i should've stayed on the farm

Thought this was really cute.





I stumbled across it in my attempt to start studying French online. I then switched to Swedish for a bit and found this:

a
like 'a' in "barn"

---

e
like first 'e' in "here"

---

i
like 'i' in "machine"

---

o
like 'oo' in "foot"

---

u
like 'ou' in "you"

---

y
like 'y' in "Nitroglycerin"



Nitroglycerin??? Really? At least do something shorter like lymph node.

In my internet language quests, I have also rediscovered the age-old truth that everything is funnier in other languages/accents. Even when there's no speaking, foreign videos are better. Case in point:



Funny Peroquet Humour Peroquet Rire Arabe Rire Francais Maroc Tunisie Algerie - Watch the best video clips here

i'd been lost in a fantasy that blinded me

Abraham Lincoln was elected to Congress in 1846.
John F. Kennedy was elected to Congress in 1946.

Abraham Lincoln was elected President in 1860.
John F. Kennedy was elected President in 1960.

Both were particularly concerned with civil rights.
Both wives lost their children while living in the White House.

Both Presidents were shot on a Friday.
Both Presidents were shot in the head

Now it gets really weird.

Lincoln 's secretary was named Kennedy.
Kennedy's Secretary was named Lincoln .

Both were assassinated by Southerners.
Both were succeeded by Southerners named Johnson.

Andrew Johnson, who succeeded Lincoln , was born in 1808.
Lyndon Johnson, who succeeded Kennedy, was born in 1908.


John Wilkes Booth, who assassinated Lincoln , was born in 1839.
Lee Harvey Oswald, who assassinated Kennedy, was born in 1939.


Both assassins were known by their three names.
Both names are composed of fifteen letters.

Now hang on to your seat.

Lincoln was shot at the theater named 'Ford.'
Kennedy was shot in a car called ' Lincoln ' made by 'Ford.'

Lincoln was shot in a theater and his assassin ran and hid in a warehouse.
Kennedy was shot from a warehouse and his assassin ran and hid in a theater.

Booth and Oswald were assassinated before their trials.

And here's the kicker...

A week before Lincoln was shot, he was in Monroe, Maryland
A week before Kennedy was shot, he was with Marilyn Monroe.

**

I didn't fact check this. Seems accurate though. I'm a total sucker for these things.

Take your protein pills and put your helmet on

My mermaid friend is an admirable person. She has taken to drinking raw milk and butter because they're better for the land, animals, and humans. After she told me her reasoning, my desire for a cow and chickens and vegetable garden was reinforced. Then I remembered that I enjoy being released from toiling for my food – you know, having time for a mind life, social life, traveling, not squeezing udders, that type of stuff.

So I've decided to get rich and hire myself some servants to take care of my cow and chickens and farming ventures. Not only will my scheme help nature, humans and animals, but it will funnel money into the economy through my salaried servants.

**

Studying journalism is wonderfully formative. I am perpetually vacillating in my desire to be a journalist, but I am very glad I stumbled onto the major.

What is news? What is newsworthy? How can my work be objective when everything I do has a motive, including choosing to cover a story in the first place?

Being morally forced into reporting a situation as accurately and objectively as possible raises all sorts of questions. You tailor your questions to get particular information, but you don't want to lead the person into saying what they think you want them to say. Omitting certain questions and facts can be as misleading as printing false ones. Even choosing to give a story prominence on a page can also skew reality.

Then you have the government and other organizations calling and telling you not to print and giving some pretty reasonable objections, and you have to weigh what your duty is, what the public interest is, and how valid the objections are.

Good journalists take themselves and their duties very seriously.

**

The other week, my history professor was talking about how confession is good for the soul. I can't quite remember the context of this comment, but I think it might have been a nod at the Catholic church.

I had a friend in high school who didn't like telling anyone who she had a crush on. Not in a "I have a crush on someone and won't tell you" way, but a serious, not ever mention the subject way. She told me that once she told someone, it wasn't hers anymore and it somehow became trivialized.

I thought that was interesting.

Maybe that's a really important aspect of counseling. Telling someone your dark secrets removes some of their (the secrets) power over you. Or maybe it's just a cop out from telling someone who's actually close to you. Or from feeling guilty over something that you should be feeling guilty about.

**

I've always always always had terrific history teachers. I almost wonder why I didn't become a history major.

In high school I had a teacher, Mr. Fisher, who impersonated – with great theatrical flair – all of the arguments between nations. He did a great Clemenceau impression (his French accent was excellent, being married to a French lady.)

Another high school teacher, Mr. Watson, did excellent hypothetical conversations between Khrushchev and the U.S. where Khrushchev was dramatically threatening rockets.

I don't think history can be taught properly without someone who is
a) extremely passionate about the subject
b) big picture oriented
c) good with accents

I love the weird personal details in history. Like one of the Russian leaders' fascination with American hot dogs. And Andrew Jackson's 1400 lb block of cheese which he had an Open House at the White House for the public to come consume. And pretty much everything that Churchill did.

My 11th grade history teacher taught much more than history. He was big on expanding the minds that had been handed to him, and he facilitated conversations and encouraged me with comments that I can still recall almost verbatim. (Which is a big deal.)

We've had several discussions in the class I audited this semester about the importance of knowing history and whether studying history actually prevents it from repeating itself. It seems as though each generation is pretty talented at forgetting the knowledge from the two generations before it.

Does history itself because humans are incredibly adept at deluding themselves? "Surely this time will be different. The air was little warmer this year. In butterfly effect terms, that must have a huge influence."

Or because although guns are getting more sophisticated, humans aren't...

**

Since Thursday, I've been spending my entire existence avoiding LOST spoilers. I haven't watched any episodes from this season yet. It seems everyone is assuming that if didn't watch the finale, you don't care about LOST, and spoilers don't matter. Not true.

Well I'm all grown up now, can you still help somehow?

Today's Article: An Existentialist Firefighter Delays Three Deaths. Here's a pullout quote: "I'm no hero," Farber said after rescuing the family from a house fire on the 2500 block of West Thacker Street, and prolonging for the time being their slow march toward oblivion. "Like any other man, I am thrown into this world, alone and terrified, to play a meaningless role in an empty life. In my case, that role happens to involve charging through towering blazes to pull helpless individuals from a sea of flames before they suffocate or are burnt alive."

What a great guy. I love how heroes never claim to be a hero. It's like the mark of a hero to deny his greatness. Or to say that he was actually freaked out the whole time, and that he's no different than anyone else. Je pense donc je suis type stuff. I'm sick of it. Just lie, okay? Just tell us that you would die for your honor and you've conquered fear and that you have never succumbed to temptation. Maybe living that type of facade would be a more effective inspiration than the denial of being anything special. A human hero (attainable) who is beyond human (inspirational).

Today's Life Lesson: The son of a duck is a floater. This is a rough translation of an Arab proverb. We had that book sitting in our living room my entire life, and I never stopped to think what exactly it meant. I've just now realized it means something along the lines of "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." That took me 22 years. Yup. And then there's the "Guess what I heard? Sheep, because I'm a shepherd," joke that took me foreeeever to get.

**

BCLC has been lacking in blog fodder recently. This is mostly because the head of the center is now constantly in the room, and the kids are all terrified of her. Because not only will she yell; she will yell at one kid personally for five minutes straight, reasoning, berating, and guilt-tripping.

Andrew has stopped calling me "Fraulein Stewart," which is pleasant. Although, he did build a little sign with "Unfairness!" written on it, which he dedicated to me after I kept pushing his work to the bottom of my pile.

Jake, my spastic dancer with the big cheeks, has been sent to Korea for some pretty serious medical reasons. His older brother Brian keeps saying how nice it is that he's gone. I'm almost positive he misses him though (or I just really, really want him to. Possible.)

Brian has also started telling me how much he hates his dad because he demands so much and never lets him do anything except work. I told him that his dad just wants him to succeed. I'm hoping he was exaggerating – from what I've seen, BCLC parents love their kids excessively. Part of that means enforcing a very strong academic work ethic, but the children are still fun-loving and goofy, which points to a reasonable amount of play time.

Anyways, when I told Brian that his dad just wants him to do well, he said that at breakfast that morning his dad had told him that it hurts to look at him. I didn't have a lot of context on that one.


**

In high school, I read "A Semester in the Life of a Garbage Bag," which was probably written for nine year olds. Age level aside, it was recommended to me, and was a really great read. It's about a couple of boys who choose a poet to study for a school project. The problem is, they find one of his poems at the last minute and turn it in for the first assignment. Afterwards, they go to look for more of his poetry for the rest of the assignments, but find out that he died in a freak accident immediately after publishing his first poem. (In fact, he was at the bank, cashing in his 15 dollar pay check for the poem when he was killed.)

So the boys decide to make up the rest of the poems. I've put them on here because I believe they deserve to be shared. I wish this was my book. (The first one is poet's, the rest are the kids'.)

Registration Day
by Gavin Gunhold

On registration day at taxidermy school
I distinctly saw the eyes of the stuffed moose
Move.


Fruit Fly
by Gavin Gunhold

Due to the tragically short life span of the average
fruit fly,
College is not really an option.
Caps and gowns don''t come in that size anyway.


Industrial Secret
by Gavin Gunhold

The oil companies don't want you to know
That the average car will run on
Consomme,
If you can figure out a way
To get the parsley out of the carburetor.


Group Therapy
by Gavin Gunhold

When my psychiatrist went insane,
Only six of my multiple personalities
Were cured.
The rest of us want our money back.


The Bargain
by Gavin Gunhold

After the hair tonic saleman's toupee fell off
He decided to lower the price.
So I bought six cases.
A bargain is a bargain.


Household Security
by Gavin Gunhold

As a positive step against crime
I bought a watchdog,
And am training him personally.
This week we study full contact karate.


Green Thumb
by Gavin Gunhold

To make sure my apidistra gets enough carbon
dioxide
I'm reading it
THE GREAT GATSBY
During the boring parts
The leaves turn brown.

"cathy i'm lost," i said though i knew she was sleeping

As far back as I can remember, my mother has been obsessed with clothing color analysis. There are certain colors that suit each individual, and these can be separated into four seasonal categories: winter, spring, summer and fall. She had a giant book on it, feeding her fix in great detail.

I am a summer. This meant that I was never allowed to buy any clothing outside the summer palette. The oranges and browns of fall? No. The blacks and whites of winter? NO. (I could get away with some of the spring colors though).

This was never the sort of thing I never really cared about, so I always went along with it. And my mother is very persuasive – "Ohh that is your blue, it brightens your face. You look so good in it," or "No, no, no. You just really can't wear that type of brown."

I remember it was a very real concern for her one summer when she couldn't decide if my sister was a spring or summer. It was like an existential crisis. This Spring color looks good on her, but so does this greenish blue which is clearly Summer.

Eventually she decided that while you're young, your youth will let you get away with some of the colors that you really shouldn't ever wear.

**

Today's Article: Is about a mass death of hyphens. If you don't want to bother reading it, here's the best part: "Another factor in the hyphen's demise is designers' distaste for its ungainly horizontal bulk between words." Ungainly horizontal bulk. Yessss.

And then there's a fellow who hasn't eaten in 75 years. Apparently he "air feeds." (And that's exactly what you think it is.)

Quote of the Day: "Don't use words too big for the subject. Don't say "infinitely" when you mean "very"; otherwise you'll have no word left when you want to talk about something really infinite."
–C.S. Lewis

"In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps."
–Psalm 19:6


Time time time.

There's something to be said for repetition. It's a pretty interesting literary device. One of my Bible profs said that back in the back back day, writers used repetition to spotlight important points. (Perhaps that wasn't exactly how he said it.) I immensely appreciated this information.

Owning knowledge. Reexamining cliches. Embracing ageless consensus. Eating lots of unhealthy food because it tastes really, really good. Smiling at the matrix. Growing plants. Appreciating pauses and peace and effort and acceptance.

**

Everybody says that humans are relational. That relationships are the most important thing in life. That love and being loved is ultimate reality. That selflessness is ultimately more fulfilling. (Which begs the question.)That being alone is a means to improve interactions with others, and not a means unto itself.

But what if that's not what life is about. What if it's actually about nature? Maybe other humans are just this big distraction between ourselves and nature. Land is good, right? It's beautiful, it feeds us, it listens so well. Uncomplicated and consistent. Maybe God wants us to all be separate from each other because we obsess over human relationships instead of Him. Perhaps we're all meant to take a vow of silence and meditate into nothingness on top of a tall mountain in Bhutan, listening to our own heartbeats and feeling the arteries carrying blood to our feet and watching the little hairs on our arms and the lines on our hands and the shape of our legs when our knees are bent.

Supposedly that would have a negative effect on your sanity. But that depends on how you define sanity. And why do we worship sanity, anyways? What's the big deal about delusions and illusions? If they're here, they're a part of existence, so why shun them?

Should people be given a choice if they are 100% going to make the wrong one? 94%? What's the magic number? Do you want the choice if you know you're going to mess it up?

And then you smile and laugh and toss sand at me and I feel peace.

and if you remember, then follow (follow follow follow)

Last Thursday I went on a DMV rant in the American history class I'm auditing. In my defense, our class is discussion based, and the topic came up naturally during our conversation, so it was fairly contextual. On the other hand, I got quite passionate – to the point where I was almost interrupting myself in my (apparently) extreme need to expound upon the need for friendly service in DMVs. I think I might have also been wildly gesticulating as I diatribed (it could be a verb), but the memory is a bit of a blur.

Basically, a really sweet girl in our class said that she had thought about how she would love to be the one friendly person at the DMV, but then she realized that she would probably slow down the whole process. My response went something like this 1) you can be efficient and friendly
2) the wait-time at DMVs will not be fixed by a few faster people, the whole system needs to be overhauled, restaffed, and given to a non-government agency.
3) (this one might not have made it in – I was pretty big on no. 2) it's their job. if you work in a customer service type of job, part of the job description is being friendly. math is a part of an engineer's job, and a smile is a part of a customer service job. But let's be realistic, right? People have bad days, people get stuck in jobs that aren't suited for them, some people are shy, introverted, etc. Fine, fine, fine. But that doesn't mean you have to be outright rude/mean/vindictive. I'm going to stop now.

Most of the time I refrain from this sort of outburst (especially outside of class), because I respect myself, and it's hard to respect someone who can't control their emotions/tone of voice/body language. On the other hand, it's really hard to constantly squash down my enthusiasms (I'm quite excitable), and passion is an important part of life – and usually a strong deterrent to depression – so I'm trying to find the happy medium (keeping in mind that I don't really need to freak people out with CONSTANT ENTHUSIASM OVER EVERY TOPIC.) Also, I'm not big on talking about stuff I care about and then not doing anything. It seems wrong. But just keeping it inside and not doing anything seems just as bad, if not worse.

blah blah blah

Smashing Story: I visited my mermaid politician friend this weekend, and we hung out with her pseudo Hungarian pal, "Dancing Dan." He's always good for random information/stories, and this encounter was no different. He told us about a news story he had read in which a dog became addicted to car fumes. (With the article was an accompanying picture of a scraggly mutt with patches of hair missing.) Apparently the owner initially thought it was funny, and he would turn the car on and let the dog get its fix for the day. After a while he decided that maybe it wasn't such a good idea, and stopped allowing the dog to breathe in the fumes. The dog then went through some dramatic withdrawal symptoms. The owner no longer questions the addiction, and supplies it readily.

Alright, so that wasn't really an article. Here you go: check this. Everybody needs to know. (Spread the word).

**

On Thursday, I was helping Vivian with her math homework when I heard a little voice coming from the far right corner of the room.

"Miss Stewart!" It was 7-year-old Katie quietly calling me, and there was a hint of desperation in her voice.

I looked up. She was standing in the doorway of the girls' bathroom, partially covered by the door, but not enough to hide the fact that her pants and underwear were around her ankles.

Vivian burst into laughter and I ran over, hoping nobody else was paying attention.

"Pull your pants up," I whispered.

"I peed on them." She was really upset.

"Katie, sweetie, it happens. Don't worry about it. You can't come out like that."

"But I'm going to feel horrible."

"I'm sorry, I know. But it's okay. You have to pull them up. And don't worry about it, it happens to lots of people."

"Even people who are seven even though they're in 1st grade?"

"Yes." I tried to look reassuring.

Yup. So add potty trainer to my list of job requirements. Anyways, a couple of kids heard me say that it happens to lots of people, and made fun of me (along the lines of "how often does it happen to youuuu?). To be fair, I set myself up for that one.

**

This weekend, the mermaid and I feasted on Ethiopian food for dinner and breakfast, and afterward headed to Little Ethiopia to peruse the Ethiopian wooden crosses and buy injera. I then experienced my first Orthodox baptism which included a sort of exorcism, a mini haircut, and full immersion. After the service I hung out with the baptismee's family, which included his mother, a very devout Protestant who had spent her life translating the Bible into Cree, and kept offering her blessings and prayers on our lives. The next day, I attended a Byzantine Catholic pentecostal service which was half in Romanian. All in all a pleasant experience – kind of like visiting another (very religious) country for a few days.

Today's Life Advice: Is for the ladies. Don't ever try to play soccer in a knee length jean skirt and bulgy flip flops. Just don't.

and blinking, step into the sun

"Miss Stewart, is this personification?"
"Miss Steeeewart, why is Brian always mean to me?"
"Miss Stward, how do I block my phone number? I want to call my friends and talk in a creepy voice and hang up."
"Add me as a friend on Facebook!"
"Somebody made a mess on the floors in the bathroom."
"Miss Stewart...don't get mad...but do you have a boyfriend?"
"Evan scooped me!"
"What does "h-e-a-d-a-c-h-e mean?"
"Someone broke my eraser."
"Miss Stewart, someone wrote "sex" in this book!"
"Look, it's an ass. Donkey. Hahahhahahhaa!"
"Miss Stewart, am I invisible? Dylan says I'm invisible." (I ignored this:))
"Is the reason New York got its nickname because it's the second largest apple exporter in America?"

Those are some of the latest queries/comments thrown my way. (Many of them are recurring.) When imagining them spoken aloud, remember to get in a mental image of kids nudging, shaking, poking, and squeezing me. And as long as we're reliving these moments, go ahead and imagine my boss bringing in her tiny new pedigree puppy and letting it run madly around the room underneath everyone's feet, occasionally squealing an unearthly high pitched sound. Yeah, I definitely had thought she was on my side.

**

But of course, working at BCLC is not without its merits. 12-year-old Andrew is proof of this. Today he wrote an essay/autobiography from the point of view of his future, 25 year old self. It described his adult years – he had attended Yale and is currently making a ton of money off his manga comic company. He has decided that he wants to be a bachelor until he's at least 30, and has a dog to keep him company when he's lonely. He also has a team of exotic cartoonists working with him, including a 22-year-old French girl named Marie who seems promising.

I think he was concerned about my uncontrolled laughter (it was supposed to be a fairly serious project), but I couldn't help it.

When I made fun of "Marie" and asked if he'd even ever met a French person, he informed me that he had recently broken up with his French girlfriend. Andrew is 12. Surprised, I asked why they had broken up – he couldn't remember. This made me feel better (after my angsty conversation with a 16 year old a few days previously.)

6-year-old Katherine was doing her work next to us, and when she heard his girlfriend story, she started quietly chanting, "Andrew has a girlfriend. Andrew has a girlfriend," to which I joined in with a "Andrew likes giiiirls, Andrew likes giiiirls."

Andrew became flustered. "Had. I had a girlfriend," he insisted.

We kept chanting. (Yes, in my head I'm still in junior high.) He made some illogical comment about my maturity, which I ignored in favor of more chanting. I love my job because it makes me feel like Peter Pan.

she had a lot on her mind and she didn't see it coming, she was driving way too fast

This Wednesday, one of my students stabbed me with a pencil.

I was going to illustrate this with a clip of The Faculty, a horror movie with Elijah Wood, Josh Harnett, and other notables, wherein there is a particularly gruesome pencil stabbing scene. I couldn't find the clip, but I did find some other weird ones, and I recommend searching "the faculty pencil stabbing scene" on Youtube if you ever want to be disturbed.

Anyways, I told my friend Edmund about it and he asked what I did in retaliation. (Do I really seem that violent?...also, is it okay to punch a kid if you aren't his real teacher?) I explained that it was a six-year-old who didn't speak English and he wasn't trying to stab me – he was going after a gnat. I then got home and told my roommate Rebekah, who simply said, "I've been waiting for you to come home injured."

So there you have it: my friends; encouraging violence and maintaining low expectations.

***
On Thursday, I had a tutoring session which involved me imparting more than English advice. I'm "teaching" a junior high schooler Julius Caesar, which mostly involves acting the play out together and laughing at some of the goofy things Shakespeare has thrown in the script. My student mostly reads his lines in a (fairly decent) British accent – we had discussed what the Romans actually sounded like and decided that we had a closer idea of what Shakespearan actors sounded like than what ancient Romans did, so we went with British English.

When we were done reading, the topic of making a wish at 11:11 came up, and I explained that I touch the clock but don't make a wish. He said he used to make a wish but now he doesn't. I asked why and discovered that, of course, it was because of a girl. His ex used to make wishes on 11:11 and he had joined her (and wished that they were going to have a great relationship or something) and she had mysteriously dumped him over a text a week later. He still doesn't know why. This still seemed to be bothering him (it happened a couple weeks ago) and he kept saying he didn't understand it.

My advice to him? 1) Don't trust girls. 2) Pick better next time. 3) You're young, don't worry about it. 4) I hope the security camera aimed at us doesn't record sound as well as visual.

(Very empathetic, I know. Also, I should probably write an advice book.)

***

And then, Thursday night, I went to the discussion-based history class which I'm auditing. The professor, Dr. L., told us he had been to a wedding the previous weekend and, knowing the nature of the groom, had asked the young man why he had chosen this particular girl as "the one."

He replied with the following reasons:

1) she's hot
2)she comes from a rich family
3)I like spending time with her
4)I really want to have sex with her

The class didn't much care for this fellow's response, and Dr. L. asked what exactly we thought was missing. The female retorts he received included an answer enmeshed in Bible verses and profundity along the lines of "iron sharpening iron" as well as a comment that the groom didn't seem very romantic.

And then there were the guys in the class. Most of them were studiously avoiding the question (a fairly common behavior in a class which has its fair share of outspoken females including a few pseudo feminists.) A couple of them were talking and laughing as the girls flummoxed on about what had been most disturbing about the groom's list. When asked, one of them said that the reasons sounded pretty shallow, but the other pointed out that the groom did say that he enjoyed spending time with her.

Today's Article: Is a Pulitzer Prize winner about a musical experiment. I love love love this piece (it's quite lengthly though.) I don't want to explain – just read it.

Life Lesson: Time expands and shrinks based on deadlines. And procrastinating is a much more efficient way to use your time – if you start projects too early, you'll spend your time in accordance to how much you have of it (ie. waste it while "researching"). It's a much better idea to wait until the last minute and make each minute count.

hoping to find some long forgotten words or ancient melodies

"A lepress" or "olympus"?

look at you all, see the love there that's sleeping

(click to enlarge)

You'd say I'm putting you on, but it's no joke, it's doing me harm

On Thursday, Brian (12) was looking very perturbed as he argued with Miss Garcia. Apparently she had told him on Wednesday that some pitchers could pitch at up to 120 mph. Brian's a big kid. He looks like he's about 16, and he plays baseball. Naturally he figured that if it was possible for some to pitch at that rate, he would be one of the chosen ones. So he made a $20 bet with a friend that he could throw a baseball at 120 mph – a bet which he lost. And he spent all day Thursday complaining to Miss. Garcia that she had lost his money. She just laughed.

My brothers have a similar history of making ridiculous bets, often over song lyrics. There was a discussion between the lyric "a lepress" and "olympus" in one song (yeah, we listen to awesome music), and a huge argument over whether American Pie had more lyrics than some other song. It was all a little stupid, but rather entertaining (especially when my mother was yelling at them the whole time to stop betting.)

I personally have decided that betting is a bit silly unless you've found someone you can take complete advantage of and know you're going to win. (I suppose at that point it's more manipulation than betting. Make a note.) I bet my sister that she won't still be able to put both legs behind her neck when she's 50. We wrote up the terms and we both signed the contract. She was 12, I was 16. I was planting the seeds for her to learn a valuable life lesson on her 50th birthday. Because I'm a great sister.

Harmony and me...we're pretty good company

Two days ago was the birthday of my housemate, Becky Niemi, and yesterday was the birthday of Arielle, my "longest" friendship. I love birthdays because they're so personal and they always remind me of how blessed I am to know that person. And also how blessed I am to have real friends – ones who I love so much that it takes the focus off myself for periods of times. (It's liberating.)

So I'm making a list to celebrate Beckalicious...

Reasons I love Rebekah Niemi:
-she's hot (figured I'd start with the shallow)
-she tells me when I'm being ridiculous
-but she tells me nicely
-she shares my love/obsession with food
-she is so incredibly sensible
-but she doesn't rub it in (most of the time:))
-she used to take time out of a very, extremely, regimented schedule to have random unscheduled talks with me
-she is open to change
-her eyes are brown and black and they match
-she has pretty hair
-she doesn't let me drive her crazy
-or when i do, she handles it well
-she is a musical, artistic, insightful, smart, talented, but not too perfect person who talks to herself and loves Jesus and cooking and tall boys

and a million other reasons that I should probably tell her in person.

picture perfect memories

Today I confiscated a rubber band from nefarious Nathan, only to watch him get up and replace it with another from a bag full of them.

I also talked to Brian about baptism. He didn't understand it for a school project:

Brian: Miss Stewart, what's baptism?
Me: Go look it up.
Brian: I did, I don't understand it.
Me: It's what Christians do. They either dunk or sprinkle a person with water.
Brian: Whaat?
Me: Yeah, it's symbolic. Depending on what kind of Christian they are, they dunk or sprinkle a person with water. It represents the cleansing of sins.
Brian: So...it's like...getting wet?
Me: Yeah.

I also came to the realization that I'm going to miss all of them.

Today's Quote:

"Why it is that of all the billions and billions of strange objects in the Cosmos -- novas, quasars, pulsars, black holes -- you are beyond doubt the strangest?"

–Walker Percy. (Not said to me.)

there were bells on the hill

I want to go on a strike. I graduated from university without going on one – three years in L.A. as a young "socially concerned" student and I didn't manage to walk around yelling with a giant, clever sign once.

My ex-roommate Emma and I always thought that it would be a good idea to protest for daylight the day before Daylight Savings. That way we would be guaranteed to feel effective. (And it worked, btw. Daylight was saved twice a year all throughout college)

I'm auditing a pre-revolution American history class, and have been reading a book called "The Radicalism of the American Revolution" which has some great material. Apparently frustrated Americans used to protest England's sovereignty with these mini strike/festivals where they would mock the government by dressing up a townsperson as a fake king and hanging effigies. But all these festivals served to do was inadvertently cement the system into place more than it had been – and get the angst out of the citizens for a while so they could get back to work.

Today's Quote:
"His hair will grow on you."
-Shawna describing her long-haired friend Ben Fabulous

but oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go

I woke up this morning to the eyeball of my roommate, Christine. We have been roommates for three years now and she occasionally does creepy things like this, usually not on purpose. She also laughs to herself a lot, and frequently has a V vein on her forehead when she's giddy about something.

Probable craziness aside, I've grown rather fond of living with her – mostly because she is this beautiful ballerina type who gets really excited about the nerdiest things: Star Trek, videogames, LOTR, and Tchaikovsky. However, the eyeball was disconcerting. They are meant to be in pairs; it's a symmetry thing that I fully condone. And waking up to one eyeball and half a V vein staring at me like Sauron (okay, what other EYE can I compare it to) was disturbing. It's like when I used to be awoken by Maylee, a demon Pekinese dog who was the prechild of my aunt and uncle. Pekinese are strange creatures, with shoved in faces that hinder their breathing. Maylee didn't breathe so much as snot. And she used to crawl onto my chest and snot on my face until I woke up to her beady little eyes.

The climax of my Christine eye story is the following interchange:

Me (to Christine's eye which is staring at me through pillows and blankets): Hi. (nervous giggle)
Christine: (kind of laughs and mutters something) (we aren't morning people)
Me: All I can see is your eye.
Christine: Oh. haha. That's like that poem.
Me: What?
Christine: The Edgar Allan Poe poem.
Me: Which Edgar Allan Poe poem?
Christine: Oh you know...that one...
Me: (racking my brain for eyeballs in the two Poe poems I know) Uhh no.
Christine: (realizes something and gives an enlightened laugh) Oh, never mind. I was probably thinking of some slasher movie.


And that's why I love her.

Today's Quote:

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me- Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we- Of many far wiser than we- And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.