I know I am solid and ::sound::

Verb.

2010-07-16T12:28:00.004-04:00

This blog has died, and I'm not sad about it.

I've made a conversion from words to actions--when I feel something, I don't write about it, I don't wax poetic on exactly what it means or wonder if I should perhaps feel differently. I just act on those feelings. Which is good--I'm spending a lot less time living in my own head and more time engaging other people, discovering what I have in common with the rest of the world and what aspects of me are blessedly mine. I treasure both.

Actions give me strength, purpose, a list of things that I could point to at the end of my life and say I did this. And words, I notice more and more, just descend in to hollow meaninglessness with time and repetition. Even the most powerful words--inspiring campaign promises, for example--lose their potency when "Change we can believe in" is just something we say, not something we see or feel. Even "I love you" can turn into just something one says instead of something one does. Over time you can become so depressed by a word's lack of any real meaning that the most positive words, instead of filling you up and buoying you, just kind of hollow you out. Someone has wasted your time by saying something so worthless as "I'm here for you" when they're never, ever physically there.

Actions are concrete, harder to misinterpret, easier to explain, and I think more impervious to that weakening over time. I am trying to live in verbs now, trying to make myself known and my intentions clear not just to those who bother to read or listen to what I say. I teach in Africa, everyone knows that I care about poverty and the opportunity gap and my generation's future. I wear a uniform, everyone knows I am dedicated to serving my country.

...I wish I could make that list longer. Soon it will be. I think it's too much to hope that I can influence others to live the same way. But at least i can value from this information and know who to trust, who to respect...and who's just blowing empty words in my direction.

Lilith Returns.

2010-04-13T15:17:00.002-04:00

I jacked my mom's 2-disc set of lilith fair songs about 3 years ago, and it's been one of my favorites ever since. Now, the all-women's music fest is coming back...and it's coming back with Norah Jones and Teagan & Sarah and tons of the other beautiful women who have burst onto the music scene since these tours went on hiatus.

It's going to be in Philly on July 28. i4c birkenstocks, muddy legs, and more lesbian music duos than one could shake a stick at?

Ink:

2010-04-12T19:14:00.001-04:00

I dream of it.

From the brilliant Dr. Berner.

2010-04-05T11:45:00.002-04:00

These are the crucial teachings of Buddhism:

That everyone matters, that we're all connected, and that every action--every smile--every glance we make affects other people and the world around us.

This is how I'll say goodbye

2010-03-31T23:58:00.001-04:00

I depart as air .... I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you

New theory: Walt Whitman was an American Buddhist.

How Quickly, Part 2.

2010-03-29T17:46:00.003-04:00

How quickly we forget...to write...for a year.

How very, very quickly each year passes, the acceleration so impossibly high, it's incalculable. The magnetic poetry on the mini-fridge is still arranged into messages about surviving the winter, but winter's long gone, the last wisps of the depressive state blowing off my body the way leaves blew off the trees "just yesterday." I can count the weeks on one hand til I'm home forever, forever equaling approximately three months, two of those spent in the Caribbean, one spent sleeping on a futon in an office. Next weekend: dining out. Next weekend: work. Next weekend: home for a refuel, a birthday, a show. Next weekend: Phi Mu Formal. Next weekend: Home free.

How quickly we discover adventure isn't leaving for some foreign land for six weeks, then rediscovering the comforts of home. The true adventure is packing boxes and relocating for good. Some days I feel ancient. Other days the truth reveals itself: My life is a mountain and I haven't even made it out of base camp yet. Possibilities are spread out in front of me. How terrifying, how thrilling.

How quickly we forget someone's listening. Or maybe we didn't forget, we just never noticed because we were so busy trying to catch someone else's attention.

How quickly we forget the power of words. In journalism we talk about how blogs are stupid. How writing about yourself is stupid. But Whitman wrote "Song of Myself" and last I checked, that's all about him. Last I checked, I cry every time I read it. Now I'm no Whitman but I reserve the right to call him 'Uncle Walt' and give this thing a try again.

"I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable."

How Quickly

2009-06-08T22:59:00.003-04:00

How quickly we forget:

That good friends, a healthy dose of nature and just the right amount of chocolate solve most of life’s problems
That the bends in the road that force us to slow down are there for our viewing pleasure
That friends can be family
That the loch ness monster can also fly
That the current pushes us along for a reason. Sometimes the answer is to simply go with it
That scenic views are worth vigorous journeys
That nothing is stronger than a good network of loving people
That sharing laughter with those we love is beautiful
That a warm crackling fire frightens away negative thoughts
That waffles are a unifier
That the sky is an ever-changing masterpiece we should take time to admire at least for a few minutes every day
That we can jump higher than we think
That if we overestimate our strength, we can tumble, spit in our scratches and try again
That what feels good often is.
That sometimes the most reassuring advice you can give someone is that your door is always open for everyone except robbers and murderers
That a mentor can become a friend in a single night
That ends can be starts, and goodbyes can be introductions
That smoky hair, grungy nails and pockmarked legs are symbols of cleansing and renewal
That not every great memory needs to be recorded in Dear Diary format

And then one evening takes our souls, shakes them awake, and leaves them to stretch and dance within us—it reignites brain synapses, and we remember—oh, the feeling of mud in our toes is delicious, oh, the scrapes in our hands are worth the pounding water on our feet, oh, there is something about nature that just unites us. We remember how bugs and dirt and moss all contribute to the sublime beauty that is the outdoors—a beauty that is best enjoyed with others who respect it, yet also know how to enjoy it.

I’ll be going back to the hostel at some point during the Twenty Days—whether with a few friends or by myself, I’ve yet to decide. But it seems like such an ideal place to retreat, reflect and leave renewed.

Yes, there is a section of my summer that requires title case capitalization, and it’s called the Twenty Days. From the day I return from Ghana to the day I depart for college is twenty days. Those twenty days are the ones in which my entire summer has to happen. I want days of far-reaching adventure and low-key locality. I want days during which my only obligation is to my friends and the forces that connect us. So if you have any suggestions for the Twenty Days, please let me know below. I’m hoping to fit a few humdingers in there.

In the meantime, I’m just hoping to keep afloat amidst my crazy schedule for this week. So far, so good. Wish me luck as the end approaches.

Senior Blues

2009-05-18T16:51:00.002-04:00

Anyone else gotten that bipolar feeling yet?

You know, the one where one day you're beyond ready to leave Souderton, leave high school and all of the nonsense that accompanies it, and the next day you're prepared to chain yourself to a blackboard* if that's what it takes to keep you there forever? They call it senior blues--and when I say they, I mean...well...I.

I asked one of my friends from my last trip to Africa, a seasoned high school art teacher, for some advice for life post-grad. She returned quickly with the following list, which I plan to follow down to a T (seeing as I totally trust Annie) :

1. Exhale

2. Inhale: friends, simple pleasures, stolen QUIET unplanned moments with loved/liked ones

3. Draw a self-portrait

4. Write a poem

5. Find a day to spend alone, really alone

6. Buy a roll of duct tape to pack for college (it is the one indispensible item you'll need for everything from hemming jeans to fixing book covers to making a wallet to replace the one you lost...)

7. Look in the mirror and smile

8. Take a bubble bath

9. Write another poem

10. Exhale...etc...

Isn't it perfect?

*not reccomended in institutions scheduled for demolition.

Stay Bright.

2009-05-11T15:19:00.003-04:00

First comes the news.
"I am sorry to write this in a group email. I have the saddest news--and can barely talk yet, so I hope you can forgive me...Bright died yesterday."

Then the words--far more eloquent than anything that I could produce in that state.
“If ever a name perfectly suited someone it was 'Bright...'"

And then--only then--reactions rush in. Questions and answers that don't really satisfy.

America. A teenager dies because he has access to so many pills, he can take enough to kill himself. And he does. On the way to his funeral two more kids make a promise--to stop, to reform. To learn. But the next day, another is hospitalized for the same error of excess...

Africa. A grown man with a mother and a son who depend on him dies because he can't afford the one pill he needs. And the next day, another family is broken by this same injustice.

Back in America--to themselves and to Africa, they promise: never again.

But on both sides of the Atlantic the cycle continues. Ever again.

It's a bit of cosmic irony...but being bitter serves no one. Injustice isn't worth bemoaning...but it is worth fighting. And Bright Gasper is worth honoring.

What happened--it doesn't just happen in Africa. But it does happen more there. In the hospital because of a long case of typhoid, Bright got a blood transfusion. It should have saved him but did the opposite, as he received the wrong type of blood.

The cause of Bright's passing may be more upsetting than the fact that he's gone. Bright lived each day acknowledging the gift that it was, thankful for just 24 more hours of vitality. And a vital man he was: always eager to teach, eager to learn, eager to help others and make sure everyone was okay, enjoying themselves as much as possible. He laughed when we told him he was "so GQ" and laughed even harder when we told him what it meant. He was steady and collected both on our many road trips and in marketplace dealmaking.

There's something different about the mentality in Africa. There, rarely does one look too far into the future--instead, the goal is to live each day to the fullest. The loss of a man who was such a fine example of that lifestyle sends my mind in circles--half of me is tempted to be sad that someone with so much life left in him lost his life so early. But the other half of me is tempted to learn from Bright. We can't forget the people who are gone, but we can't spend too long mourning, either. Because in the end, the most important thing is to live each day for the gift it is.

"Never slow down, never look back, live each day with adolescent verve and spunk and curiosity and playfulness."

RIP Bright Gasper.

Arr...I'm a Bookaneer

2009-04-15T22:23:00.000-04:00

Not everyone knows this, but only approximately 0.01% of books are made to be bought and set on a shelf. Only a very certain type of book deserves to stay with you forever, only the one that you can truly read over and over again, with notes scribbled in the margins and dog-eared pages and covers worn ragged by travel and love. The rest are to be passed along to friends.

What is a book? It’s a collection of ideas. And ideas are nothing if you don’t share them with at least one other person, and trust that they’ll share it with another, and trust that at some point those ideas will get caught up in the web of human of interaction, passed round and round until they are accepted as truth.

Fiction pieces aren’t stories. They’re thesis papers. They’re philosophies. Someone wrote that plot and developed that character in order to lead you through a specific train of thought, in order to make you understand what they think. They just happened to choose to present it in a medium slightly less dry than Plato’s works. NOT that they’re not also fantastic in their own right…

Why the book musings? I just finished a good one today—the kind of book that’s so good, you get unstuck in time, concerned with nothing but soaking up every nuance of the piece until…wow, it’s 10 o’ clock and you haven’t gotten off the couch since you finished your homework and ate dinner. It was called The God of Animals and it (teenage reading euphemism in 3…2…) really put my life in perspective.

And in case you’re wondering…I will be passing it on. This one has already made the rounds through my family and will now be introduced to a teacher…hopefully to be passed along once again.

Just For Now...

2009-04-15T17:22:00.000-04:00

For two hours today--two full hours--I was allowed to be perfectly still as the world spun around me. As people outside the window ran to catch buses and sped to beat rush hour, as they made phone calls and sent emails and broadcasted news reports, I sat. With one person. And talked. And sometimes didn't even talk, just listened or felt or took another long sip of agave-sweetened coffee. I let the curls be pulled from my hair, let words and laughs and sighs escape uninhibited, let my feet dangle over the edge of a leather armrest clearly not meant for feet, yet so conducive to lounging...and as I became conscious of exactly how much I was letting go, I began to feel like I was exhaling for the first time in months.

That's right. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I HAVE time--it could be attributed to the return of Senior Privilege, the fact that I'm starting to feel in control of my schedule overall, and/or the fact that the scheduling nirvana that is Ghana (gotta love the equatorial pace) looms ever nearer. Finally I feel like I have time to write again, time to work but also time to reflect, relax...and respire, for god's sake.

So as senior year comes to a close, expect THIS to start occurring regularly again--posting, I mean. I'm feeling renewed and ready to give this another go.

Tell Me Your Life Story

2009-02-26T20:00:00.002-05:00

I've never come so close to crying in a German class, which is embarrassing.

Jackson later summed this up in the truest way. "Isn't it amazing how people come to the same end by such completely different means?"

I have a story for you, a story of the life of someone much more dedicated than I. The story of someone very similar to me, though you'd never guess it from the outside. Someone with whom, in fact, I assumed from the get-go I had nothing in common. Come gather round and be amazed by how life proves us wrong.

He told us the story completely in German. For some reason, that made it more amazing. I understood an entire story in a foreign language--and it connected with me so deeply that I became emotional. I think that means something about how much I've learned, even if I've been embarrassingly rusty these past few weeks. But since we're not all German students, I'll give you the English version:

As a child, his home life was less than perfect. His father worked in a factory, his mother was a housewife, and neither particularly cared about school or what happened afterward. His sister hated school, but he loved it--in fact, he loved it so much that he, as he discovered later, made himself a new family at school. His friends were his siblings, his teachers his parents--and aunts, and uncles, and grandparents, cousins, neighbors. He poured everything into his studies and was encouraged often by his grandmother, who valued education the same way he did. He knew that he had to be more, that he didn't want to work in a factory like his father--he wanted to go to college. But his parents wouldn't pay. So after pouring his heart and soul into twelve years of school, he spent another eleven years putting his heart and soul into hard work. Eleven years. He was 29 when he finally entered college, 34 when his dream career became reality.

And he hasn't looked back since.

Now, no one in this world who truly knows me can doubt that I always have good intentions. In my best moments, I'm a visionary. But even in my best moments, following through with a plan is so hard. Staying dedicated and resisting the urge to fall into the path of least resistance takes every ounce of my consciousness--it takes lists on post-its and white boards, it takes google calendars and text message alerts and it takes a lot of pushing from those who tell me, "I know you can do it. "

Only after I hear stories like this do I truly feel "I know I can do it." Some people wait and work years to realize their dreams, and in my case things so often simply fall into place. Some would cite that as evidence of some higher being, some cosmic force working in my favor. But the cosmos, the universe, fate or god or gods or some random chain of circumstances rewarded this teacher for working hard. He is someone for whom I hold a great amount of respect, multiplied tenfold by the five-minute story he shared with us today.

It makes me wonder--it makes me hope--that one day, I'll tell my story (maybe entirely in some foreign language) and it will move someone to tears, it will inspire someone to laugh longer or work harder or spread the love as far as it can reach.

I think that's what I really hope for my documentary premiere in two weeks. That people will be so inspired, for some short period they'll feel what I feel. A calling to change the world, a feeling of infinite hope, a feeling of being in touch with some light that will spread wider and wider until all feel its warmth--knowledge, I mean.

I can only hope and act and pray that my intentions serve me well this time around.

Come to This

2009-02-21T17:39:00.002-05:00

Old Frienships, New Life, and Many Things in between

2009-02-14T22:57:00.002-05:00

A note, before I begin. The topic of this blog was inspired by the writings of Dr. Sara. Sara wondered if valentine’s day was only for celebrating romantic love. Must the day only be about a significant other?

Well, I subscribe to Sara’s conclusion—if we’re celebrating love, we might as well celebrate its diversity and universalism. From old friendships to new life—and between, romance and role models, and maybe the activities we love, and—what the hell—maybe your dog, and if you’re feeling particularly groovy, maybe nature or humankind in general [resists the urge to end this sentence with “man”].

The fact is that today made me realize that I have a lot to be thankful for: the good, best, most amazing set of friends that anyone could ask for. A wonderfully thoughtful boyfriend who always tolerates my lateness and bakes a mean sugar cookie (and his feast-making family). The spirit-boosting feeling that someone is watching out for me, that the soul of some guardian and I are someone connected. The band of psychos that make up the Young Actor’s Company, always teaching me about the art of collaboration. A classroom of 40, waiting for me across the Atlantic. And of course, my family, who brought a brand new baby cousin into the world today.

LOVE is not about chocolate or flowers or hearts that say “be mine.” It’s about the synthesis of feelings you can have for just one person—affection, respect, and probably quite a few you can’t quite find a name for. Which is why we are all capable of loving so many people. And that is worth celebrating.

2009-01-20T22:33:00.003-05:00

Angee: go back to africa for a minute, okay?
Angee: listen.
Angee: watch your videos, look through your pictures. read your journal. just do that tonight, okay? take ten minutes to go back to that time, where you felt infinite. where you saw the hope and the strength in those kids at the airfield school, in isaac and annie and bright and godsway. drink that in. your strength is there, shelbs. go back to that, bring out that strength and that hope.
yo firecracker: those kids, that school, that country - it's all inside you. i promise you, it is.

Shelby: it is.

PS Happy Inauguration day. I spent mine with people I love. And I will not not not forget it.

"Strength is measured by what you build, not what you destroy."

"What a piece of work is man"

2009-01-16T23:17:00.002-05:00

is the name of Angee's blog. It's a pleasing quote. Today I was writing my little mini-speech for the student of the month (shelby kay-fantozzi is the STUDENT OF THE MONTH! Be excited.) and--well--are you aware of those moments in which you decide to have an opinion on something kind of out of thin air? It was an epiphany, I guess. So I was writing my speech, and pulled THIS out of thin air...

...Though I don't have her for class anymore, I’ve continued to learn from her—mostly about surviving the tough moments and enjoying the good ones. These are two people who I can approach with any problem, story—anything—and I know they’re there for me. This year I’ve realized how valuable that is and I can’t thank either of them enough.

I need to start paying attention when things like that come out of my subconscious. Generally I'm struck with thoughts like "It'd be cool to get married in a planetarium*" or--actually written as I fell asleep at my keyboard doing a lit essay--"fork demonstrates the disappointment explained ever, a let-down made even more unbearable b." But when a really good idea comes my way--well, that's the real reason I have a blog. It's the perfect sort of place to record those discoveries.

"Surviving the tough moments...enjoying the good ones." I need to spend much more time getting in touch with the optimist within me. I need to compartmentalize. At the end of the day, I need to be able to refine my experiences, separate them by their significance and grief/joy factor. I need to listen to more Bach and read more fiction novels. I need to drop the panic attacks and return to the habit of meditation. I need to allot myself time for enjoying the sun and the stars. Those are my inside goals, only important to me. Of course, I also need to get my work done, get a job, and advance my other 'outside' goals.

I write and think often about the subject of deciding what matters and what doesn't. But the practice is much harder than sitting in front of the keyboard and waxing philosophical for an audience of approximately 6 readers. I have to remember when time feels like it's rushing by too fast for me to even react to anything, it's probably because my thoughts aren't as organized as they should be.

What can I say? I'm not the most organized person. That's why other people help me see things the right way. But I'm learning to do this on my own.

Training wheels in the form of written word in 3...
2...
1...

Good things:
It's always better when we're together.
Today was international 'hug an actor' day. Aubs took full advantage.
*Air on the G String set to a montage of deep space pictures.
I made plans for surprising someone.
I went out with my friends. Twice.
Coffee.
The knowledge that I never spent even a small section of my life as a mall rat.
Innuendo.

An Edit to the Evening

2009-01-06T23:23:00.003-05:00

Well, it seems that wearing my heart on my sleeve has opened me up to being vulnerable about many many things that I've been attempting to ignore...and in short, I would like to proudly state that my mom is always there for me and I am extremely thankful for it. I'm thankful for boo boo kissing and two-hour heart-to-heart crying sessions and every trait that I've inherited from her--those things don't just make me who I am, they make me a better person.

I'm particularly glad that I've inherited her coping mechanism--It's this feeling of breaking down, then pulling myself up by my bootstraps and saying, "how can I contribute?" or "how can I fix the problem?" Basically, how can I make myself proud of the way I reacted to this issue? So on that note, my to-do list is:

1. Thank Mom profusely.

2. Thank Jackson profusely.

3. Thank Aubrey profusely.

4. Thank Sam profusely.

5. Write a letter to my dad. This might sound awkward and formal, but I'm thinking it'll help me get my ducks in a row--plus there's the benefit of the backspace button...

6. Start the habit of writing letters to my brothers. These will be less of a 95 theses of parenting (see above) and more of a fun way to keep in touch with them. I hope. It gives me a chance to share something I love (writing!) with them, too.

7. Work on some kind of awareness campaign in memorial to Pete. I didn't know him well at all, but after Mr. Lozano had an amazing heartfelt talk with us about his passing on Monday morning, I realized that just because I didn't know Pete doesn't mean that I have to act desensitized or pretend the issue is impersonal. I know very little about why people make these destructive decisions because--well, I guess you could argue that I'm kind of a prude, I don't know their situations, and I decided early on that I wasn't into putting my body through that kind of abuse. But I feel like the way I could pay tribute to him is by getting one less kid in that situation. I don't know what this would entail at all, yet, so if you have ANY ideas...tell me.

8. Improve my attitude. I think someone out there is trying to make it really clear to me that life is short. I need to spend more time figuring out what matters and what doesn't, and allowing myself to laugh when I'm happy and cry when I'm sad. I have to thank every person that opens me up and get rid of the people that make me feel like nothing.

Let me tell you what's great.

[[say shelby...what's great?]]

I think I can do all of this.

Some Days

2009-01-06T20:15:00.002-05:00

Just aren't good. Generally it's a matter of outlook. I started my day fussy and concerned about the stuff I'm going through...et voila, I stayed that way all day--and looked forward to fourth block, when I could hang out, take a deep breath, and detox. Sam was right...I do live in the physics lab.

Anyway, today I was reminded of how much talking to someone--anyone--can improve your mood or outlook when you're upset. Even when there's no advice to be given, no healing measures to be taken, there's something to just sitting down, looking someone in the eye, and (not to be graphic) purging. Getting a little sympathy and a shoulder to lean on makes all the difference in the world.

The really incredible part is the people who perform this therapy/gypsy magic (I'm not sure which it is yet...you can't rule out the magic) on you are generally so unassuming--they do it because it's the right thing to do, or they care about you. And they make it known simply by their actions.

This post is...not well written. But I'm not editing it.

EDIT: This was going to be a more ambiguous thanks to all people who have been there for me recently, but I really should give extra props to Jackson--for being so accessible all the time, and understanding my situation, and especially for being honest about the fact that there's no advice, or anything I can do--things "will just suck" for a little while, but eventually they'll get better.

After this afternoon, I do believe they will.

Magnetic Poet

2009-01-04T19:31:00.003-05:00

In what might wind up being the most productivity-destroying procrastination-enhancing gift ever, my Mumsie gave me a Magnetic Poetry Calendar for Christmas.

It likely wouldn't be such a problem-maker (a welcome one, don't get me wrong) if the calendar weren't GOD in our house. It exists in several forms in order for me to stay on top of the busy-ness--Mom's master calendar downstairs, my little lit-nerd assembly up here, a white board that keeps track of my weekly activities (with room for doodles in the 12 colors of white board markers I've amassed) and of course, the Google Calendar online, which is MY master calendar...which sends my phone text messages ten minutes before any event happens, so I'm always on top of things.

It's a complicated life I lead.

In other christmas news, the gifts were good (lots of books!), the break was eventful (ice skating! movie-thons! Slumdog Millionaire!) and I got to see a lot of people. I missed a few really important ones, but almost everyone was covered. I worked on homework incrementally (though I left most of it for this weekend) and slept a lot.

And I honestly feel like I need another two weeks in order to really have a BREAK. But I'm also glad to be headed back to school tomorrow...I need a new routine.

I'm SO TIRED

2008-12-29T23:18:00.004-05:00

of dealing with the onslaught of insults that comes with each effort to support my teachers. From facebook groups to North Penn Reporter comments to Souderton Independent blogs, these guys seem to think I just can't get enough.

I'm not trying to say that I'm not up to this challenge. But maintaining strong and very public support for my teachers is getting harder and harder with each comment like this one:

Souderton Independent Article: "Student says contract impasse causing fear, anger" by Bob Keeler

Neil of Souderton:

""I represent a student body that frankly needs help and it's help that our teachers aren't equipped to give until they receive a fair contract." Nonsense. Teachers don't magically lose the ability to teach simply because their demands for 8 percent per-year raises are not met. If teachers are not providing students with "help" because of this strike, it's a disgrace - for them. To me, this story indicates only that the desperation of the teachers' union has grown so great that they are willing to start using children to try and muscle the district. Disgusting. [...] Learning to peel away the layers of propaganda is something you can't even BEGIN to understand unless you're a working Souderton taxpayer."

My Response:

I really don't appreciate my efforts being reduced to evidence for a "disgusting" assumption. I spoke of my own accord at that board meeting, and I'll do it again despite the negative attention I continue to get from people like you as well as my peers. I had my fair share of propaganda from the school board this summer--and I continue to receive it from students who simply borrow their parents' perspective on the issue and pass it off as their own. I'm tired of it, and I'm tired of being insulted by those who presume to have the authority to tell me what I should think about my teachers' situation. I have looked at numbers, and I have paid attention to how the strike affects students, parents and teachers on an individual level. Maybe you should get the facts AND hear the accounts before you go throwing around words like 'propaganda' or accusations of my teachers 'using' me.

It's posts like this that get me really riled. If a couple of kids want to make an insulting facebook group about me, let them do so (and I hope they enjoy getting the book thrown at them). But "Neil" here is clearly an adult who went out of his way to be hurtful and rude without even bothering to gain a true understanding for the entire situation first. And I have to wonder if any of these people would be willing to look me in the eye and say the things they say on the internet. No one has come forth and outright said "you're wrong" to me. It's because they can't--I'm not wrong.

Lesson of the day. Dealing with stupid people is exhausting.

When I opened the fortune cookie

2008-12-27T14:26:00.003-05:00

That contained the new subtitle for le blog last night, I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. Given current events, how appropriate, eh?

It reminded me of another phrase, one that's being tossed around a lot lately. "While the rich get richer, the poor get poorer." Generally accompanied by a fist shake in Warren Buffet's general direction. The question I pose to you is--based on the prophetic nugget above--while the smart get smarter, do the dumb get dumber?

Hmmmmm...

I have extremely suddenly

2008-12-26T00:26:00.001-05:00

been struck with the notion that I don't want to move on at all.

Can't I just have a little more time to enjoy all of this?

Cyber-bullying…that’s cute.

2008-12-24T01:44:00.001-05:00

Mid-November. After my first comment on the wall of an anti-strike group, I’m referred to as Shelby 2lastnames by a few of the guys who disagree with me. In their defense, there are 11 letters and a hyphen to deal with every time you type Kay-Fantozzi. It becomes a running joke among my friends and me by Thanksgiving—needless to say, I’ve totally dismissed it.
Mid/Late December. A Facebook group is created by the same guys: “Proud to only have one last name.” Hmm. Wall Posts: “if i had 2 last names id ask santa to take one.” “anyone with two last names is probably really gay.” “really really really really really gay.”

Um.

These words were originally part of a private conversation, and I had every intention of keeping them private—I believe that the wiser thing to do in this situation would be to show no reaction at all. But there comes a point in every fight when you have to start sticking up for yourself. So here we go…

The three guys that started this group just don't get that I'm not in it for the conflict; I actually care about the strike and find the subject very interesting when talking to mature people about it. Unfortunately, these guys assume I'll resort to their methods and just start insulting people for the fun of it instead of presenting a real argument. And yes, I've had my moments, but not like them. I’ve yet to resort to name-calling. I’ve yet to organize a group online simply for the sake of insulting another student or group of students…

I don't get online and argue about the strike because I thrive off of drama. I genuinely do want people to get facts. All these kids hear is school board propaganda from the mouths of their parents (who, right off the bat, have a different—not worse—different perspective because they are taxpayers) and they don't even understand that they have the right to their own perspective, whether or not they care about their teachers. They're too busy writing on Facebook walls, repeating verbatim everything that their parents tell them to think. All they have the mental capacity to do is be reactive, versus proactive, when it comes to information. They'll never look up the facts for themselves and make their own conclusions, they'll just reflect on other people's opinions with such profound statements as "Teachers are bitches."

I’m not trying to be rude with the whole “I know something you don’t know” argument, but before us lay the facts: exhibit A—there’s something, exhibit B—I know it, exhibit C—they don’t. I’m not going to participate in some sort of dysfunctional internet battle of “let’s see who can fit the most swearing in one wall post” to decide who’s right about the strike. I wish I could say I’m completely unaffected by stupid stuff like this. In the end, we’re all human, and making that group was definitely a lame thing to do—I hate to use the ‘f-word’ but my feelings were kind of hurt. However, in the end I recognize this for what it really is. It’s quite funny, actually. It’s a Currie move! “Well, we don’t have any facts to destroy your argument, so we’re just going to try to undermine you by breaking morale.”

Nice try, guys. I’m still supporting the teachers 110%, I still have two last names, I still, uh…have a boyfriend, but good luck with the rumor mill shenanigans.

You know, what’s really fun is that I could raise hell over this—first on Facebook, then at school. And don’t think I wouldn’t do it—you’ll find that teacher’s pets are often also tattletales. But there are a few reasons that I’m 95% sure I’m just going to let it go:

1. The break. For their sake, I really hope this fizzles out in the next few weeks and the issue has disappeared by the time we’re back in school.
2. The kids. They probably just don’t know any better. By that I may mean they don’t realize how such a statement could be interpreted insulting, or I may simply mean that they don’t know who they’re dealing with here…
3. I would so win. First off, I’m the good kid. Come on. Secondly, I have two last names because my parents are separated. Insulting a family situation=not okay by any set of standards. And thirdly, there are specific rules against this sort of thing, both on Facebook and in our agenda. I would hate for anyone’s ego to be bruised.
4. Wait, a second.
5. I would love it if egos were bruised.

I’m…let’s say…75% sure I’m going to let it go.

That 75% of me says that I am assuming the worst about a large group of people—possibly some of the ~70 people joined the group without knowing its connotation, and not every kid opposed to the strike feels that way because their parents said they should. In fact, I’ve had some great exchanges with some kids who had genuine reasons for supporting the school board. But I’ve had just as many conversations with students who formed opinions before they even knew what was going on—and getting them to realize that is a long, hard process.

What they do after that doesn’t matter to me. Yeah, I’m going to try and convince them that supporting the teachers benefits them most in the end. But I’m not going to resort to personal attacks when I see that they don’t believe what I believe.

I’m not sure what my next move will be. There will be more board speeches, more wall posts, more hugs and glares and whispers and grins. I know where my support lies. I know my top priority is giving students a voice. And with these things in mind, I’ll do the only thing I can do—move forward, and keep pushing forward until the strike and all of the little battles fought this year are simply a thing of the past.

And if this is the kind of mucky path we all have to pull through to solve the problem—I wish everyone involved good luck.

He who laughs hardest...

2008-12-19T18:32:00.003-05:00

...has probably had the largest quantity of grandmom fantozzi's "death punch" Wassail
(and other things I'll need to remember this holiday season)

I regret to inform you that the title of this post has little to do with what I actually plan on writing about, but that is in fact something I will need to remember this holiday season--scheduling is hard, navigating the highways around Christmas isn't exactly a barrel of monkeys, but death punch is hilarious, and completely worth the trip...as is seeing all of my family, of course.

This post serves as an update on life...well, an update on the things that--I believe--actually matter to other people. We'll go in order from most recent--resume style, in honor of...well, you'll see.

1. I got into the North Penn Reporter and the Independent for the speech I gave to the school board! The speech, in short, was all about how the effects of the work stoppage are lowering student morale, and how the board is limiting the teachers' ability to help relieve the stress and frustration that we're feeling. I urged them to try seeing how the consequences of their actions affect us by actually...I don't know...visiting our school, and seeing for themselves why I'm scared when I walk into SHS every morning. It went over really well, mostly because students and teachers BOTH appreciated what I said (generally since I favor the teachers, students and I aren't on the same side--though what business a student has supporting the board is beyond me). I'm always so happy to see teachers' positive and supportive reactions to my words...it's part of what motivates me to continue speaking!

2. Joe is a GENIUS for connecting local and international current events with his suggestion to throw a shoe at B. Currie while walking out of the board meeting Thursday night. I wonder if his reflexes are as good as W's...AW I meant to tell that story today and I forgot. Well, you heard it here first. Joe. Hilarious. He gets points for this.

3. SAVE THE DATE!! My Ghana documentary is premiering on March 14th, 2009 at the Montgomery Theater, seats are limited--official invites to come after the holidays!

4. AP Lit is...the best class ever. And I'm very sad to see that we're finished the poetry unit, because that was MAJOR brain candy for me...delicious, nutritious interpretation of the likes of Whitman, Eliot, and Cummings. Extracting the meanings of these poems is like solving a mystery. It makes me feel like Robert Langdon (Da Vinci Code? Anyone? Sorry, I am SUCH a nerd). There's a comic by XKCD (#208) that begins, "Whenever I learn a new skill, I concoct elborate fantasy scenarios where it lets me save the day." And THAT is exactly how I feel about the things I learn in AP Lit--these days, Mr. Kreft totally has me wanting to switch to a Literature major and spend the rest of my life holed up in an ivory tower, becoming an expert on Woolf or Whitman or someone equally fabulous (and...bisexual? That's an odd constant). And of course, using my expertise to save the day from an antimatter explosion or something crazy like that, so Dan Brown can write a semi-biography on me. MMmmm.

5. I am the Indian Valley Women's Club senior girl of the month. I've yet to figure out exactly what that means, despite Mrs. Jackson's help. All I've been able to discover is that light desserts will be served.

6. I. Got. Into. American. Ohmygod, I got INTO AMERICAN! Top choice, number one school! Apparently it was the essay that drew them in...which didn't come as a huge surprise to me, since my grades are satisfactory but not earth-shattering. I bawled like a beauty pageant winner when I got the call, no lie!

7. I am quite behind the times, but there's an amazing pay-what-you-want CD by Girl Talk up online. I'm just posting the news because his mashups are the BEST. WORKOUT. MUSIC. EVER...especially 'No Pause.' So check out http://74.124.198.47/illegal-art.net/__girl__talk___feed__the__anima.ls___/ to download the album...again, for whatever price you want!

8. As Mr. Luck says: "For all you witches and wizards out there, happy Winter Solstice." The solstice is coming up, and I'm getting EXCITED, I don't know about anyone else, but I'm tired of these short days. Solstice means we reach the halfway point of winter, and I'm ready to be over the hump.

and THAT is news.

TS Eliot is Amazing Because...

2008-12-17T10:24:00.001-05:00

Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

That.

(More on this later)

UNSCHR Day 3--Live Blog from the floor of the UN

2008-12-05T14:24:00.001-05:00

Education, I’m sure we can all agree, is an extremely important right guaranteed by the universal declaration. This became even clearer as I saw the passion with which students from all over the world responded to this issue over the past 2 days.

An educated youth is a youth which is fully equipped to solve the problems that have plagued our forefathers. And we simply refuse to allow the education of children and adults around the world to be disrupted by global warming.

Education could in fact mean the end to some of the problems that cause global warming and it is for this reason that we have passed the following resolution.

-----

The student delegation

5.1 Requests that when natural disaster strikes a vulnerable area, Non-government organizations, national governments, and international governments work together to provide the continuance of education to families who have been affected by the disaster, that states adopt measures which guarantee education for those who reside in areas vulnerable to natural disaster, and that the global community as a whole provides educational tools to the students in areas affected by global climate change

5.2 Emphasizes the necessity of building shelters to avoid the use of schools as shelters, disturbing the academic development of the youth who reside in the affected area,

5.3 Exhorts the educational sector to engage in the practice of training citizens of vulnerable areas in the science of teaching so as to improve the overall education of said vulnerable area, thus establishing a global standard for education, while respecting the cultures and religions of the population

5.4 Urges governments to implement public policies of which the general population are aware, involving it actively and passively, and in agreement with the features exposed, and those established in the pertinent treaties

5.5 Calls governments to aid in the assistance of groups in financial despair due to global climate change, so the education of these groups is not disrupted

-----

The president of the General Assembly said it best. "Love, love, and love. Because it is the only thing that will save our world."

Video to come at the end of the day.

UNSCHR Day 2

2008-12-05T08:09:00.001-05:00

SORRY! I can't get the video uploaded--anywhere but youtube.

Watch it from home if it doesn't work from school!

Here are the links I promised:
http://www.ustream.tv/channel/unhrc2008 general website, scroll to bottom to view other videos.

http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/917793 talks this evening on the details
http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/917731 before the talks, intermission
http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/917636 election of chairperson
http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/917316 video conference by groups
http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/916795 this morning, theatre.
http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/915036 Yesterday

...Okay, now who's going to pick me up and carry me to 45th street?

UNSCHR08 Day 1

2008-12-04T07:01:00.002-05:00

The 'net is a little rough here, but here's the video!

UN Student Conference on Human Rights, Day 1

2008-12-04T00:02:00.000-05:00

I'm gonna...go to sleep now. I PROMISE this vid will be up by morning.

The Days Are

2008-11-12T13:06:00.001-05:00

Starting to blend together. Not because they are monotonous—just the opposite, in fact. I'm so busy, that I forget the day of the week. Or I don't realize that I've locked myself into a schedule in which I leave the house at 7 am and don't get home until 11 pm until that's far too late to change. I can't complain about the activities that fill such a day—notes and doodling antics in AP Euro, laughing and learning with Kreft in AP Lit, taking advantage of an hour and a half in study hall (the slowest point of the day, for sure) and counting the minutes of school left through AP Enviro. Then hitting an audition for the fall (read: winter) play before motoring off to work.

Oh, Work! Working at a tea shop is probably the best job ever, even if I'm only washing dishes. Actually, washing dishes is probably the best place to be. My hours are flexible. My toughest duty is matching the teacups to their saucers—right, and not breaking anything (have failed at that one already). The kitchen is clean (cough Caruso), the wait staff is great (hack hack Caruso), and my boss is, guaranteed, sober at all times (hueglhh CARUSO).

Anyway, I have an hour between work and Ballyhoo rehearsal, during which my job is to feed myself. Then it'll be time for five, yes FIVE hours of backstage goodness at Montgomery Theater. The cast for this show is fantastic, their best collective trait being the fact that no one treats me like a kid (even though I act like one sometimes). Strike that parenthetical statement—we all act like kids there sometimes. Yesterday, as our train seat on wheels rolled under a corner of the set protected by foam, it made an agonizingly long, loud farting noise. Which really shouldn't have been so funny that we had to stop the scene change for a minute or two. But it was. Whether holding still like a secret agent behind the set wall onstage or running through the entirety of Montgomery theater simply to get from backstage right to backstage left, things are always fun. Even if they seem utterly and completely mundane. The theater atmosphere is amahhhzing.

And it is because of the wonder with which I experience these busy days' events that I am not drowning in self-pity right now. That, and friends. Teachers and friends.

Wonderful things said by various people today:

"Profoundly Novel"
"The world makes me shake my head."
"LEROY!"
"I'm here to kick your"—"earmuffs!"—"ass!"

A Preview

2008-11-08T12:33:00.000-05:00

Of a writing piece in the works.

Hi Dr. Aronow,

I'm Shelby Kay-Fantozzi, a senior at the high school. I have a huge interest in journalism, but unfortunately a hectic schedule hasn't allowed me to participate in your class or really have any interaction with you at all in the past. However, I was wondering if you would accept a piece from a student outside of the Arrowhead's regular staff. While I take great ownership of my writing, I would be happy to submit it to whatever kind of rigorous editing process regular articles go through before being published. The piece is a recollection of why the 2008 election and its results were inspiring and important to all of us here at the high school. I realize that you likely already have an Arrowhead writer working on such an article, but if nothing else, I would love to hear the opinions of someone with expertise in editorial-style writing.

The day I decided to write the article, I was reading TIME magazine's extensive coverage Obama's win in our local coffee shop. While I was hunched in my chair reading, something poked me in the side. It was a pen, stuffed between the chair's cushion and its frame. It was a really nice one—heavy, cool, metal, a name and company embossed on the side. Judging by the name on the side, it fell out of Arthur Nissen's pocket as he sat in a similar position on that very chair. I generally don't subscribe to this kind of superstition, but I'll admit that I accepted this pen as a sign—a message. Stop reading. Start writing. Stop reacting to everyone else's words and start creating your own. It was one of those earth-shatteringly inspirational moments and though I had about a thousand other things to do, I opened up the magazine to an advertisement and started writing right on the page--"The defining moments of our lives and the defining moments of our nation's history do not very often coincide with each other as well as they did on November 4, 2008."

The piece isn't finished, and I don't know what kind of deadlines I'm looking at, but I would love to have a chance to share it with other students through the newspaper.

Thank you,
Shelby

It's been a long time

2008-11-02T18:11:00.001-05:00

1) Since I've posted.
2) Since a book has made me cry.

Thank you, James Joyce, for writing Araby. God, what a beautiful story.(I'm guessing, as I haven't read all of Dubliners) It's a story told by a 32-year-old man about his 12-year-old self, but he doesn't tell it in a dismissive way that's like "bah, I was young and foolish." NO. Instead, every word, every sentence is so...deliberate, so well thought out, it just BEGS for a structuralist response. It reads like poetry. Or a song...

Sometimes, when I read a story, I still think of Mrs. Schultz's Catcher in the Rye assignment--make a five-song soundtrack to the book. This story would get Black Balloon by the Goo Goo dolls, among other things, like Crash by Dave Matthews Band. Observe.

You've got your ball,
you've got your chain,
Tied to me tight, tie me up again.
Who's got their claws
in you my friend?
Into your heart I'll beat again.
Sweet like candy to my soul,
Sweet you rock,
and sweet you roll.
Lost for you, I'm so lost for you...

When she came out on the doorstep my heart leaped. I ran to the hall, seized my books and followed her. I kept her brown figure always in my eye and, when we came near the point at which our ways diverged, I quickened my pace and passed her. This happened morning after morning. I had never spoken to her, except for a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.

You come crash into me.
And I come into you,
I come into you.
In a boys dream,
In a boys dream...

Touch your lips just so I know.
In your eyes, love, it glows so
I'm bare-boned and crazy for you.
When you come crash
into me, baby,
And I come into you
In a boys dream,
In a boys dream...

Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little of the future.

If I've gone overboard,
Then I'm begging you
to forgive me
In my haste,
When I'm holding you so, girl,
close to me..

I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration.

Oh and you come crash
into me, baby
And I come into you.
Hike up your skirt a little more,
and show the world to me.
Hike up your skirt a little more,
and show your world to me.
In a boys dream, In a boys dream...

Some distant lamp or lighted window gleamed below me. I was thankful that I could see so little. All my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves and, feeling that I was about to slip from them, I pressed the palms of my hands together until they trembled...I was alone at the railings. She held one of the spikes, bowing her head towards me. The light from the lamp opposite our door caught the white curve of her neck, lit up her hair that rested there and, falling, lit up the hand upon the railing. It fell over one side of her dress and caught the white border of a petticoat, just visible as she stood at ease.

Oh I watch you there,
through the window,
And I stare at you.
You wear nothing, but you
wear it so well,
Tied up and twisted,
the way I'd like to be
For you, for me, come crash
into me...

Every morning I lay on the floor in the front parlour watching her door. The blind was pulled down to within an inch of the sash so that I could not be seen. When she came out on the doorstep my heart leaped.

SEE? It's perfect, and poetic, and beautiful, and I could totally identify with it. Especially, at the end, he has this moment--

"I lingered before her stall, though I knew my stay was useless, to make my interest in her wares seem the more real. Then I turned away slowly and walked down the middle of the bazaar. I allowed the two pennies to fall against the sixpence in my pocket. I heard a voice call from one end of the gallery that the light was out. The upper part of the hall was now completely dark.

Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger."

That raw despair it conveyed was fantastic. And it's such a real moment. Everyone's had one of those--surrounded by normalcy, you alone are filled with sadness, regret, anger, for a reason barely related to the present setting. Or, I'm crazy and overly sentimental. You be the judge.

The Latest Piece of Documentary!

2008-10-22T17:08:00.003-04:00

Exhibition, The Process, and Powerful Women

2008-10-22T13:49:00.000-04:00

Are the three seemingly unconnected ideas rushing around my head lately. Every activity seems to lead me back to one of these thoughts, somehow.

It started last week in AP Lit. We had read "A Rose for Emily" the night before, and were discussing the tone and mood of the story the following morning. And I realized, as people were talking, exactly what kind of creepy vibe I had picked up from the story. There was this kind of side show element to it. Only a few people nodded their heads--Mr. Kreft got it, but I don't know about the other kids. That's what I picked on. This traveling, dark, creepy exhibition--"see the home of creepy old emily rose, who slept with her murdered husband's rotting corpse for years before she finally died." Like her entire house should be between the bearded lady and the amazing batboy.

It continued in theater. When Jess asked us what kind of ideas and theme-y things we had been thinking about lately, I said that I've been thinking about processes. The process of applying to college, the process of putting on a show, putting on a show about a process. As I think more about my character (who finally has a name--Elsa! Thank you, miss Voytas XP), I realize that she too will be going through a process--the process of losing her mind, and, in her fantasyland, the process of turning into a plant. It wound up bringing me back to lit--the process of telling a story, whether in drama or writing, is really fascinating. The differences between the two are equally awesome. And of course, the whole exhibition thing in the theater realm is pretty obvious.

Last year at YAC, I played this pseudo-powerful woman--she was scheming, manipulative, always trying to get what she wanted. And she did, for the most part. Her character was fun--hard for me as I'm not always the "type A" kind of girl, but fun. But after today's discussion in Lit, I have to wonder--why is it so rare to see a powerful woman who isn't painted as, well--a bitch? Miss Havisham was awesome. The rest of my class thinks she was the ultimate ice queen. The Good Wife of Bath absolutely kicks ass. At least most of us agree on that--she was kind of a player, but honestly? What else can a woman DO for fun in the 14th century? All I'm saying is shoe shopping wasn't really an option...

It's funny. I'm really into reading about domineering women--not the absolute crazies, but someone like queen Elizabeth? So much fun! Shamelessly dangled European noblemen just about her entire life, wore some fantastic dresses, remained chaste (or at least pretended quite well) her entire life. She had this exhibitionist attitude too, though...ordinary events became productions. She was, at her own request, compared to Artemis (who, by the way, happens to be my favorite greek goddess). And boy, was she a force be reckoned with.

Not as strong as mother nature, though. In Enviro, we've been talking about nature's control over the animals that inhabit the earth. All of that organization, all of that dependency--yet nature, when she wants, can wipe out an entire ecosystem. And she has. She's a bit like Elizabeth--showy and strong, not afraid to show her power, which she does through her many complicated processes.

Once again, ladies and gents, it's all connected. I'm sure, given a few more days, there will be new common themes in my life, and I'll have to write again, offering new explanations for why my life--well, my public life anyway--seems to fit together so perfectly. I hope it's always this way.

Today Was

2008-10-14T16:21:00.000-04:00

thoroughly atypical, even though it seemed routine on the surface.

After finishing my homework in Jackson's room, I had nothing better to do...so I wrote, and as I did, one person was reading over my shoulder, then another, and while Jackson didn't read what I wrote, she certainly knew what I was talking about. The wild thing is that I was suddenly uncomfortable. I wrote what I did with the very intention of posting it here. Here, I tell all. Well, mostly. This keyboard does have a backspace button, and I won't pretend I don't use it when I post. I guess the primary difference is that here, there is no face-to-face. I don't know who reads these and who doesn't--the only thing I ever know is who is affected enough to leave a response--generally, not many people. The computer provides anonymity, but that's the one thing I'm trying to escape with these entries. Attaching a face to my name isn't really enough. What I write here are my thoughts, and yes, I will be presumptuous enough to call them my philosophies. I think at this point I have the right. I write because I never seem to be able to speak the right way, to say these things in person. I would if I could. Or if the subject ever came up.

I doubt it would.

The moment of silence wasn't silent at all, nor was it long enough to even be considered a moment.

The response to his death could've been a recording, like the voicemails with someone's name awkwardly inserted in the middle.

Ellen DeGeneres talked about that once. "Somehow," she said, "you wind up sounding more like a robot than the robot."

"Hello. You have reached the personal voice mailbox of...ELLEN."

"Your attention please. A Souderton graduate, RONNIE POWELL, tragically died yesterday."

If you need help, get it. We've got people here. A small speech from Lozano and class goes on. Columbus. Dutch East Indies. The Incas. School goes on. AP Literature. B lunch. Physics. The day goes on. Dinner. Rehearsal. Bed.

Life goes on. (?)

It does, and we are left to interpret the events that shape and comprise our days, evaluate these "moments--" moments of silence, pivotal moments, and all of the moments in between.

Do we spend enough time evaluating our lives? Why should we, and how could we? Like a math problem--one step at a time, and eventually the answer is found? Or like a piece of postmodern literature--analyzing themes, trends, and the details--so many details! Imagine evaluating your life in terms of semantics. Word choice in every speech, conversation, and thought? Awful. That's no way to interpret an entire lifetime......Well, maybe there's some value to it. You can tell a lot about a person by what they say. Well, not just what they say--the words they pick. But that doesn't lead to an answer.

And that's what I'm looking for. When I examine my life, I want answers.

The wild thing is what Mr. Luck said in response to what I wrote. He said "don't be angry at him," referring to Varano. I'm not angry at Varano at all...Okay, maybe this is what's good about the blog. I don't have to explain myself to anyone. I understand. Varano is definitely hurting about it. But he can't afford to be that way in front of the whole school, because someone has to be strong...

Anyway, Mr. Luck said "Once you've done this long enough, you become desensitized to things like this." He turned away. Then he turned back and said "because you have to."

I think when we become desensitized to an event like this--especially by necessity--something is wrong.

I'm not that sensitive to it either. I hardly knew Ronnie. Death, when it doesn't happen to someone close, doesn't necessarily make you sad. It just makes you think. And that's what I do, the second I put my pen down, the second I stop pretending I'm capable of putting thoughts into spoken word, I think. For the rest of the afternoon.

As I walk home, the clicking of my heels provides a metronome, their sound echoing from the row homes across the street. Thoughts keep coming, keeping time with my footsteps. The question I ask myself when figuring out my life--What? Have? I? Left? That is to say, what is the impact I've made?

Who. Knows. I answer in time to the beat. The number of ways we affect others is incalculable--we can never know who we've touched, and how.

As soon as I allow myself a silent celebration for reaching this conclusion, I am startled by my neighbor. God, was I really this close to home without realizing?

How're you doing, I ask.
Keeping busy, he answers. A working father whose house repairs never seem to end. I believe him.
You?
Good, thanks...I keep walking. I'll spare him the truth.

I'm Feeling That

2008-10-01T19:47:00.001-04:00

Beginning of year drop into the roller coaster of academia. Including slight nausea.

The pressure is on, and for some reason, I believe workload has been upped exponentially in about the past three days. Which is very strange--I haven't actually gotten more work, I'm just having more panic attacks. And I guess there's more going on at home, what with College applications and stuff, but not so much that I should be so outta whack. I'm actually pretty sure I'm just getting sick. There's been much tea and vitamin water drinking on my part, but I don't know if that's enough to counter the nasty cold that's been passed around school.

It kind of reminds me of a common theme in Euro and Enviro the past few days. Both classes have discussed population, its trends, its growing and shrinking in the name of balance. The context in Euro was the Bubonic Plague. In Enviro, we learned about how nature "corrects" an exponentially growing population by delivering some sort of 'plague' to the population that's too high. You know, disease or something. It's scary when you think about nature doing such a thing to human beings. I guess those peasants were packed pretty dense back in the 1300s when the Black Death came around.

My point is--is that what nature is trying to do to the students of Souderton Area High School--or mankind in general, perhaps? Think of it. One kid gets strep, or a cold, or a stomach bug, and almost everyone gets it. Sicknesses sweep through our little population so fast--I guess the teachers are more immune than any of us, because they've seen this kind of stuff for years. Is nature indicating that we're packed too close, or that there's simply too many of us? And what will she do in the name of balancing the population of mankind?

Not to worry, though. We humans defy nature. Now back in the 14th century, we didn't have the power to do so, but these days "progress" is practically defined by how well an object works against mother earth. And boy, have we progressed. Cold? Take NyQuil. Infection? Take Zithromax. Cancer? Chemo. But still...you have to wonder. Nature has always 'won' before. Will she win this time, or will we continue to defy her until the end of time?

I guess this is pretty heady stuff. All of my classes are connected--lit, euro, enviro. There are so many common themes just being passed from class to class. They've got me thinking at all times--it's wild. Maybe that's why I'm stressed--is my head just fuller?

"I need your grace to remind me

2008-09-28T21:24:00.000-04:00

to find my own."

Last night, I woke up two and a half hours after falling asleep in a cold sweat. I pulled out my favorite journal and wrote this.

"Do you ever feel the urge to simply sit someone down and tell them your life story? Maybe I'm just narcissistic and the only one who feels this way. But there are so many people who, given coffee and enough time, I just want to reveal everything to. Beginning to end. Leave nothing out. And I guess that's therapy, in a nutshell. But I'm not interested in being under the microscope, especially if there's just some random stranger on the other end. But that begs the question: why am I so trusting of the people I do know? Who's to say they wouldn't judge me just as much as, if not more than a random stranger? They certainly haven't revealed as much to me as I am prepared to tell them.

We all spend the majority of our lives pretending we're fine. Just fine. But every once in a while someone comes along who, for some reason or another, we feel needs to know the truth. Rarely are we "just fine," and sometimes we need to tell someone so.

These people should be glad, no matter what hardships we reveal to them. For the type of person who encourages complete genuinity and--more impressive--complete vulnerability in others is as rare as the most precious gem.

I have yet to discover why, in my life, 99 percent of such encouragers have been teachers. What is it about them that makes me want to bare all? I wish I knew. I wish I knew why my 6th grade math teacher understood more about my struggles with reuniting with my father than my best friends. I wish I knew why my 11th grade physics teacher noticed more of the emotional baggage I brought back from Africa than my own family (excluding my wonderful momma of course, who ultimately was the one who nursed me back to health). I wish I knew why walks and coffee with my International Relations professor were more important than time with my peers at governor's school."

When I flipped to the next page of my journal, I found an old bit of writing from Angee--I think it's from the day we went to see Carsie Blanton at Crest [Why are you holding hands? Well, you SHOULDN'T.]. It's the John Mayer quote I use in some of my Ghana footage:

"I believe that my life's gonna see the love I give return to me. <3"

And maybe that's why.

Maybe.

It is most undeniably

2008-09-26T18:36:00.000-04:00

Fall. And boy, did it sneak up on me. There's something about the bite in the air, the cup of tea, the ginger snaps. And of course, being back in school. When you mix all that up with the changing leaves, you get--fall.

And Oh, to listen to music and wander around in this weather! I'd be so happy. If only the guy at radio shack had told me that my music phone needs a headphone converter, a USB cord, and some weird sprint download in order for it to really live up to the 'MUSIC' part of its name. All I can do is slide it open and shut over and over while I walk home. God, I could never live without a QWERTY keyboard on the phone anymore. I've moved up in the world--from the crappy free phone that comes with mom's plan to a good ol' LG Rumor. And I have to admit, it's fun, what with the camera, facebook access, and (hopefully someday soon) music space. I'm hoping this one will get me all the way through college. I (knock on wood) haven't dropped it yet.

Fall of senior year also means College. I'm somewhere in the middle of it, far behind all of my friends in the application process. But the guidance counselor (admittedly, his standards are pretty low) says I'm doing fine. At least now I have a short list, which just yesterday got one school shorter. I'm crossing off Boston U. It's the only school that requires SATIIs, and honestly it's not worth the time or money. Plus it's wayyy expensive. Nothanks.

I'm beginning to learn to not compare myself to other kids when it comes to all of this. Everyone's interests are so unique, it just doesn't make sense. No, I'm not applying to Yale. Or Georgetown. And I've also stopped looking down on people applying to Montco and the like. And I've GOTTA stop telling people that Temple is one of my safety schools. It's not because it's easy to get in or it's not as good of an education! I don't buy any of that. It's just because they're not perfectly suited towards my major.

I guess I've written far less prosaic posts, but at the moment, this is life. I got a 7 (on the AP scale) on my first lit paper for sounding too informal, and I guess it's carrying over. Not that I mind, the seven actually made me very happy. Mr. Kreft said I was right on the border between seven and eight, and he decided to be a little harsh just like the AP people will be. So it goes. I'm with him.

After a week, I am more amazed than ever. This is the last year of school as I know it. There's so many pros to hold up against the cons...yet I feel like I already miss school, even though I'm in the middle of it.

Of Flying Time and Rushing Skies (but not neccesarily in that order)

2008-09-24T17:59:00.001-04:00

Today...was good.

Well, it didn't start off very good. Let's just say that when some teachers say "class discussion," they actually mean "try and defend your opinion against your very close-minded teacher." Which is not the same thing. It makes me miss gov school--Sara would give us a reading, or Corbesero would give us articles, and the next day they would say "you defend this side, you defend that side--go." And then--you know what they did? Well, let me tell you what they didn't do: Stand up in front of the room making people raise their hands so that they could pick them off one by one. No, they sat down in the back of the room and watched us have it out.

And you know what's great? I learned that way. And you know what's not great? Governor's School doesn't count. I guess I shouldn't compare, but this kinda sucks.

So after a grueling day of, uh, two classes, a study hall, and senior priv (hey, at least my work's done), I had one of those afternoons...you know the ones. Friends, coffee, and long-awaited conversations about things that just shouldn't be said over the computer. The kind that inspire you to do whatever you do--draw, write, play. Or, you know, all three.

So, as I said. There was talking and iced coffee, journals, doodles, a disregard for wardrobe malfunctions. There was walking, and more talking--talking as usual, monologue, long, companionable silence, monologue. Maybe about the same thing, but not necessarily. Shoes were removed. There was cursing and apologizing and--what else? Swinging.

And there sure is something about the sky rushing towards you, something about the breeze in your face, something about the centripetal motion--leaves and branches are inches, then feet away, and before you know it, you're brushing your toes against them once again. I had forgotten about the rhythm and regularity to it--it's paradoxically magical. A calming rush.

And then all of the colors started changing. God, the sun starts setting so early now. And so we headed to the bandshell--because that's what you do after you swing at souderton park, le duh. And we laid down, the sun started relaxing too--finally falling behind the flag so if you closed your eyes the shadows made a strobe light against your eyelids. For a long time we were there--silent, perfectly, comfortably silent. Then the spell broke. Time was calling.

Ever the party pooper, time is.

But anyway. Thanks Angee.

Reunions are Bittersweet

2008-09-21T22:48:00.001-04:00

To anyone who is considering joining me in June, here is what’s worst about Ghana. Coming home. Because once you realize that there are people in the world with such a wealth of love, you wonder how we get by with so little. So. Little.

Perhaps you wonder how they get by with so little money but they sure as hell do it. They rely on the benevolence of others, and their god. And they are rewarded. Some nights I wonder if in the end, they're the ones who have it right.

Some nights, like tonight, I know they do.

And that's all I have to offer tonight.

Possibly the last post of summer?

2008-09-18T17:07:00.000-04:00

Well, nothing makes the internet more attractive than not having the internet, so I guess the fact that I’m writing today makes sense.

What does a girl without the comforts of Gmail, AIM, or Facebook do all day? Good question. Well—get ready, and take good notes, ‘cuz who knows when Verizon will suddenly decide to take away YOUR DSL for something so incredibly stupid—but I digress.

When there’s no monitor to look at, paper starts getting real friendly—the new york times, the latest issue of time magazine, and even some of those books I barred myself from reading until I finished my summer assignments. Given the current situation, it’s pretty obvious that the summer assignments are done—so very done—so I picked up a book that I started and stopped last summer, The Historian.

Now, I tell myself that I stopped that book because there were AP Comp books I had to read. But if I dig a little deeper, it becomes clear that this one simply freaked me the hell out—in North Carolina, it caused me as many sleepless nights as The Lovely Bones. This one is a frillier story, though—well, as frilly as historical vampire fiction can get. As Roger Debris would say, it is filled with “historical goodies [for example, I never knew the third Reich meant Germany! –lmao].” Plus, it’s set in one of the countries I most yearn to visit—Turkey. Annie says it’s beautiful, and ever since Global Studies, I’ve wanted to go to the middle east so much…

So last night, just like the last time I picked up the Historian, I had a dream. Not really a nightmare. Just a dream. I don’t remember the beginning too well—there was a castle on a lake, and in the castle—deep below it, more likely—there were claustrophobic, candlelit halls that led to huge rooms, that despite their vaulted ceilings, looked ready to crush their occupants at any point. There was gothic dress and a man I called ‘your highness.’ We spoke for a while, and he finally told me that his assistant would see me to my rooms, and someone was waiting for me there.

Well, I never ascended any stairs, and never felt like I was walking uphill (maybe we weren’t underground after all), and was pretty surprised when I walked into this room and there was a big, huge open window in the wall opposite the door that was letting in the most wonderful breeze—and there, sitting in the windowsill was someone very unexpected…someone who I haven’t seen in quite a while now. She smiled at me—that same snarky half-smile—and welcomed me to, well, as she put it, “Our world.”

And then the dream…it didn’t shift, but moved seamlessly into a dream I’ve had over and over again. In it, I dance with someone, someone who’s faceless, half mist, and half concrete person, who constantly shifts and reforms her (yeah, her—also weird) self to match my movements and accommodate my hand on her shoulder or waist. The dream always ends the same way—we stop moving, I look harder and harder into her face, until she forms eyes, which open so suddenly, they startle me into waking up every time.

Except this time. This time, as we were …what…waltzing? I had a conscious epiphany, so surprising that it actually made me wake up—we were both vampires (they can disguise themselves as mist, you know). Which I find pretty funny in daylight. The very weird thing is that over this summer, she read the same book, though she was brave enough to not put it down halfway. So maybe the book had brought her into my mind yesterday—or, I don’t know, maybe I just ate too much toast with raspberry preserves before bed.

Probs the latter.

Today, I got out of the house at a semi-reasonable time to walk with Ben to the high school for more picketing. It was great, we walked up and Mr. Hamilton asked what was up, and I told him that “We came to walk.” So from about 11 to 12:30, the three of us walked up and down that sidewalk, talking about politics, TV, governor’s school, and learning a little more about the strike (in Ben’s and my case, anyway). Mr. Mac’s dog Zoe was there (in a red t-shirt and everything), walking up and down the lines with us, and when it came time for the second shift Mrs. A-B walked up (sporting an obama pin on her jacket, hells yeah) and said hello. And then Mrs. Sheckenbach walked up and talked about seeing me on tv, at which point I got totally embarrassed and wanted to run away. And then a bunch of other teachers were like “yeah, great speech,” And of course Hamilton was elbowing me and calling me famous otherwise torturing me. We only went back and forth a few more times before his shift ended and it was time to go. It’s the longest I’ve walked, and my feet freakin hurt—no more picketing in flip-flops, even the sacred Tevas. And I'm glad I did it, because if these negotiations (going on RIGHT NOW!) go well, we may very well be in schooly-school tomorrow.

So upon getting home, I figured what better way to relax than scaring myself to death with more vampirical goodness? And I got two blankets and a pillow (from the couch, don’t tell mom :D) and camped out reading. Which was great, until this...bulldozer pulled up my driveway, turned in my lawn, and parked just shy of the neighbor’s back porch.

So now I’m inside (didn't want to be 'dozed), the net’s thankfully up again, and all is well in the world. Seeya at 7.40 tomorrow?

When the fallen leaves get stuck in your flip-flops…

2008-09-12T19:32:00.000-04:00

It’s about time for closed-toed shoes. But I can’t bring myself to stow the sandals. I just can’t fathom the proximity of fall. And I know it’s all about the strike—my internal clock’s gone all screwy. Nonetheless, I do support my teachers. And I think by this point I’ve proven it—what with speeches, visits, and even a half hour walk down the picket line with frau this morning. That was actually very cool and exciting. The best times I’ve had during the strike have been while I was hanging out with my teachers. What can I say? I’m a humongous freaking nerd. That’s cool with me, though. Tons of teachers were quite happy to see me on the lines, and hear what I talked about last night. Part of me would like to claim that “it’s all about impressing the right people” and this was some kind of tactic to ensure I get straight A’s this year. But the teachers aren’t like that…and neither am I. I’m doing it because these are people who I sincerely respect, people who really do deserve better. And—okay, I’ll admit it—getting the star treatment for the past few days has been pretty damn nice. It’s sweet to see people return the respect and appreciation I give them. Watch for my picture on saea.info…

Honestly, I’m not sure if I feel 100% about that picture. It seems like the kind of thing that’s gonna get my ass kicked in school—by someone like Holloway or Allem or one of the other dumbass jocks who keeps calling ME a dumbass for supporting the teachers (I talked about that in my speech too) on the ‘SAHS Students Against the Strike’ wall. That’s actually why I haven’t written in so long—all of my writing powers have been uber-focused on spreading the facts on this strike and trying to get people to stop spreading the rumors and propaganda they get from the school board and their pets—the local news media, who are alarmingly anti-teacher.

Of course, Soudertonians have done what Americans always do—believe everything they hear and read. I talked about that when I spoke in front of the board last night…

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I know in MY education, I’ve picked up a thing or two about getting all the facts. About avoiding distortion and propaganda, which has gotten increasingly difficult recently.”

It got me applause, but I had to wonder—who was applauding? Pro-board or Pro-teacher? Or both? I don’t know how anyone pro-board could’ve applauded—the teachers haven’t even had a chance to spread the facts, let alone any distorted version of the truth. The other thing that got me applause was my acknowledgement of the lack of maturity among students, parents, the board, and [okay, fine] teachers. Now, this got the whole room clapping—even a few whoops and whistles. Hypocrites. The loud people were the ones I was trying to address—when Judy Whitmire was booed off that lectern, I knew we were in for one hell of a night. You should’ve heard it! Parents shouting interruptions to the speakers, other people responding “Shut up!” I was like wow…second grade much? It was embarrassing, so embarrassing, and of course it was all over the news…sometimes this little close minded town just drives me crazy.

That’s probably why I hopped the train into center city today—to escape, if only for an afternoon, into a place a little more cultured, a little more open-minded….okay, maybe I’m over-romanticizing here. I’m headed to 30th street, then Ellen will pick me up and take me back to Havertown so we can talk about wonderful Ghanaian things of awesomeness. Wow. In the words of that Jon Stewart correspondent, “Could you be a little more generic?” Sorry. We’re covering a lot of stuff, and working on plans for the club at the high school. It’s gonna be good. I’ll get to show her my video and stuff—hopefully it’ll help to remove the bitter taste that Annie left...either way, I’m happy to be headed downtown, and happy to see my Ellen once again…and Leah and Tim and Isaac, too! Yes, for the moment, life is good, even if the end of summer is rapidly approaching—exactly how rapidly, I don’t know.

Well, kiddles…what to listen to during this rainy train ride? Were getting into the very interesting/frightening part of the line (From Glenside to the city) where there’s all these dilapidated, boarded-up graffitied buildings around, and I need a soundtrack. I think I’ve wrung Coldplay dry…perhaps some Sia…

[[Currently listening to: Breathe Me by Sia, aka one of the saddest songs ever]]

I know, I know.

2008-08-21T15:20:00.000-04:00

Alright, if you have NO idea why the hell I tagged you in this note, just go ahead and skip to the fourth paragraph 'cuz it's probably the only part you care to read.

I haven't written anything in a few days. But life's been pretty quiet around here...I find that a month ago, I would've given anything for a week like this one--chillin' around the house, making the occasional trek to Java, meeting up with a few friends. And--well, I guess it's not as fun and relaxing as I remember, but I have very little to complain about.

Invisible Man is cool, cooler than I expected. To anyone that is just starting it or hasn't read it yet, I say hold out--the first...oh, third of the book is pretty slow but it gets much better. Just trust me on that one...

I am GOING to Philly fringe, and reeeeally excited--not only to see Two Face Commedia (Jessssss), but also to see some of the kookier stuff-a show combining monologues and circus stunts? A show in which you are seated at a cafe and given a pair of headphones, which give you instructions to act out your OWN show? Oedipus on skateboards? Shit, this sounds AWESOME. Shelby is excited to get her theater nerd on.

Let's not fall in to the third-person thing. What else is new? ...Uh...OH, I emailed Mr. Kreft and I think I'm going to have a GREAT time in AP Lit, he seems really cool. Also, I'm working on this proposal for some AP classes...You see, AP's supposed to prepare us for college, right? Well one of many things I totally loved about Gov School was in a college environment, the line between social and academic gets reeeaaally blurry, and it's in no way unusual for students to continue the learning experience outside of class. A lot of times, professors will even hold events in which class material can be discussed in greater detail in an informal, social setting.

Alright, nerds, now holla back on this one--say we have three scheduled events per semester: one breakfast, one lunch, one dinner, and it is required that everyone in the class attend at least one of these events to discuss a book, lecture, or something else together. And the whole thing can be very student-led...all the ~~professor~~ teacher would have to do is show up. Or...maybe not? If they did show up, it could be totally mutually beneficial, as they could gain new perspective and hear students really speak up about class.

Now...the question. Is this reasonable? I mean...will kids be into this...will TEACHERS be into this? I've yet to figure that out, but I wanted some opinions so I tagged any possible AP'ers out there and would REALLY appreciate it if you guys let me know. Okay. You can stop paying attention now.

Thinking about school makes me think about the strike. Now, sister is probably the biggest teacher's pet you will ever meet, but I am nerrrvous. I want the very best for our teachers. Even the ones I hate. But--BUT--I am not interested in graduating late, I am not interested in starting off the year all outta whack, I am NOT interested in being 'out of the loop' where all that's concerned. I wish the district would stop being assholes and just end this the civil way--wihle there's still time...

Two Very Rich Things

2008-08-17T20:38:00.001-04:00

Are in the Wawa bag beside me, so the goal is to keep this post short.

NO! I have not blogged in a while. I'm sorry. I was in Rhode Island, having the best weekend ever. Literally. I think it might've been the best weekend of my entire life.

And it was so damn simple, you know? Step 1: Cram 3 days' worth of clothing and pajamas into backpack, Step 2: Pile into Henry the Honda with the Hickman ladies plus Aubrey, Step 3: Enjoy 6-hour northward car ride thanks to [censored] tunes, Step 4: Step out of the Honda, wrinkly and mildly cramped, 286 miles later to greet Sam's awesome grandparents in Newport, RI.

...Which might just be the sah-weetest little town in New England--beaches, mansions, shops--yup, we saw it all, folks, and after this raucously relaxing good time, methinks I deserve some Limited Edition Dave Matthews Band Magic Brownies ice cream (may the gods rain blessings on messrs. Ben & Jerry) and Pomegranite Tea. Goodnight.

Missing...

2008-08-13T15:42:00.001-04:00

And here, I was about to write a note about how wonderful and fancy-free I was feeling today when this shows up in my inbox.

Shelby - I just looked over your paper. the paper should not be written in the 1st person. could you please modify the paper? I will count it as handed in on time, but it should be in the 1st person. Thank you.

Eight Pages. All over again. Because nowhere on the RUBRIC does it say anything about NOT USING FIRST PERSON. I was having a good day, such a good day...

I woke up late--but not too late. 'Round 10:30 is pretty good for me--the guilt sets in if I get up past eleven. So I shower, get ready, head downstairs...and mom has left my candy as well as my unwrapped PGSIS Yearbook DVD on the dining room table. Sah-weet! So I unwrapped a chocolate and reminisced before heading out to go see Gavin dressed as captain planet.

As I walked into SAVE camp, kids were coming out of the woods...and I realized how much I missed the little guys. And then I walked into the house and realized, huh...I miss the big kids too, the counselors, momma Hamilton. I mean, I realize it's not the same people as last year--part of what made it so much fun was Mr. Hamilton running around in a wetsuit and Brian plotting in a cape and goggles. But--the woods, the jokes, the flexibugs, for gods' sake. I miss all of it. [Oh, and green hair is really quite becoming on Gavin--All I can say is THE POWER IS YOURS, KIDS!!!!!)

Then, it was off to another place I missed--I walked into Montgomery theater just in time to hear the last 5 minutes of Shakesperimentation, my very first class there (gaw). Who would've thought that two years later I would call myself a theater kid, hangin' with friends from the Actor's Company and all. So Franny & Jess (yes, they get an ampersand as they are THAT awesome) and Aubs and Sam and I all headed over to the Java and grabbed coffee after class, just to catch up--and I must say. Franny and Jess are two of my favorite people in the whole wide world. And the whole is more than the sum of its parts--they're truly a dynamic duo. After laughing, joking, and much storytelling, they told us we should come to Philly Fringe, and I think I see some birthday plans in the works...I dream of trains, grandparents, and classy dinners...

I REALLY miss theater though. I want the stage, I want a new character,a new life to invent, a new emotional puzzle to solve, new scenes to script. I want jokes and games and coffee every Monday. I want that weekly affirmation--I work hard at it and I actually see the results...I want to be aware of myself in ways only the glaring stage lights can make me see. I'm counting down, I know it's close. And THAT is exciting.

But enough of that. I've got a f#@$%* paper to revise.

UPDATE: Mom and I are disputing the email! At no time was it mentioned to me that first person is inappropriate, my first-person writing is all personal observation (ie FACTUAL), and I even cited myself (observations from former papers) where I could. The internet says that that's alright, and pending Sara's response I might have a Research Methods professor say it's alright too, in which case Coddington will have no, NO argument.

10:28 and I'm...

2008-08-11T22:28:00.000-04:00

...Feeling a little giddy. It's the product of two things: (1) The fact that I finally got the fucking research paper DONE and now all I have to do is ...well...pretty much tear it apart and write it again, but I have direction. Kudos to my mamacita for dealing with my BS while I wrote it...and sifting through said BS to find...a thesis statement? What?

Anyway. The other reason I'm giddy is (in celebration of completing aforementioned rough draft) mom and I enjoyed reheated Ghanaian food for dinner and a little Framboise for desert. Suffice to say it doesn't take much to get this 100-pound chica a little silly, and I'm feeling quite pleasantly tipsy right now. Hopefully, I'll make it 'til the METEOR SHOWER TONIGHT...who's with me? Or am...I...the...only...dork

...here?

Yeah, I thought so.

I deserve to be excited. Finally, an end to the boring days spent working on this nooonsense. Now I can get back to writing in the story, as well as reading my comp books....still in love with Joseph Heller, by the way.

[Currently Listening to: Time Bomb by Beck]

Bona Fide Boredom.

2008-08-11T01:27:00.000-04:00

What is it with my muse and showing up as soon as I have important things to take care of? Today was devoted to writing my senior project paper. But of course she was there to distract me, coming up with new video projects left and right and leaving my fingers itching to pull away from the keyboard, pick up a pen, and write in the new story.

But nrooooo! I needed to work on my paper. Of course she won't participate in THAT, and I'm left on my own to spread my very dry topic out over six pages. So far I have about, uh, one page, with one-inch margins. You know what? Screw one-inch margins, 1.25 are sooo much easier to read. Maybe then, writing this paper wouldn't be like freakin' pulling teeth.

I'm in a good mood though, as I started reading Catch-22 and am now thoroughly in love with Joseph Heller. His prose reads like poetry--there's this wild rhythm to it that makes it seem like it should be spoken. I'd actually really like to use something of his for my YAC audition monologue. Whaddya think:

As far back as Yossarian could recall, he explained to Clevinger with a patient smile, somebody was always hatching a plot to kill him. There were people who cared for him and people who didn't, and those who didn't hated him and were out to get him. They hated him because he was Assyrian. But they couldn't touch him, he told Clevinger, because he had a sound mind in a pure body and was as strong as an ox. They couldn't touch him because he was Tarzan, Mandrake, Flash Gordon. He was Bill Shakespeare. He was Cain, Ulysses, the Flying Dutchman; he was Lot in Sodom, Deirdre of the Sorrows, Sweeney in the nightingales among trees. He was miracle ingredient Z-247. He was -
'Crazy!' Clevinger interrupted, shrieking. 'That's what you are! Crazy!
'- immense. I'm a real, slam-bang, honest-to-goodness, three-fisted humdinger. I'm a bona fide supraman.'
'Superman?' Clevinger cried. 'Superman?'
'Supraman,' Yossarian corrected.

I think it would be fun. But then, I think playing a science experiment gone horribly awry, a girl who thinks she's a plant, would also be fun. Perhaps my perspective is a little distorted. And by distorted I mean freakin' weird. What can I say...I like a challenge?

In other news, I will be writing my college essay based on the phrase: "What is this? No, it's not a podium. It's a lectern. Why is that important? Because it's NOT A PODIUM!"
You see, the assistant dean of the school of communications said it at American on Friday, and I think I laughed the loudest of everyone in the room, cause right away it reminded me of three english teachers: (1) The grammar nazi, (2) the sweetheart, and (3) the goofball. I realized any one of them would've made the same exact joke in the three years of english in which i learned the most. And over these three pivotal years, the way I tell a story has improved immensely. And over these three years, I've gained better stories to tell. AND as I've grown, I've met more and more people to share my stories with.
And that, in a nutshell, is who I am. Now LEMME IN YOUR SCHOOL!

Well, hopefully, this is considerably more dynamic than last night's note of boredom. Off to more important things--ie getting under the covers and watching a movie.

Come Back....

2008-08-10T02:59:00.000-04:00

Apparently my muse--flightly little thing, she is--has chosen to walk out on me once again. I can't even claim that nothing's happened in the past few days--hell, just today I baked cookies with le G, screamed my way through a half-hour car ride with Erin, Angle, Sam-ity, and Dana (oh and Guster, Mika, and the Black Eyed Peas), and ate seven courses of Moroccan food--good god, it was delicious. It was one of those 'high on life' kind of nights which, for me, seem to correspond with how much sunlight I've gotten that day (apparently I'm a plant). Inappropriate jokes were made (say 'pitas' out loud and tell me what it sounds like), sad sad dances were danced (thank you Joan Marley), and, well? People were touched in typical Erin Olkowski fashion.

The day before I went to American University. I can't even get into detail about it....suffice to say it's MY SCHOOL. I am so excited to apply there.

Plus I'm excited for Rhode Island, Boston, New York, and Philly--yes, that's their geographical order, and also the order in which I'll visit them, it's mostly college visits and a little pleasure in between (visiting Annie, Dave & Stef, and Diane & Karen).

The problem is these great things are happening, but without dear Muse there's no writing about it in any sort of pretty, interesting way. Sorry.

[Currently Listening: Shoot the Moon by Norah Jones]

You Know...

2008-08-07T13:48:00.000-04:00

you know...

sometimes the smallest, simplest things around here remind me that despite its faults, this really is MY town.

first and foremost, everyone should note that I am particularly happy because, for the first time since (four...six...carry the two...) MONDAY, I have consumed 20 oz. of the sweetest nectar of the gods, aka White Mocha Latte w/ an extra shot. The only thing that has me miffed is the girl at the counter @ MSJ asked--and I kid you not--"An extra shot of what?" "Of ESPRESSO, you stupid little s***," I so badly wished I could reply (hadn't had the coffee at that point, yaknow). But seriously, what do you think I want, EXTRA chocolate? Christ. She's new. Remember that time I was laid off, and supposed to get picked back up in the summer when they needed extra help again? Hm. Apparently THEY DON'T. The worst part is, despite bad business practices, I am ADDICTED to their delicious drinks, even when they ARE poorly made by ignorant little incompetents.

But anyway. Let us return to the happy place. While walking Obi this morning, and again when coming home from Main Street Java, I was pleased to be reminded that around Souderton, I know the shortcuts, the back ways, the alleys and side streets. You can't just walk up Main and down Broad to get home from Java, you have to cut through the theater parking lot, wave to Trish through the Tilly Mint's window, and get your feet wet in the Wile Ave Park's dewy grass before walking the rest of the way home, whether that's shorter or not. But it's not just stuff like that--it's knowing that the guy on the corner with the screened in porch loves Outkast and Gnarls Barkley, and thanking your Barista by name at the Java, and taking comfort in seeing the theater director's car in the parking lot, knowing that a great show's starting soon. (Reefer Madness! Kyaaa!)

Little things, you know. Simple Pleasures. Which only seem to show themselves when I'm caffeinated. Bummer.

I've missed them, though.

[Currently Listening to: Into the Sunshine by Julia Nunes]

The past few days have been too boring to post anything better than this.

2008-08-04T16:43:00.000-04:00

Are you procrastinating right now?
Well, that's the point of these quizzes, right? Yeah, I have dishes to do then I have to get back to Alida's and help clean the kitchen. Could be on a freakin' photo excursion in a SUNFLOWER (my favorite!) field, but Nooooo. Fucking dishes.

Other than your name, what was the last name someone called you?
Sophie, I'm sure--though, at this point...that's pretty much my name.

If you could find one long lost friend of the past, who would it be?
Well...it wasn't that long ago, but she sure is lost.

Was your sixth grade teacher a man or a woman?
We had both at Valley, though I think it was primarily women that year.

What was the last thing you drank?
Cherry Capri Sun. I don't love cherry, but juice in a pouch? Gotta love it.

At what age do you think a person starts to get old?
When they start acting old, ie not driving at night, getting very particular/curmudgeon-ish,

etc

What was the last thing you celebrated?
Seeing Sam and Aubs together again made me do happy dances inside.

Have you ever had any teeth pulled?
oh, plenty. Never bothered me much, though.

What was the first job you ever had?
Worked behind the counter at Dad's ice cream place. I miss it...

Do you think you will vote this year?
God Damn, I sure wish I could.

What was the last thing you cooked in the oven?
Hmm. It's been a while--I've been putting together cold lunches since getting back. Have been craving produce, so generally do red pepper, cucumber, hummus, grapes, pitas, cheese. IN the oven, though....prolly brownies.

What was the first tape/cd/record you owned?
first record: I never owned one, but there are a few at my grandparent's house I'm hoping to rescue the next time I'm over. first tape: I'm pretty sure the Lion King soundtrack. I believe my first CD was a Radio Disney mix.

Have you ever eaten something other people might think is gross?
Frogs Legs are much better than everyone thinks

Have you ever invented anything?
My problem is I'm plenty good at inventing things, but I never really turn my thoughts into actions.

Who do you think you clash with the most?
People that screw with my friends. Asshole teachers. People that rub me the wrong way in general.

What time of day are you most likely sitting on your couch?
Probably napping/reading around 2.

What color is your toothbrush?
Blue and green.

What is the closest grocery store to your house?
Giant. *shrugs*

When was the last time you colored with crayons?
Heh. Saturday.

Have you ever owned a plant? What was it?
Hehe! A cactus.

At thanksgiving dinner, what is the first thing you go for?
The door. Disgusting excuse for excess, that is.

Do you have any special talents?
Nothing particularly earth-shattering, but I guess.

Have you ever been to a nursing home?
Yeah, we used to do christmas concerts at Peter Becker in elem. school choir. Good times!! I know a lot of people don't like them, but I think a nursing home could kind of be like...a return to dorm life, old people style. It has the potential of being fun, that's all I mean.

What holiday do you enjoy the most?
Everyone just gets more pleasant around 4th of July.

What was the first video game you ever played?
Mario Kart, gah. A classic. Love it.

What is the one thing you own, that if it got lost, you would be bummed?
Mp3 player....OH WAIT. That happened. >:(

Do you have a favorite breakfast item?
Tilly Mint's scones and lemon curd and devonshire cream.

What do you find yourself buying all the time?
Coffee. Shirts. Not sure why on that second one.

When was the last time you got a real letter in the mail?
Got one from Jess. Oh, HELL!! I haven't answered her in ages. Thank you, quiz.

Do you have a most prized piece of jewlery?
My ghana beads are sooo valuable to me!

Do you own any board games?
Not too many, but I do have SNL Sceneit, which is pretty much the only game anyone will EVER need.

What article of clothing would you say you need more of in your wordrobe?
You know, I have so many pairs of jeans, but I want a few more. A few blazers would be good too.

What chore seems the most daunting right now?
cleaning the kitchen. PS Why I'm responsible for SOMEONE ELSE'S mess is beyond me.

Were you born in the state you live in?
yup. booooring.

Have you ever lived in a house that has been broken into?
No, actually. Scary notion. I've broken into our current house. But that's just me.

What is your favorite cheese?
Ah, a nice dry romano.

Who do you know that watches the most sports?
The owner of Main Street Java. Ok--you own this really cool, chill coffee shop...but sports center is on fucking 24/7? Put discovery on or something, man, seriously.

What was the last magazine you read?
TIME, of course! Back-issue all about mark twain. What a cool guy.

Boxed In...and Somewhat Behind

2008-08-02T22:20:00.000-04:00

No blog yesterday...I was at Sam's. But I will not, WILL NOT cease recording the daily trivia. Maybe someday, a record of my senior year will be valuable to me. Maybe. See, I would've written before I left for Sam's house, but absolutely NOTHING happened yesterday until 5 o'clock (minus a 10-minute bike ride and a tiff with mom due to extreme bitchiness on my part). At 5, Aubsbear picked me up and she, sam, and I headed over to Vince's for the little Mac's rehearsal dingus. I wish more people had come--it was just Kern, Kelly, Llamma, Gavin, Aubs Sam and I, and--some random little kids? -.- That part worried me. Like the black van behind vince should've had 'FREE CANDY' spray-painted on the side.

Buuut anyway. Other than creepy pedophilic vibes, it was one of those idyllic summer afternoons that feels like part of a movie. It felt significant in some way that I couldn't quite identify...I'm sure if I give it time something will develop from it. Maybe, in fact, I'll write about it, since my muse has awoken from her coma thanks to the newest Samantha/Sophie story--an epic tale of a battle between all of the teachers of SAHS. Readers get a cameo in the story, so once the school year starts (or perhaps earlier) jump on the bandwagon. God knows 'The Black Rings' was a hit (by the way, if you want to read that one, I have it. Better yet, if you want to type up the 156 handwritten pages so that the story is preserved outside of the falling-apart notebooks, let me freakin' know). Now that my muse is running around my head doing happy dances, I'm quite sure the prose will start to improve (pre-apologies for the rambling in this note, by the way). As team Kenya said in their first policy vote: Yaaaaay!

So the rest of the night was good--we got mexican queso-loaded appetizers at Applebee's, chilled in the Marley pool (by 'chilled,' I mean stared directly into flashing LED disco lights), then I went over to Sam's and spent a while on the back porch staring up at the stars...I missed them so much in Oakland. On the best nights, you saw about 7. Out here, you look up and the sky is beautiful and dark, pinpointed by thousands of sparkling suns. Gorgeous. And we listened to music, and the music made me cry for the one I miss, and Sam spent the better part of 2 hours calming me down and helping me feel better (thanks to banana wheels, Hershey bars, Coldplay, and a good ol' fashioned cuddlefest).

We went to bed at three, woke up at eleven, and I was soon home repacking for the next adventure--My Popop's 73rd birthday. It's not generally something I'd look forward to--my italian side of the family is predictably loud and dramatic. But he recently got diagnosed with the early stages of Alzheimer's so I'm starting to try to really value our time. The glorious thing is when you put in a little effort and mute that snarky section of your brain, you CAN enjoy time with your family. Lovely. So we knocked on the door, he opened it and said "What's your name? What's your name?" For one horrifying moment, I didn't realize the joke he was making, just that he hadn't seen me in a long time. Then he laughed, I laughed--what a relief.

I mean, I see it. He's changed. But it's pretty much life as usual in the Fantozzi household. The grand thing is the afternoon was not without slap fights, sarcasm, and snark (and, as usual, Uncle Dave and Stef rolling in a good 24 hours late), but as we lounged around, laughing, joking, telling stories, I got that warm feeling inside, and my inner monologue proudly proclaimed: "This. Is. Family." Lovely.

THEN, after everyone else left, I went for another adventure in the grandparents' attic (last time I went through their record collection) with my Summer reading books in mind. I couldn't find Mrs. Daloway, Great Expectations, or Catch-22, but I did find TWO different books called the Invisible Man. Well, I'll be damned, I thought. Am I supposed to read Wells or Ellison? The HG Wells book sounded soooo good. A thriller, reads like a dream (read: nightmare). Awesome. Ellison--yeah, another book about overcoming racial inequality. An important issue, sure. But I've had my share, thanks. Of course, I call Sam and she tells me we're reading Ellison.

Damnit!!! At any rate, I'm taking both home, and will eventually post reviews on each one. Plus, I now have a whole shelf of the attic full of the books that interested me--everything from Shakespeare to Steinem.

Someday, Imma have a house with a library. Off to dream about it, kiddies.

Dare I Say It...HUZZAH!

2008-08-01T00:56:00.000-04:00

Today was spent in Montco's somewhat disappointing library, a place relatively sad/frustrating when one is fresh from Pitt's fantastic Hillman Library (twice as many stories, twenty times as many books, easily). The online cat wasn't as good, I was surrounded by people either a) talking to their friends or b) muttering their notes aloud to themselves as they transcribe them onto a word document (i will cut a bitch), and Brendlinger simply doesn't have as much stuff. I typed 'decolonization' and 'Ghana' into the Webcat and got zero--ZERO results. Ouch. Had to sort of research my way around my paper topic, and (thanks to the LOC system) pull up a call number, venture into the stacks, and hope for the best.

But just before I got up to begin exploring the sad, sad library, I saw the coolest library feature OF MY LIFE. Up in the corner of the MC3 webcat page was a little text link--"im a librarian." INSTANT MESSAGE the librarian? HOW DO YOU MEAN? [in the words of the great mr. wambold] I was so excited. Of course, I didn't really have any questions aside from "where are the stacks?" You'd think it wouldn't be that hard in a library with 3 stories, each about the size of two classrooms pushed together, but hey. It was my first time. I didn't get to play with the instant messenger feature. Seriously, though. What a good idea.

So after I figured out the somewhat confusing system (the stacks are split between the first and third floors...what?) I checked out my sub-par findings (upon looking at the return slips in the back of the book I discovered that the book most recently checked out was last opened THIRTY YEARS AGO--I can't even talk about the copyright dates) and went over to the sweet little coffee shop in the new tech. ed building. Snazzy. I got my second 16 oz. latte of the day (bringing my espresso consumption up to 5 shots) and sat to read for some ridiculous amount of time before momma picked me up for middle eastern food. Pitas, hummus, and a nice salad with feta. Yum.

Wait. Does this sound familiar? It should to all of my govies--this day could've taken place in Oakland (minus the dissapointment) just as easily as in Blue Bell. Of course, the trip to the library might've been with Sara, the coffee might've been with Charna or Raaj or Kristen (or whomever I stumbled upon at the Caribou), Lunch might've been with Leah or the dress-up crew or ICONS buddies. Given the time to reflect (or, more appropriately, debrief), I was shocked. A gov-school-ish life? HERE in upper middle outer nowhere? Perhaps there is hope. Part of me thinks I should shed the academic shell that I seemed to grow at Gov School and get back to life as usual--perhaps darken my ungodly pale skin, sit on the back porch perusing The Most Evil Women in History, go on yet another biking adventure. But right now, this feels right. I mean, my life certainly wasn't perfect pre-gov. I think this is where I need to be, and the fact that I pooled my resources and made it possible here at home says something HUGE.

I think it says "Allow your inner nerd to shine through." If that's what my gut's saying, then by god, I'll brush the dust off my ironic t-shirt, turn up my Beethoven (Shastakovich if I'm feeling frisky), stick a pencil in my hair and let it be.

Fufilling an Obligation...

2008-07-31T00:55:00.000-04:00

To whom? Certainly there are very few people out there hanging onto my every word, waiting for my next public service announcement/recollection of my day. So maybe, by writing this entry, I'm simply complying with the rules I've set with myself.

An accomplishment worth commending.

The past 24 hours have passed lazily, with a little less sleep than desired but a lot more good news than expected. I'm allowed to be quite pleased with myself for going on another long bike ride, right? This one was different--sidewalks and shoulders of the local roads instead of the out-of-the-way trails behind skippack. Plus, only 45 minutes of riding. I was a little tired after spending a while with a former teacher, who (after hours of much friendlier conversation) wasted no time telling me she heartily disapproves of my future career path.

There was a time when that would've devastated me. Now is the time I would easily get into a full-fledged argument about it. But after about 10 minutes on the defensive, I let it go. I mean--she's a foreign language teacher that sees no sense in International Studies and Anthropology? Hmmm... Some people just have no faith, I think. And not everyone can be talked into idealism. Shame.

Speaking of defeatism, I haven't ridden today. What can I say? My butt needed a break. Plus I only got about 5 hours of real sleep--after an awesome catch-up session with the cuz yesterday (the source of aforementioned good news) we fell asleep to Fun with Dick and Jane only to wake up at 6 AM to the machine-gun stitching of my Aunt's embroidery machine. Oh. And the releasing of two of THE most desperate-for-attention dogs you'll ever meet. Dear Obi. He'll step on your face in his excitement to say good morning. And Lacey'll lick you until you're ready to drown just to get a pat on the head. I gave up on sleep around 9 and came home to do laundry, wash dishes, and otherwise get my shit together post-gov school. Not a productive day in my eyes, but mom'll be happy to see things in order. Plus--Kristen's coming over later! eee! Gov School reunion Souderton-style, part II. So after I say goodnight to Gavin (we're gonna eat dinner and see Dark Knight, woohoo!!), Kristen'll come over and we'll watch across the universe and eat popcorn and reminisce and be girls and inevitably talk about college (on everyone's mind lately) and perhaps record a souderton reunion video.*

and maybe scream "FUUUUUUCK!" down the hallway, just for old time's sake.

*now available on the facebook.

Feels a lot more like home...

2008-07-29T00:55:00.000-04:00

What a day. A reasonable wakeup time, a long shower, a bathroom all to myself for getting ready. A whole damn house to myself. Bliss.

Then, at noon, I had my first official Gov. School reunion—thank GOD Kristen lives so close, plus she has a car, so we chilled at main street java for a good hour and a half. We had so much to talk about—being back is strange. Walking through the streets and not running into any gov school kids is strange. It’s like Kristen said—it’s like time froze for five weeks. We’ve progressed and we must now reenter this world that’s no longer ours, no longer familiar, no longer comfortable. Our thirst for significance can no longer be quenched by the futility of our daily summer lives here in suburbia. In five weeks we have become learned, cultured, progressive—things Souderton most definitely is not. No longer do I feel like I belong in this backward place.

But this afternoon, I was reintroduced to the one thing that governor’s school lacks—nature. A physical adventure. Two and a half hours on the bike with trees arching over gravel paths, Queen Anne’s lace and hoof prints rushing by through the scrubby rolling hills, wind on my face, mud on my legs, a pounding heart that finally wasn’t caused by standing in front of a large crowd.

And—wildly, for I’ve never biked on the Perkiomen Trail before—I was home. In my element. Allowing a rush of endorphins to brush a wicked smile on my face as I pushed harder and harder, racing the birds, the sun, and the water itself as sweat poured and pulse pounded. Feelings of accomplishment and satisfaction that I haven’t felt in, oh—five weeks, give or take.

Of course, finally release came in the form of an Oreo sonic blast and Peter Gabriel on the minivan’s stereo. The old friend and the new me were as full of life as ever—talking, laughing, even dancing. Thank god—well, thank Aubrey anyway—even as my newly calloused hands scrub the grease and mud off me, I remember that I can survive here, so long as I reconnect with the things (and people!) I missed.

Yup, I'm Home.

2008-07-28T00:52:00.001-04:00

And I think I'm going to start blogging...either here on facebook or through a wordpress or something along those lines. I just need a place to express myself--I think some last vestiges of that Gov School narcissism are still with me. Apologies.

As the title states...yup, I'm home. And somewhat happy. I missed my momma, my bed, and my hair dryer...my boy, my friends, my books...wawa...the smell of rain, the sound of thunder, sleep. My closet. My shoes. Lots of things.

But I miss Gov School a lot more. Forbes avenue, 5th avenue, Craig street. Schenley. Soldiers and Sailors. David Lawrence. Posvar, for christ's sake. Reed. Corbesero. Shallenberger. Glasgow. Even...Kabala? what the hell?! Every single RTA. Every single student--but especially team Kenya, and above all, my Wing girls. The things I can't say here--fuck me sideways. Bitches and Hoes. Fuck my life. Or even the short and sweet "Yo, Bitch." And of course, TGIF, Motherfuckers.

I'm disgusted to report that I've been...reflecting. Damn it. Old habits die hard, I suppose. And I realized that I've learned a a lot about the world, and myself. And despite all of the work, I'd rather be across the state LEARNING. I wonder how my curiosity will ever be satisfied back in a school full of kids that don't care, teachers that try their damnedest to share their knowledge, and administrators that block them in every way they can. And how will I get used to being 'that kid' again? The only one with opinions, the only one willing to raise her hand, the only girl willing to rub elbows with the guys and prove herself to her peers, her teachers, etc...

Alright, maybe being that angsty isn't justified. I have to turn this around, manipulate the anger until it turns into something else. Inspiration? Drive? Yeah, that sounds good. They were always there, always a part of me, they've just been inflated by the experience. And at Souderton that might make me a Clinton wannabe, or a bitch,or a dyke, any number of things, but I don't care. One day people around here will start to learn what success is--they'll be surprised to find it's not money, not brand names, not beauty.

it's happiness, and confidence...