me about it before.” I drop the name casually, just to see his reaction. Girls like me don’t just get randomly asked out after finishing peeing.

“Sharon? Oh, you mean that girl you watch Psych with in the hallways sometimes?”

“Yeah… that’s her.”

“Oh. Right. So… um. Bubble tea? With me? Sometime?”

God, he was actually asking me out. Not only did he brush off the Sharon mention, but he also brought the conversation back to it’s original intentions without initiation from me! Where have you been all my life? “Um. Sure. When?”

“Tomorrow, maybe five ish? That’s when I get off work.”

“Sounds good. I’ll just… meet you at your dorm?”

“Yeah, ok. Well… see you then.” He ducked his head and raced to his room, deftly unlocking the door like a man on the run.

This relationship wasn’t going to work out. We were too similar. Too identically socially flummoxed. But who was I to doubt my eggs before they’ve been hatched? Jane Austen isn’t going anywhere.

Personally, I love a good “that’s what she said” joke. I find them hysterical in a way a “proper” young lady probably shouldn’t. Why?

The reason is short and to the point. “Thats What She Said” jokes (henceforth to be called TWSS) remind us not to take life too seriously. TWSS jokes surprise us, make us laugh about base sexual desires, things that we need to stop taking so seriously. I’m a prude virgin, and even though sex means and will mean a lot to me, sex isn’t this magical experience anymore. It’s not a mystery, not really, and it’s certainly not hard to find. And making fun of it reminds us of that.

I love TWSS jokes because if you can’t laugh at the serious things, what can you do? I’ve spent my entire life taking things people say about me to heart. I’ve spent years and years being depressed because I don’t know what else to feel. TWSS jokes break up that sadness and pain to remind me that even the most serious things are kind of funny if you take a step back.

This is a really, really understated version of what I had in my head, but you should just be happy you’re getting a post at all. Me from the future, I hope you’re having fun in Hungary.

Let me explain. I grew up in a town where we had a Pancheros, a Bocaza, a Chipotle, a Qdoba, a Cafe Rio (new), a Tequilas, a Jilbertos, Dos Hombres, a Fiesta Guadalajara, and an El Tapatio. Ten different places to get burritos. Not to mention the burritos we made at home.

So yeah, let’s just say I’m used to having Mexican food nearby. But then I moved to Forest Grove, Oregon. We have a place called La Sierra right outside of campus that failed it’s health examination and the crappy cafeteria refried beans. And that’s it. Even on debate trips, the best we can usually find is one Mexican restaurant per tournament. Where my burritos at?

That’s a strange thing to notice, and an even stranger thing to wonder about regularly, but there it is. And it made me realize that I love where I grew up.

Ok, so I didn’t love it when I lived there. Far from it. I hated it, in fact. I remember driving Craig and I around town in my truck, trying to come up with something to do on the weekends. The best we could come up with was Wal Mart hide and seek, the mall, and going to movies. But my little Colorado town looks as exciting as Paris when you compare it to Forest Grove. Holy crap. Everything here closes at like 5:30, except for the shady billiards hall and the Thai food restaurant. The only nearby bookstore is the school one, and it’s mostly textbooks and Pacific University hoodies so there isn’t much to love about it.

In Colorado, I used to be really adamant about letting people know I was born in Seattle. No way was I going to be lumped in with the kids whose grandparents had gone to our high school. Nowadays, when people ask where I’m from, I tell them Colorado. Up here, being from Seattle isn’t special or exciting. But Colorado… Colorado is different. Colorado is far away. And most importantly, I’m proud to say I’m from Colorado. I find myself missing Colorado.

Partially, I miss Colorado because I miss having a car and familiar surroundings to cruise around. Partially I miss Colorado for my family and friends. But mostly, I miss Colorado because, no matter where I was born, Colorado is my home.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Laia and I switched days this week since I’ll be out of the country on Sunday.

I'm pretty sure this picture was taken in the Border's Cafe this summer

So Borders is closing. Or declaring bankruptcy. Or something. Whatever. Not important. What IS important is that the Borders in my town is closing and that’s probably been the most devastating news I’ve heard since my parents got divorced. Not even joking.

Because Borders was more than just a place I went a lot to get out of the house and let my creative juices flow. (That always sounds weird. Doesn’t that sound weird? What kind of juices are they and where are they flowing to and how will I replenish said juices?) Borders was more than a place with mouthwatering white chocolate mochas and friendly, personable baristas. Borders was even more than my safe space- I mean, like in tag. Remember when you were young and there was always one agreed upon spot that was out of bounds from the game? Where you could catch your breath without fear of being tagged? That’s what Borders is to me. My out-of-bounds, where the world doesn’t exist, where I can just be.

Borders was more than all of that. Borders was, above all other things, a bookstore.

That seems awfully anticlimactic, doesn’t it? But it’s not. Think about it; with businesses like Amazon selling books out of a warehouse online and eBooks dominating the market, where do actual bookstores fit into the equation? They’re less cost efficient, that’s for sure. You don’t have to pay for decent lighting and heating for a warehouse. You don’t have to hire as many people, you don’t have to set up a coffee shop. And you certainly don’t have to worry about the aura of the place.

I see the word “bookstore” like I see the word “castle”. In my head, they’re both places of majestic wonder, and although the world is beginning to move past them, they’ll always carry a certain amount of magic. So many stories, so many ideas, hopes, and dreams are captured in bookstores, and you only have to walk through the doors to be exposed. As I get older I find myself at least being able to tolerate shopping for clothes and other things, but the one type of shopping that is constant and will never cease to make me happy is that of book shopping.

I love walking down an isle of bookcases that tower over my head, with their colored spines stacked gracefully on both sides. I love being able to reach out and take one, inhale the crisp paper, and read a few pages to gauge my interest. And I love that no matter how long my mom lets me browse, there’s always more for the next time. And the next. And the next.

But Borders is closing. Or declaring bankruptcy. Or something. And all I really feel is empty. Like the economic recession has personally decided to take away the one thing that I could always count on; a table near the front of the cafe, a smiling barista that knows me by name and quirks, and a never ending cycle of literature.

The UC is mostly empty, and even though no one I actually know is around, it’s a struggle to keep myself under control. To keep myself from crying. It’s one thing to lose your best friend to circumstances you don’t fully understand.

It’s another thing to lose your favorite bookstore.

It was a five hour drive before the bus pulled off at an unmarked exit. “Probably a Reg community.” Decklan explained. “There are some places that politicians let Regs live uninhibited by society. As long as they keep to their land and don’t make too much of a fuss, they’re allowed to grow their own crops and stuff.”

Luke and I exchanged a look. “So how does a Reg apply for a place in one of these communities?” He asked, honestly curious.

“Usually, when there are too many Regs working in one job and their… boss is too lazy to find other occupations for his employees. So he gives them directions to the nearest community and shreds their employment papers so he doesn’t have to explain himself.”

“Does that happen often?”

“It used to happen a lot more, apparently. But then they worked out some system that kept too many Regs from entering the workplace-oh.”

If it wasn’t such a horrible revelation, I would have chuckled at the way Decklan was taken off guard. “You know what the worst part is?” I asked instead. The boys glanced back at me from the front seats. “The secondary tests were created before Bluff took office. So he’s not the only sick bastard out there.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Luke admitted, watching the road carefully. We’d had to drop back a mile or so, because there was no one else on this road, and we’d come too far to get caught now.

We drove the next couple miles in silence, going over what we’d gotten ourselves into. When the phone we were using vibrated in the cup holder in front of me, the three of us nearly jumped out of the car. Decklan swerved violently before getting the car back under control.

“Hello?” I gasped, trying not to laugh.

“Hey Meg. It’s Jon. We’re at the work camp.”

“And?”

“And we have more pictures of people beating children than there exist pictures of the Holocaust.”

I put the phone on speaker, no longer in the laughing mood. “Good job. We just got off at an unmarked exit -Decklan thinks it’s used as a Reg community.”

“Ok. Which direction did you guys end up going? West?”

“Yeah. Into Utah.”

“We’ll start making our way to you, then. Call us when you’ve got more info.”

“The exit we passed before getting off the highway was called Richfield, I think. Want to meet there?”

“Sounds good. See you in a few hours.”

The bus we were following was coming to the end of it’s drive. There was a small thicket of trees right before it turned off onto a short dirt road where we pulled off. Grabbing our packs, we walked the rest of the way.

The facility we ended up at was vast- like fifteen of the scrapping facilities put together and flattened out. It was metal and square, with low walls and a flat metal roof. It looked almost like a containment facility.

“What the hell-?”

“Shut up. Let’s find the bus.” I whispered, suddenly tense.

The boys nodded silently and followed me around the other side of the building, where we spotted the bus. The kids being unloaded had black Xs on their hands.

As the bus drove away, Luke threw a rock in the door to keep it from closing. I raised my eyebrows at him, but his only explanation was a shrug. There were no cameras, so we shoved our way through the door without bothering to keep our heads down.

The sound of footsteps echoed to the right of us, but I shook my head at Luke as he started to follow. I had a feeling they weren’t going to where we needed to be.

We broke off to the left of a long metal corridor, walking slowly and quietly. It was dark, so I grabbed both of their hands to stay together. They both squeezed simultaneously as I pulled them forwards.

When we turned a corner, there was a longer straight corridor full of doors. Each door, unlike the doors where Bluff had kept me for torturing, had a small window. As the shortest, although admittedly not by much, I crept to the first window and peeked inside. Whatever I was expecting, it was not what I saw.

There were four teenagers, probably about fifteen years old, in four chairs around the room. I couldn’t discern their genders, as all of them were bald and wearing rags. The one closest to me had eyes swollen shut. As I watched them, their chests rose and fell too quickly, and I watched coughs ripping through their throats. They had scabs on almost every surface of their bodies, and I could see where the chains that held them down had chafed. They were a sickly pale yellow bunch, and looked like they hadn’t seen the sun since their capture.

I pivoted 180 degrees and slid down the door, sitting down hard on the metal floor and putting my head between my knees. This was not what I’d signed up for.

Looking concerned, Luke and Decklan took peeks, and soon they were sitting on either side of me in the exact same positions.

“I… I know what this is.” Decklan whispered hoarsely, looking physically ill. I looked at him with dead eyes. “Do you remember when you first met our little group of conspirators? Before Ian betrayed us?” Nodding, I waited for him to continue. “As we were leaving, Lorena was rattling off about this new drug that Bluff had funded that made you immune to heart disease. We had biology together, and that’s why she was unwilling at first to believe Bluff was behind, or at least in support, of the whole FF fiasco. Because he was funding research that saved lives more efficiently than anything before. But he never revealed where this research was taking place and he never…” Decklan paused to choke back a dry heave, “he never revealed what research had been done. The drugs worked so no one asked questions.”

I was shaking my head before Decklan finished talking, breathing in and out slowly to keep my heart under control. Adrenaline was bursting through my veins. “We have to do something. We have to get them out of here…”

Decklan grabbed my forearm as I reached for the handle of the door. “Meg, we are doing something. We’re making sure that this doesn’t happen to anyone else ever again. But we can’t get them out of there.” I tried to wrench my arm out of his grip, but he held fast. “Listen to me, Meg. We can’t. You saw them. They probably can’t even move. They’ll be dead in a week, maybe two. They’re infected, and if we take them outside of that room, we will be too.”

“He’s right, Meg.” Luke said, in a voice so quiet I almost missed it. He still hadn’t taken his head from between his legs. “Get some pictures and let’s move on.”

And so we did. Decklan held my hand tightly as we walked through the halls, making sure to get a picture from within every single room. There was only one researcher in a lab coat for the entire hall, who was oblivious to us inside one of the rooms, so I assumed the rest were evaluating their new guinea pigs. The thought made me sick, so I pushed it away and concentrated on the warmth of Decklan’s hand clutched around mine. Luke hadn’t spoken since he’d agreed with Decklan about not attempting a rescue.

There were probably a hundred more hallways snaking around the facility, but we stopped at five. Decklan made the executive decision to leave, but there was one more room, with a window more warmly lighted, that was calling out to me from the next hallway over. “I just feel like… like there’s something we’re missing.” I muttered, thinking back to when Julie had told us about this third test. We started forward, but two steps in Luke jerked us back around the corner.

“Someone’s coming.” He hissed.

We stood, backs against the wall, waiting. I heard the footsteps too, and was glad that Luke was not so emotionally compromised to warn us about things like this. Voices soon echoed towards us.

“…need some privacy?” Someone was saying. Another someone- a young girl, I wagered- wimpered.

“I’d love some. We really need to do something about that window.” This was a voice the three of us recognized at the same time.

“Bluff.” Decklan growled under his breath, clenching his fists. I couldn’t even reprimand him, I was shaking so badly.

“there was a man too. He didn’t do any of the testing, just stared greedily.” Julie had said when we asked her about the third test.

“Greedily?”

“Yeah. I heard him mutter ‘blonde’ under his breath as they left. Maybe that’s why I didn’t pass?”

Julie didn’t know what Senator Bluff looked like at the time. Possibilities raced through my mind so quickly with such awful force that I had to squeeze my eyes shut.

A door clanked shut, and Bluff’s voice was cut off. A pair of footsteps retreated back to where they’d come from. I waited for a minute before stepping around the corner again.

“Meg…” Luke started, seeing the look on my face. “I think it’s better if you…” Decklan wasn’t looking at us, sickened eyes staring at the floor.

“Better if I what, Luke?” I snapped. “Better if I don’t go get proof that will sink Bluff once and for all?”

“We have plenty on him already, Meg.” He begged, cupping his hands around my face. It wasn’t meant to be romantic, but pleading. “He’ll go to jail for the rest of his life and no one will be able to defend the FF system ever again. You don’t have to go see that.”

“If he’s going down,” I stared at Luke. “Then I want him going down for all of it.”

Continued in part 42!

(Holy crap this was a dark chapter. Apologies.)

Crap.

I just realized that I’m going to have to schedule like mad since I’ll be gone the week after next. I have nothing to post about! I don’t do anything anymore! Like I told Ellen yesterday, my time is only measured in homework.

Which is fine. This is actually how I expected college to be. Really challenging and stressful, but centered around classes that I’m actually interested in. Last semester was, to put it nicely, a joke. This semester, though, is what I needed.

Video Activism: Three big video projects using legit, fancy equipment.

Music Notation and Songwriting: Compose a song (the vocal AND instrumental parts)

Expository Writing: Three big essays, heavily researched and stylized.

Studies in Fiction: Read a book a week, 1 page essay a week, plus two big critical reading essays.

Acting: Memorize lots of things. Ok, so acting isn’t all that hard. But there’s a surprising amount of reading.

Actually, speaking of acting, I’ve been seriously considering double majoring in theatre. I think it would be fun, and the requirements don’t seem all that difficult. My senior thesis could be to write a play! Now THAT would be fun.

This blog is about nothing, and I apologize. It’s practically a Various Ramblings, minus the whole split personality thing. (After attempting to saw off all her skin with a blunt steak knife, but then deciding it was too much trouble, Bri ran to the nearest mall and stole all things that had anything to do with Antonio Banderas. She then assaulted a mall cop with a Zorro soundrack. Please, all of you who care for her, don’t send her any Antonio merchandise to cheer her up. And please-please- don’t send anything with the letter “Z” ANYWHERE. We hope she’ll be able to function normally in society, but after the tenth time (that’s what it is, isn’t it?) we’re starting to have our doubts. Adeiu.)

Wtf. I was such a strange adolescent.

In other news, I’m going to cut my hair at the next possible convenience. And I don’t just mean a trim… it’s going to be somewhat dramatic. I’m thinking just above shoulder length, layered. Since I recognize the usefulness of bobby pins now, I’m not too concerned about pulling it ALL back in a ponytail.

I should just hashtag this post with #boring and be done with it. Ugh. Goodbye. I’m sorry this post is so crap.

MOST BORING VIDEO EVER. Sorry. Next week will be something more interesting. Hopefully. I’m so busy!!

So the first book we had to read for my Studies in Fiction class was Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe. From what I’d heard before starting, it was something of an adventure story.

NOT.

Seriously. Most boring book EVER. It’s like Defoe marketed it as an adventure story and the actual book was his way of saying “PSYCHE!” There was nothing adventurous at all. I think Defoe might be the only writer in the history of the world who can make a dude getting shipwrecked seem boring. I was all prepared for something exciting, challenging. I’ve seen all of LOST and parts of Castaway, so I figured it would be something along those lines. But nope. This book was a giant “eff you” to anyone who reads for entertainment.

Example: He spends page after page of mind numbing description on how he goes about building his life on the island. We get passage after passage of him swimming back to the remains of his ship to get supplies, paragraph after paragraph about how he constructs and upkeeps the wall around his “house”, and chapter after frickin chapter of the other various menial tasks he gets up to on a day to day basis. NO ONE CARES.

Even worse, though, was the religious instruction. It’s not that I have a problem with a protagonist having a religious revelation- that’s fine. Religion is a big part of peoples’ lives. What I DO have a problem with, though, was the fact that Crusoe had a religious revelation EVERY OTHER SENTENCE. I mean, we get it. Crusoe shouldn’t have ignored his father’s teachings and turned his back on God. The island is his repentance. Blah blah blah. Whatever. Mentioning it once in a while is fine, but every other sentence? Really? Unnecessary.

From what I understand, the entire point of this book was to ram home how important it is to be average. Never strive to be extraordinary because you’ll probably just fail and piss off God. The End.

Don’t read this book. Seriously, it makes watching paint dry riveting.

Lacy, it turned out, was an outlier as well. She had been captured by Bluff’s men after attempting to steal food in a small convenience store just outside of New Diego. She’d come all the way from Florida, where she’d heard about our revolution from Outties.

My rescue of her cooled most of the anger that came from my late night escapade, but even those who were annoyed couldn’t deny that I needed it.

Two days later, the “proof group”, as Andy called us, left for Colorado. I was worried it would be awkward, like my first road trip had been, but the extra people did wonders to keep things civil and light.

I hadn’t talked to Luke or Decklan about anything other than plans since I’d been rescued. Part of me was still half in love with Decklan, even though I was still angry with him, and that part was large enough for me to feel guilty about using Luke as I had. It didn’t seem fair that I could not share the strong feelings for Luke that he seemed to have for me. So I kept my distance.

There was an irony in that these two boys -men, they often insisted- would be my companions on the second leg of this trip. I rode in the car with Julie, Laurie, and Jon, trying to forget that.

Malia had been forced to close her bookstore, after Bluff had made too many suspicious visits. She was now staying with my parents, like many other outliers had chosen, working to make sympathizing contacts and keep the senator and his cronies on their toes.

The drive went fairly quickly, within a day we were within a couple miles of the facility. It helped that this drive had only one destination, so we could take a more direct route.

The scrapping tour wasn’t due to come for another day, so we hid the cars about a mile off and made camp. This had Julie excited; ever since we were forced to abandon our little shack outside of town, she hadn’t been allowed to wander outdoors for more than a few minutes at a time.

I had to admit, the open air was refreshing to me as well. I had also been restricted to the indoors after my time with Bluff, and now that I was strong enough, I relished the freedom. The Colorado mountains were much colder than New Diego this time of year, the fall, but no one could find a reason to complain. We all felt much better being outside rather than being cramped in my parent’s house, large as it was.

The next day, we split up. Jon, Andy, Laurie, and Julie stayed near the bus labeled “work camp”, waiting for it to depart. We assumed that the kids hadn’t been split up just yet. Luke, Decklan, and I snuck into the facility through the kitchens, and I had a flashback to when I’d first met Gruber. There was a shock of sadness that nearly crippled me for a moment, but a strange look from Luke got me moving again. We couldn’t afford to be caught, not yet.

This facility was set up much like the one I’d been in, so I led the boys down to the gas chamber. Decklan looked around him in wonder; it was the first facility he had been inside.

It was fairly early in the morning, so none of the doomed children were forced to wake up yet. The hallway leading to the gas chamber was eerily silent, and when Decklan took out his camera to start taking pictures, I jumped a foot in the air.

Both boys turned to me in confusion. “Sorry.” I gasped. “The flash startled me.” Luke patted my shoulder comfortingly, and we kept walking.

The gas chamber itself none of us had ever experienced. It was smaller on the inside than I’d imagined; I supposed they didn’t need to worry about personal space for the kids, as they would be dead within minutes of entering it. We all shuddered at that thought as Decklan took pictures and Luke went to observe the mechanics of the room. I took the video camera out of my bag, courtesy of my parents, I followed Luke.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to get samples.” He told me, frowning. I pressed the record button as he explained. “See this valve here? I think that’s where the gas leaks through. I don’t know if they have it actively flowing, and just open the valves when kids get in, or if they turn the gas on and open the valves at the same time. It’s too dangerous to try and open it without knowing.” Nodding, I held the camera steady as he explained the mechanics of the place, pointing to things as he talked.

Once Luke was finished with his observations, I turned the camera off. “Let’s go.” I suggested. “There’s nothing else we can do here. And this place gives me the creeps.” Luke nodded.

“You two go on, I want to take a few more pictures.” Decklan said distractedly. I shrugged and led Luke away. “I’ll meet you by where we came in!” he called after us.

We waited just outside the kitchen doors, behind a tall evergreen tree. Neither of us said anything. Luke had not been destined for the gas chamber as I had; he was supposed to go to the work camp because of his knowledge of mechanics.

Decklan made his way out of the facility a few minutes later, looking pleased with himself. “Did you get good pictures?” I asked him.

He just grinned. “I think you should turn the video camera back on.” He hinted.

Luke glared at him suspiciously. “What did you do?”

“Nothing that will put anyone in danger.”

I fumbled with the video camera, a little worried by Decklan’s easy expression. I had an idea of what he’d done, but I said nothing.

Decklan’s handiwork was made apparent only seconds later. The explosion from the gas chamber was even more gratifying than the one I’d caused at the prison.

“They’ll have to evacuate, because of the gas leakage.” He told us happily. “That should freak them out pretty thoroughly.”

Luke growled, but I watched his eyes carefully, realizing he was impressed. “We should probably get further away. If they evacuate, we don’t want to get caught in the fuss.”

Children began pouring out of the facility, followed by terrified looking workers and guards. I guessed that they would probably just send the children meant for the chamber to the work camps, and my heart swelled for Decklan. I kept my head though; his little act of heroism could have killed everyone.

It took them four hours and a group of gas-masked officers to get the situation under control. My guess was wrong regarding the placement of the formerly doomed children. Instead of the “work camp” bus doubling its passengers, the second, unmarked bus did. This worried me, but I didn’t voice my concerns yet. We had no way of knowing what the fate of this bus was, and I forced myself to remain optimistic.

After ascertaining the direction this bus was traveling -west, towards Utah- the tree of us clambered into our hidden car and followed. There was enough traffic on the road to keep our pursuit from being noticeable, but Decklan kept us a few cars behind the bus anyways, to be safe.

Continued in part 41!

(We’re in the home stretch, everyone!)

I mentioned the other day on Twitter that I’ve got a new dystopian society novel (working title: Catch and Release) in the metaphorical oven, and I’m really excited about it. However, since apparently every class I’m in requires like four essays a month and since speech is becoming more stressful as we prepare for the big tournaments, I decided to hold off a little. Hold off on the actual writing part, I mean.

Things to do before I can start Catch and Release (as transcribed from my moleskine):

1. Comprehensive planning (figure out ending completely)

2. Edit Addicted and Dawned

3. Set aside specific time for writing, the same as exercising

I’m nearly halfway done with the comprehensive planning point. I’ve got all the characters completely fleshed out, I’ve analyzed their relationships to one another, I’ve extended on the situation that makes the society “dystopian”, I’ve mostly figured out how it’s going to end, and I’ve even drawn a rudimentary map of the area the story takes place in, with color coded markings for different important locations. All I have to do now to check that first one off my list is to write my outline. Some people think that takes away from the experience of writing, having an exhaustive outline, but for me, it keeps me on track. I improvise a lot during the writing process, but I always have my outline to fall back on. I like knowing exactly where I’m going.

Other than writing, I’ve got a crap ton of aforementioned schoolwork and speech going on right now. I’ve got an essay rough draft (8 pages, 5 professional sources, 2 print sources) due tomorrow in Expository, then from 7:15am Friday-5:30ishpm Sunday I’m at one of two debate tournaments. Then next Tuesday I have to have read Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Wolfe and written a one page guided response, in addition to writing a proposal for my eventual close reading comparison essay for the same class. I have at least four worksheets due in Music Notation, video project proposals due in video activism, monologues memorized for acting, and another essay to write for video activism about The Cove (5 pages). And that’s all due in the next two weeks.

NOT TO MENTION I also have to memorize a new version of my YouTube speech plus the added pressure that it has to be funny, as well as the fact that I have to write my LD cases for the international tournament in Hungary that’s coming up in less than a month.

And during all of this, I also have to make time to work out (which I’ve been doing pretty well thus far), write blogs twice a week, have a radio show once a week, post a personal channel video once a week, AND participate once a week in my collab channel. Oh, and now I want to add editing old novels and writing a new one to the list as well.

The worst part is, all of that is what I would consider “work”. Most of it is fun work, to be sure, but it’s still work. The only things I do for pleasure any more are read, watch Psych with Ellen, and watch YouTube videos in the fifteen minutes I have to eat meals because I haven’t yet figured out how to eat and type efficiently.

WHINE WHINE WHINE. But as you all know, I love being busy. Maybe not this busy, but it’s not as if I made it easy for myself. Every single one of my classes is incredibly hands-on and most of them have big, creative projects as finals. Oh yes, I’m going to be stressed, but I sure am having fun.

Because this week was absolutely insane and I have my collab channel to think about as well, I could only manage to cut together this little diddy. A better video next week, hopefully. But maybe not. I’m going to Hungary in two weeks and I’ve got stuff to do.

In any other context, I would have been fine with their pairing. Thrilled, even. But Rose’s departure was, and is, still a fresh wound on my heart, and I wanted to see the Doctor love again. He clearly had feelings for Amy (confirmed in the episode “Amy’s Choice”, see below), and since Rory isn’t really a character until Vampires of Venice, I pretty much forgot that he was even a factor.

After my second, third, fourth, and now fifth viewing of the season, though, I think he might be my favorite character so far.

Rory never pretended to be adventurous, never aspired to be a hero. The most dangerous thing he ever did was fall in love with Amy. But his incredible loyalty, honesty, and heart of love makes him, in my opinion, one of the most genuine characters in the Doctor Who franchise. For a better idea of what I’m talking about, let’s look at Rory’s story.

Episode 1- The Eleventh Hour

Rory has spent his entire life being second best to a man he isn’t really sure exists. Even after managing to rope Amy into a committed relationship (no easy feat, to be sure), he has to live with the fact that part of her heart will always lie with her “raggedy Doctor”, a part that he can never hope to win. Especially after he sees the Doctor in real time (“He’s taking his clothes off! Aren’t you going to turn around??” “Nope.”), the divide between the men seems further than ever.

Episode 5- The Vampires of Venice

After popping out of the cake at Rory’s bachelor party, the Doctor whisks him and Amy off to 16th century Venice for a “date”. It’s in this episode that the boys finally get to spend some “quality” time with one another. And this is when Rory, the first time I saw the episode, really upset me.

“You know what’s dangerous about you?” he says to the Doctor. “It’s not that you make people take risks. It’s that you make them want to impress you. You make it so they don’t want to let you down. You have no idea how dangerous you make people to themselves when you’re around.”

Looking back with a clearer head, the great thing about this quote is that it’s absolutely true, but it’s often not recognized because everyone is so enamored with the Doctor. But Rory’s not. To Rory, he’s just some mad man with chaos on his heels that stole away his fiance on the eve of their wedding. He sees through the smokescreen that most people pretend isn’t there, and he doesn’t hold back. He may not be completely fair in saying these things, because most of it comes out of jealousy and fear, but at least he’s honest and able to articulate his concerns with clarity.

Episode 7- Amy’s Choice

This is one of my favorite episodes of the season because it’s more about the three travelers rather than the wacky situation they find themselves in. It’s in this episode that all the complicated relationships blossom and solidify and float to the surface. The Doctor basically admits he’s in love with Amy and Rory becomes aware of this and the fact that Amy, at least to some extent, reciprocates those feelings. And Amy finally is forced to choose between “her boys”, both so radically different and completely mental for her. She does “pick” Rory, but it’s obvious that her feelings for the Doctor have not completely dissipated.

This episode marks the first Darvill death of the season. Technically, he dies twice, once in the Leadworth dream and once in the cold star dream.

Episodes 8 and 8- The Hungry Earth and Cold Blood

These are alternatively the most frustrating and heartbreaking two episodes of the season. They’re chock full of quotes like “be the best of humanity” and filled to the brim with the flaws of humanity. And these mark the second (or third, if you get really technical) Darvill death.

What’s funny (or sad, really) is that even after the “you make people a danger to themselves” conversation, Rory jumps in the way of a gun to save the Doctor. If you don’t absolutely adore Rory after at least the second viewing of this episode pair, you have no heart.

The brilliant thing about these episodes is that while they highlight the character Ambrose’s failures to humanity, they very subtly set up Rory as the “best of humanity” that the Doctor is looking for. He’s kind, compassionate, and honorable. As worried as he is about Amy, he refuses to compromise his values and integrity in the face of stress. My favorite of Rory’s lines is when the three humans still on the surface are discussing what to do with the body of the alien that goaded Ambrose into killing her.

“We have to return her. They deserve at least that.”

Rory is such a good person, an honestly good person, which makes it even more heartbreaking when Amy forgets him after his body is absorbed by the time crack. Well, you could argue that she doesn’t completely forget him, but she forgets enough for the purpose of breaking out hearts.

Episodes 12 and 13, Season Finale- The Pandorica Opens and The Big Bang

The season finale of this season is brilliant for a lot of reasons, but the one I’m going to focus on is the evolution of Rory Williams. Even at his bravest, up to this point, Rory isn’t exactly astounding. Ok, he died for the Doctor, but that was more of a split second decision that he may have even regretted. One heroic action doesn’t make someone a hero.

And yet, Rory stays with the Pandorica, with Amy’s half-dead body inside, for almost 2000 years without fail, just because he couldn’t bear the idea of her being alone.

RORY:
She’s going to be in that box for 2,000 years?!

DOCTOR:
Yeah, but we’re taking a shortcut. River’s vortex manipulator. Rubbish way to time travel, but the universe is tiny now. We’ll be fine.

RORY:
So the future’s still there, then? Our world?

DOCTOR:
A version of it. Not quite the one you know. Earth alone in the sky. Let’s go and have a look. (holds arm out) You put your hand there. Don’t worry, should be safe.

RORY:
That’s not what I’m worried about.

DOCTOR:
She’ll be fine. Nothing can get into this box.

RORY:
You got in there.

DOCTOR:
Well, there’s only one of me. I counted.

RORY:
This box needs a guard. I killed the last one.

DOCTOR:
No. Rory, no. Don’t even think about it.

RORY:
She’ll be all alone.

DOCTOR:
She won’t feel it.

RORY:
You bet she won’t!

DOCTOR:
2,000 years, Rory. You won’t even sleep, you’d be conscious every second. It would drive you mad.

RORY:
Will she be safer if I stay? Look me in the eye and tell me she wouldn’t be safer.

DOCTOR:
(sighs) Rory…

RORY:
Answer me!

DOCTOR:
Yes. Obviously.

RORY:
Then how could I leave her?

DOCTOR:
Why do you have to be so…human?

RORY:
Because right now, I’m not.*

The boy who waited, awake for every second, never failing to be anything less than extraordinary.

The next season is hinting at a lot of game changing Amy/Doctor relationship twists, and I am honestly concerned. Because Rory deserves a bit of peace. The “country doctor who things the only thing he needs to be interesting is a pony tail” has had enough excitement for one (two, three, four, and five) lifetimes. At least give him some marital stability.

In other news, Arthur has finally achieved title sequence credit. Congrats!

*And explanation of this last line… in this episode Rory’s actually a product of alien technology and Amy’s memories. He’s kind of a sleeper-agent robot that honestly believes he’s Rory Williams. And as far as the episode goes, he is. “Memories are more powerful than you think, and Amy Pond is not an ordinary girl. Grew up with a time crack in her wall. The universe pouring through her dreams every night. The Nestenes [the aliens that created this version of him] took a memory print of her and got more than they bargained for. Like you. Not just your face, but your heart and your soul.”

*BONUS NOTE* While searching for an image for this post, I got really distracted by the “Eff Yeah Arthur Darvill” Tumblr, which is basically a series of gifs and photoshopped images of Arthur Darvill. I love the internet.

I slept a lot for the next couple weeks. My parents had found a doctor who sympathized with our cause, and he declared that although it would take a while for me to heal, the physical damage would not be lasting.

He couldn’t say the same about the psychological damage. I often woke up screaming, terrified that I was living a dream instead of reality. Most times the dreams took me back to the water. When I was finally strong enough to stand and take showers, I couldn’t bear to put my face in the steady stream. The first time I tried to, I had a panic attack and couldn’t turn off the water, which eventually overflowed into the rest of the bathroom, which then alerted my mother that something was wrong.

They moved me to their second spare bedroom, next to the one the boys took turns in while I recovered. It was almost not worth the effort, since Emma climbed into bed with me every night anyways.

My parents were true to their word about wanting to help. By the time I was walking around and getting my own food, they’d found 15 separate colleagues that agreed that the travesties committed under the FF system needed to be fixed.

Finally, our dissent group was starting to look like a revolution.

The boys wasted no time while I was healing to get revenge on Bluff. Luke had sent fourteen pictures of himself in various model poses to his office, all of which accompanied by dirty limericks and his full name and old social security number. He’d even gotten four of our collected Outlier friends to do similar taunts.

Julie joined in the fun by drawing insulting caricatures of the Senator and sending a copy to the local paper. Emma and Daniel Shauf were working on an ode for him.

My heart swelled with pride as I watched people using their individual talents that Bluff and those like him found useless for such mayhem. Decklan and Luke, on one of the rare occasions they got along, made an untraceable website where Julie and the other resident artist Michaela Findle sold paintings and sketches of a non-insulting nature and Thurman Smallwood sold photography from his travels to New Diego after we’d made contact with him.

While I was still on bed rest, I wrote poem after poem, finally compiling so many that they started selling anthologies on the website as well. 30% of the money made went to the creator, while the other 70% went into financing our no longer humble revolution.

Of course, we had a ways to go. Although we’d been making splashes all across the country, we hadn’t yet managed to acquire the proof we needed to sway the undecided. It went without saying that I was going on the first trip we could make to one of the scrapping locations, so as I worked to get back into shape, I helped them plan.

Our Jonesboro contact, Laurie Thomson, had originally been from Colorado. Because the location I was used to going to was too closely watched, we decided to aim for Laurie’s location.

There were a couple things that we needed to cover, so this trip was going to be a lot bigger than the road trip I’d taken with Luke and Decklan. After much deliberation, we finalized our travel list.

Julie, Decklan, Luke, Jon, Andy, Laurie, and I would take two cars up to Colorado. The only reason we were able to include all the boys from the apartment was that while they were all at my bedside the day after my rescue, Bluff had ransacked their house trying to find me. Their house was no longer safe, and if they were seen, they would be arrested on the spot. I didn’t even want to imagine what kinds of awful things Bluff would do to them if they were caught.

Once we reached the scrapping location, Jon, Andy, and Laurie would follow the bus to the work camp, the place that the American people expected their failed children to be. The rest of us would stay behind to get pictures of the gas chamber and follow the mysterious third bus.

As it turned out, my parent’s house was the perfect location to hold revolution meetings. They were known for being social, so the amount of people coming and going wasn’t suspicious. They were also well known for not showing public sympathy after I failed the test. They were the perfect cover for our activities.

It took me almost a month to regain most of my strength after my encounter with Bluff. Even then, I walked with a limp and a cringe. We planned on making our drive to the scrapping post in a week, as the facility would be used again around that time and we needed the events in action. There was something I had to do first, however.

Although my parents hadn’t realized it yet, Emma’s room was starting to become something of an armory. Since she never slept there, they didn’t often visit it. There were no guns; they were too difficult to acquire, but there was plenty of dynamite and homemade time bombs, courtesy of mostly Luke.

A few days before we left, I took four of the time bombs and set off for my box. As a last minute addition to my pack, I grabbed one of the spray paint bottles from Julie.

I’d put together the location of where Bluff had kept me from bits of information they tried to keep me from learning. Probably they wanted to keep me from doing just this. But I didn’t care. I needed this closure, and Bluff needed a message clearer than mocking pictures.

Once the grey prison came into view, I was wary. But there were no cameras; I assumed Bluff didn’t want his actions recorded, even by himself.

There was no lock on the door, but I anticipated the two guards right inside it. Neither expected me, as I was moving quietly and efficiently. Luke had been teaching me, while I recovered, how to defend myself. I used a quick hit to the center top of their heads to knock them out, and then winced as I dragged them outside the facility. I didn’t want blood on my hands, not even from these men who aided in torture.

Although part of me just wanted to ignite the place and be done with it, my rational brain told me that there wouldn’t be men guarding if the prison was empty.

The rational part of my brain was correct. I found a young woman curled in the corner of my -our?- box, shuddering as the cool air came in through the window and passed over her ill-dressed body.

“Hello?” I whispered, not wanting to frighten her. She didn’t look like she’d been here long, taking her relatively small amount of bruises into account. I guessed this was her second or third day.

She jolted awake immediately. “Who are you? What do you want?” She pressed herself against the far wall.

“My name is Meg. I’m here to rescue you. Can you walk?” She watched me, untrusting. I sighed and reached into my pack, ignoring her flinch of fear. “Look. I’m going to destroy this place. If you don’t want to be destroyed with it, I suggest you follow me.” Without waiting for a reaction, I set the bomb for ten minutes and placed it on the ground. The young woman squeaked and ran to me, surprising me with a tight embrace.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Her voice was hoarse. I handed her my canteen as I carefully placed bombs in both the wet and dry torture rooms, and then put on near the entrance for good measure.

I managed to convince the woman, who told me her name was Lacy, to drag the guards further from what would soon become a blast zone. Neither of us recognized the men, so we did not have personal quarrels with them.

We waited in silence for the bombs to take their toll; it was quite a sight. The prison wasn’t far enough buried for the cement not to be shot up into the air. Once the fourth and final explosion went off, I ran back to the ruins and found the largest slate of still standing wall. Lacy made anxious noises behind me, but I had to finish what I’d started. With a shaking hand, I drew the spray paint from my pack.

“Strength does not come from winning. Your struggles develop your strengths. When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender, that is strength. -Arnold Schwarzenegger”

Continued in part 40!

So it’s no secret that I absolutely adore everything Tamora Pierce has written. (With the exception of the Circle of Magic quartet. I just couldn’t get into them) Seriously, I can’t imagine my childhood without Alanna and Kel and Aly and all the other incredible female protagonists in the Tortall universe. They made me who I am.

I’m not really sure why I haven’t read Terrier before now. I remember seeing it on the shelves at Borders, but for some reason it never crossed my mind to check it out. Thanks to Amazon gift cards, however, I decided to give it a chance.

Terrier is set much further in the past than any of the other Tortall books. It follows Beka Cooper (George Cooper’s* ancestress) a sixteen year old bent on joining the ranks of guards of Lord Provost of Tortall. Having grown up poor and starving, she elects to stay in the Lower City out of her love for the people she lived amongst. Her unusual brand of magic allows her to hear the voice of the restless spirits that ride the backs of pigeons, and to hear the voices that drift into the city’s dust spinners. Because of her unique upbringing in the Lower City, unlike many of her other training friends, she is more sensitive to the troubles of the poor people, and finds herself knee deep in two equally horrifying mysteries that torment her people.

Unlike pretty much all of Peirce’s other protagonists, Beka is painfully shy and not very well spoken. Although she was schooled with the Lord Provost himself after helping him catch a band of criminals at the age of 8, her roots are with the common people, and it shows most often when she’s uncomfortable. I liked this change in character traits, because as much as I love all the strong-spoken women in the other books, it’s refreshing to read something new.

I also liked that, although Beka is very good at her job, she goes through plenty of embarrassments to prove herself. That’s probably my highest praise of all Peirce’s books; her characters are flawed but still genuinely likable. They’re human enough to make sense and fictional enough to be interesting. There’s a line between unbelievable and over-realistic that Pierce balances impressively well.

I’d be lying if I said Terrier was my favorite of Peirce’s books, but it’s definitely worth a read if you’re a fan of the other Tortall novels.

*George Cooper is the eventual spouse of Alanna the Lioness and the father of Aly, the spy. He was the King of Thieves in the Court of the Rogue for a while, and later became the country’s unofficial Spymaster.

Twitter- The last five tweets are to the right of this post, but if you want to read them as I post them, I’d recommend following me.

What you’ll get- Pictures of things I find interesting or funny, random thoughts, updates on my YouTube and Website, and menial details about my life. I also retweet things I find funny.

Examples- Will someone please write a parody of miley cyrus’ “I can’t be tamed” entitled “I can’t get laid?”

I’m awake and walking about, but I just have this incredible aversion to getting dressed and actually going to class.

Written on the dollar: “Dear Travis, this is the dollar I borrowed at the topless bar. Thanks, John.”

Text of tweet: “Gym- bound! Then speech practice, then homework, then dinner and psych with Ellen!”

DailyBooth- Basically like a twitter for pictures. And since I’ve linked the two sites, every time I take a DailyBooth, it’s announced on my Twitter.

What you’ll get- lots of pictures of me sitting at my desk and/or making strange faces.

Examples

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These Folk- Remember that failed collab YouTube channel I had with Craig? Well, I’m trying again, but with more motivated people. Through the new Nerdfighter social networking site Your Pants, I met six people who were interested in making a nerdy collaboration. I signed up for the email list on Saturday, and we’ve already posted two videos!

What You’ll Get- Our basic idea is that each day of the week one of the seven people will post a video about a theme we collectively pick, or just vlog about our lives and interact with the people who have already posted. This first week we’re doing introductions. My day is Sunday, and I’ll be posting my videos here on my website. Be prepared for a lot of Nerdfighter inside jokes that, if need be, I’ll explain in a supplementary blog post.

Simon (our Friday) set up the channel, and this is our “about me” section that just about sums us up:

7 people from 4 countries
5 girls
2 guys
7 points of view…

coming to your screens EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK!

join us on our journey of forging friendships through the inter-webs as well as our nerdfighting endeavors!

Examples- Monday (Abby, age 17)

Click here to view the embedded video.

Tuesday (Benjo, age 23)

Click here to view the embedded video.

We started TheseFolk as a sister channel with ThoseFolk, another group of 7 Nerdfighters coming together over Your Pants, and they’ll be posting starting next Monday. FUN!

BoxerRadio- Every Thursday at 7pm Pacific time I have an hour’s online radio show for my school called Bri’s World.

What you’ll get- The show is set up in segments that can last anywhere from five to fifteen minutes. The first segment is technology news, the second is recommendations, the third is Doctor Who news/info, and the fourth is politics and pop culture current events. Ellen chimes in with a weekly movie recommendation and other comments here and there. I play music between each segment, usually whatever I’m listening to at the moment. There’s always at least one Vitamin String Quartet song.

I don’t have any examples as it’s not recorded, but I hope you’ll tune in!

The inspiration for writing this blog came with a tiny thought in the back of my head as I pondered Valentines Day. That tiny thought got bigger, and eventually I realized that I’m not Hermione Granger. There’s no Ron in my future. Of course. I’m Jane Austen!

You know, world famous author who wrote epic, beautiful love stories and never married herself? Yeah. I’ve decided that’s going to be me.

Not the epic love stories part. It is physically impossible for me to write a story without a fight scene or an espionage element. But I have love in my stories. The Meg-Decklan-Luke triangle in Eugenia is enough to prove that.

And I don’t mean this in a depressing “NO MAN WILL EVER LOVE ME WHY DID NO ONE GET ME FLOWERS WAAAAAH” way. I really don’t mean a lot of things in a depressing way, they just come out that way. Like today at dinner when Ellen and I were having a conversation and I said “yeah… I never really got hugs.” Because it’s true. I didn’t. As a general rule I don’t touch people, unless they’re Bart and I’m sad or they’re a boy on the speech team and I’m hyper from sleep deprivation and stress. I don’t find that fact depressing, I just find it a fact.

It’s kind of the same deal as that with every personal account essay I’ve ever had to write. They’re always about me getting bullied in some manner. Because that’s basically what my life up to this year consisted of. Someone taking my painfully obvious self esteem issues and using them against me to hide their own insecurities. It’s admittedly more depressing than the hug thing, but again, it’s just a fact.

The same way me being Jane Austen is [going to be] a fact. And my revelation only has a little bit to do with the fact that I spent Valentines Day evening in my dorm eating Reeses that my mom sent me and reading a book about a guy pretending to be a vampire to get girls. Again, I really don’t find that as depressing as I should. I honestly prefer being on my own nine times out of ten. It’s not depressing, and I’m not really hiding. I’m just… staying in. Relaxing. Giving myself a break from the exhaustive work of not being completely apathetic about most things, because apparently people don’t exactly take to that.

The revelation also had two other factors. Like how that crush I mentioned last week has since dissolved because of unbaked cookies and said crush’s apparent switch of affections to my prettier, less awkward friend. Again, although at first I was a little bit bummed, it’s more of a fact than an actual thing. The first time I let my guard down since Sean, and the guy goes for my friend. It’s almost funny how much like a soap opera it played out. Minus the extreme closeups and dramatic, murmured conversations.

Speaking of Sean. After three “ignored” attempts at Facebook friendship, he tried a new tactic. Email. Subject of email: hey. Content of email: hey. As I admitted to my subconscious that I project as Lee Adama from Battlestar Galactica in my head, I’m not really rational when it comes to Sean. Ever. Even when I’m “being strong” and “standing up for myself”, I’m doing it in a way that won’t make him hate me. Because I’m an idiot around him.

The potential failure of this new Jane Austen aspiration is not lost on me, since the last time I made a declaration about being completely detached from relationships failed almost immediately. It was raining, and like I’m known to do, I took off my socks and stood out on the porch looking out at the rural landscape. I will never fall in love. I told myself. I will just have casual relationships for the rest of my life and not get tied down. Then it got cold and I had to go inside.

Not even three days later did Sean admit that he loved me. And then, because I’m, again, an irrational idiot, I admitted reciprocated feelings of love for my internet boy. I wasn’t lying. I did love him. More than I think I’ve loved anyone since Liam Aiken. I was completely, without a doubt, in love with this selfish, mixed-signal-sending boy from three hours away.

And that’s why I replied with a “hi” to his last ditch attempt at conversation with me. Not because I’m in love with him anymore; my heart still hurts too much to deal with that. But because I was in love with him, and part of me will always love him, for reasons I will never be able to articulate. And because It’s the only way I can prove, at the very least to myself, that I can get over him without another guy.

I’ve lost a friend recently. A good friend. One of my best friends, actually. And I still don’t completely understand why. And I don’t think I’ll ever look at people the same because of it. But you know what? I’m not going to be that girl who whines about commercialization and S.A.D. on Valentines Day. I’m not going to be the chick who cries herself to sleep because she has no one to buy her roses.

I’ll be the girl crying herself to sleep because her heart never truly cuts anyone away, because she never really stops loving anyone, no matter how much it seems like she does. And I’m the girl who will lip sync and dance in front of the mirror to Darren Criss because his voice is all the romance I need today.

Happy Valentines Day, everyone.

In the society, officials decide. Who you LOVE. Where you WORK. When you DIE. Cassia has always trusted their choices. It’s hardly any price to pay for a long life, the perfect job, the ideal mate. So when her best friend appears on the Matching screen, Cassia knows with complete certainty that he is the one… until she sees another face flash for an instant before the screen fades black. Now Cassia is faced with impossible choices: between Xander and Ky, between the only life she’s known and a path no one else has ever dared follow- between perfection and passion.

I have to say, Matched sort of transcended my expectations. When I think about dystopia, I think of the Hunger Games, or Eugenia (wink wink). You know, explosions, war, torture, betrayal, that sort of thing.

But Matched wasn’t like that at all. There was little to no actual violence in the story, and the plot focused more on romantic civil disobedience and self discovery amidst a society where discovery has all but been eradicated.

And I find this fascinating, because it’s totally unexpected, but at the same time, oddly satisfying. By the end of the boo, you realize that it doesn’t matter who Cassia chooses, Xander or Ky. The point is that she recognizes the horror of what her world has become.

Some of the reviews on Amazon were critical of this more subtle approach, citing that it was too much lovey dovey and not enough STICK IT TO THE MAN! But I disagree. I think it’s refreshing to read a book that doesn’t require a revolution of more than two people falling in love because they want to, not because they have to.

I think this book is a fantastic mix of YA romance and YA social science fiction, and it’s something that sort of bridges the gap between those two genres. The Hunger Games has its moments of romance, but it’s a social science fiction at the core.

Also, I have always loved the Dylan Thomas poem that starts all the doubt in this book, and I thought I’d leave you with it. As you can imagine, this poem was supposedly destroyed, and I’m sure you’ll see why the “perfect” government wouldn’t want this bouncing around the citizenry.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas

The light outside my barred window had not emerged when the doors opened on the day I couldn’t remember. Small hands found their way to my face, gently tracing the bruises on my face.

There were voices somewhere, but I couldn’t see anything. It felt as though I was submerged in Bluff’s tub. Reasonably, I assumed that was where I was. The pain had become so great that I had begun to hallucinate. I was just imagining being in my box.

Meg.

Go away.

Meg, you have to get up.

Get up from what? I have will. The Senator must take my head out of this water.

Meg, open your eyes.

In the water? No. No thank you. I think I’ll just stay here…

“MEG LAUREN CARROWAY, YOU WILL STAND UP THIS VERY INSTANT.”

Suddenly, I no longer found myself in the pool of water. “M-mom?” I whispered, my eyes still closed. I could feel the cool cement underneath me now. So I was in my box. Or maybe I was dead.

“Am I dead?” I asked aloud.

Someone sighed. “No, Meg, you are not dead. But we all will be if you don’t get a move on this instant.”

Finally, I opened my eyes. Sure enough, there she was, my still very platinum blonde neuroscientist mother. She was standing over me, holding a flashlight to her face as if to prove she was there. I closed my eyes again. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Bluff.” I muttered. “My mom stopped caring about me when I failed that stupid test. Hallucinations are supposed to make a little sense.”

Another sigh. This sigh was deeper. “Meg, honey, please come with us.”

“Dad?” With a groan, I sat up, which seemed to be a bad idea, as my head spun painfully. “Ok. What the hell is going on.”

“You rescued me, now I’m rescuing you.” Said a small voice beside me. I cracked open one swollen eye to glance at my sister. Was I hallucinating or not?

Deciding that I was dreaming instead of hallucinating, I allowed my father to help me to my feet and my mother to hand me a bottle of water. My dream self was very much satisfied with the way the water ran down my dream throat.

My dream family and I raced down the hallway, not stopping at any of the rooms along the way. I supposed this would not be a nightmare, something I was grateful for.

My dream self then lost consciousness, which was odd, it being a dream. Then my dream self woke up in a very soft bed, very much in pain. Maybe it would be a nightmare after all.

My dream self opened her eyes, looking up at a light purple ceiling. Emma’s ceiling was purple, although my dream self was in too much pain to move her neck to check if that was, in fact, where we were.

“She’s awake. Get Gina and Ray.” A voice commanded. “Meg? Can you hear me?”

“I’m not awake.” I slurred. “I’m dreaming.”

“Meg?” My mother’s voice now appeared. “Meg, honey, you’re not dreaming. You’re home. We brought you home.” Her voice broke with a sob.

This wasn’t right. My mother didn’t cry. What kind of dream was this? I wanted to comfort her, but I could move anything.

Deciding to test the preparedness of this dream, I simply said “Ow.” and waited.

“Are you in pain?” Asked the first voice.

“Ow.” I repeated.

“Get her some more morphine. She’s obviously not in a state to converse normally.” That was my father’s voice.

“D-dad?” I asked as I felt my lids go heavy again.

“Yes?” he asked gently. I still couldn’t see any of the people whom the voices belonged.

“It was the damned… math that got me. Question 17 and 34. That’s where the…” my voice got thick, but I had to tell him, even if it was a dream. “…the five points went. That’s why I failed. I…” The darkness was closing in, but I struggled against it. “I used to skimp on my math flashcards at night. I would read…books from the library…in-instead.”

My father chuckled wearily. “Go to sleep, sweetheart. Everything is going to be alright.”

My dream self drifted. It must have been a long night, because Bluff did not take me to another room. Maybe I was getting a day off.

When my dream self woke again, there was significantly less pain. My eyes opened to the same purple ceiling. Maybe this was a coping mechanism. Maybe Bluff was torturing me, but I was so far gone that I was imagining being here.

“Ow?” asked the voice from beside me that I still could not place.

“Less ow.” I admitted. “Can I…sit up?” Without waiting for an answer, I used both my hands to grab onto the comforter, dragging my upper body into a sitting position.

Two strong hands -my father’s hands- helped position me. I looked at him. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Emma’s room. You’re home.”

I shook my head, which was a bad idea. My dream self’s head pounded. “No. I’m in my box. Or maybe in one of the other boxes with bamboo shoots under my fingernails.” My dream self inspected her nails. They were red underneath, and some had even managed to turn purple and black.

“No, honey. You’re home. You’re home.” My dad’s voice shook, which was even more shocking that my mom’s earlier on in the dream.

I frowned at him. “I wouldn’t say no to dream food, though.” I tried. He smiled tiredly at me.

“Luke?” He asked the other voice. “Can you get her some soft fruit? And water, I think.”

“Yes, sir.” The other voice-Luke- said.

A third voice appeared. “How is she?” It came from where I assumed the doorway was.

“She’s alright, Decklan.”

“Does she still think it’s a dream?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause before the third voice spoke again. “Meg?”

I smiled, finally turning my head. Dream Decklan was, in fact, standing in the dream doorway of Emma’s room. “Hi, Decklan.”

He smiled back at me, but his eyes were worried. “What did he do to you, Meg?”

“You mean what is he doing to me.” I corrected him. He shook his head but waited for an answer. “You’re not going to like it.”

“I don’t care. Tell me.”

I sighed. “First there was the taser. Lots of it. Then there was the sticks under my nails,” I held up my hands as a visual aid, “and then there was the water. And the simulated drowning. And sometimes he would just hit me.”

Decklan’s eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, the first voice -Luke, his name was Luke- came in, carrying a bowl of diced fruit. He smiled at me, but I didn’t return it. Who was he?

“Here. Eat, you look starved.” He thrust the bowl at me questioningly. Wondering why I didn’t smile back. Then he turned to my father, who was also watching me carefully. “Emma is coming with the water. She insisted on it.”

I brightened, sticking a piece of pineapple in my room. I even got to see Emma in this dream! And what a wondrous dream it was.

Emma walked in then, carefully holding a large cup of water, complete with a lid and straw. “I don’t want you to accidentally spill something.” She told me seriously.

I almost reminded her that it was a dream and it wouldn’t really hurt anything, but decided instead to take a long gulp and eat more dream fruit.

“Meg.” Luke looked me straight in the eyes. “What will it take to convince you that this is not a dream?”

Finally, I recognized him. Luke. Then, Decklan… I looked at him, remembering everything. The road trip. The fight.

Sitting back, hard, on my pillows, I pouted. “Ugh. I suppose it isn’t a dream.” Everyone in the small room stared at me. “A dream wouldn’t be this dramatically complicated.” I glared at Decklan. Even he laughed with relief as the air in the room lightened.

“So what happened?” I asked them, helping myself to more fruit.

“Let me tell her!” Emma begged, tugging on our father’s pant let. He smiled indulgently, an expression that I’d never seen there before, and nodded.

“When they brought me back to mom and dad… wait, no. First I lied like you told me to, and they believed me because I was pretending to cry really hard and they didn’t want to have to deal with me.” she puffed her chest out with pride as everyone laughed again. “Then they brought me back here. And I told mom and dad the truth. They were really angry at first, but then I called Jon and made him come tell them what was going on. Then Jon called Decklan and Andy and Luke. Then they all followed Bluff around until they found the gray hallway place. Then they told mom and dad and the three of us rescued you. Dad let me punch one of the guards.” If it were possible for the little girl to puff her chest out any more, she certainly would have.

I nodded. “Wow. Thank you.” I smiled at everyone in turn, including my mother, who had appeared again. “Sorry for not believing you at first. It’s been a wearing… how long has it been?”

The boys shifted uncomfortably. “It’s been almost two weeks. We’re so sorry, Meg.” Jon popped up from behind my mother. “Bluff’s a slippery fellow. But as soon as we found you we got you out.”

Shaking my head, I helped myself to more of the fruit. “It’s not that big a deal. I bet I stopped really registering anything by the third day. It could have been months and I wouldn’t notice the difference.” Everyone in the room cringed. “Do you guys have any more solid food? Like toast or something?” Everyone raced from the room to comply. My father stayed, however, to sit by my bed.

“Meg.” He didn’t look me in the eyes, instead concentrating on holding my hand. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should have… I didn’t mean…”

I reached over to pat his hand. “It’s ok, dad. I get it. I know about Lisa.”

“Wha- who told you about Lisa?”

“Malia, the bookkeep.”

My father sighed. “She would. That doesn’t make what I put your girls through right.”

I shook my head again. “It wouldn’t have mattered, dad. I would have failed either way. I don’t have that kind of intelligence. You can’t teach for an IQ test.”

Dad didn’t say anything for a little bit. “The boys, with help from Emma, explained to us what you’ve been doing. What really happens after the test…” he trailed off, horror reflected in his tired brown eyes. “We want to help. Your mother and I. We never really got to be parents to you, we wasted so much time… but we want to make up for that.”

I was too tired to continue to be surprised about the affection my normally cold parents were showing. It wasn’t worth puzzling over; I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Continued in part 39!

(Author’s note- this was my favorite chapter to write BY FAR. For some reason writing from the perspective of someone who’s completely lost it is really easy for me. Someone call the men with straightjackets.)

So first of all, are we really, honestly supposed to believe that they’re in love? Not only are they practically pre-pubescent, Juliet being all of 13 and Romeo being 15, but they’ve also never met prior to Romeo accosting her.

Romeo (to some servingman, asking about Juliet): What lady is that, which doth
enrich the hand
Of yonder knight?

He then goes on to rant about how hot she is. Did he forget about the conversation he had with his buddy Benvolio just that morning in which he adamantly refused to believe anyone was prettier than Rosaline? (“One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun | Ne’er saw her match since first the world begun.”) Sheesh. He’s as bad as Prince Derek from the Swan Princess.

Then the two children, yes, stress the word CHILDREN, make out before Juliet’s nurse breaks them up.

Now this next bit is what riles me up the most, especially when you take into account recent attacks on the Twilight books. Romeo stalks Juliet and rants about how hot she is below her window, waiting to get a peek. And you all think Edward is creepy for watching Bella sleep? At least he waited a few weeks and it was mostly driven by curiosity rather than all-encompassing lust (at first, at least).

Then Juliet catches him mid-soliloquy and they have a conversation that amounts to this:

Romeo: LOVE MEEEEE

Juliet: There are a lot of reasons why this is definitely not going to work out

Romeo: PLEASE LOVE MEEEEE

Juliet: Fine. I love you.

Romeo: OMG I HAVE THE BEST IDEA LET’S GET MARRIED

Juliet: …ok? Send me a text tomorrow about it and we’ll work something out.

I have to give props to Juliet for resisting for the ten minutes she did, but come on. They met and made out once and now, a mere couple of hours later, are making plans to elope. When love stories like Anna and the French Kiss, how can anyone honestly support Romeo and Juliet as romantic? This story isn’t about love. The words sound nice, yes, but it doesn’t come out of love from the characters. It comes out of William Shakespeare’s drunk, adulterous, but undeniably brilliant mind.

Love isn’t love if you don’t have to work for it. And when I say “work for it”, I don’t mean go through trials and tribulations like having your families be at war and stuff. I mean there’s a certain amount of give and take and learning that comes with falling in love. Love is something that is built, not something that is discovered like a new element. (“Eureka! I found love! DRINKS ON ME!”)

And one more thing. I know that supposedly the whole suicide scene was meant to be romantic because the kids were so in love they couldn’t live without each other, but I have to respectively disagree. That’s the worst moral ever. I don’t want to fall so deeply in love with someone that I would die for (or, in this case, with) them. I want to fall so deeply in love with someone that I’ll live for them. Haven’t you seen “A Walk to Remember”? Even though Mandy Moore had to die, Shane West devoted his life, yes, his life, to carrying out all her dreams. Now that’s romantic.