I have a really horrible memory, so I have to write everything down. Many times, I have thoughts that I’d like to expand on in the form of a journal entry or a story, but I don’t have time to expand just then. So, I grab whatever paper and writing utensil are closest and jot it down.
Today, I found a little thank you card on my desk. I opened it up, and inside was a list:
no new clothes
happiness as teacher
What about that last bullet? I’ve no idea what I was thinking about. Can happiness be a teacher? Or is happiness naive? I wish I remember what my thoughts were that day!
“Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth. I sat a table where were rich food and wine in abundance, an obsequious attendance, but sincerity and truth were not; and I went away hungry from the inhospitable board. The hospitality was as cold as the ices.”—
Henry David Thoreau, Walden or Life in the Woods
I have no tolerance for insincerity, and I hold very high standards when it comes to honesty and truth. However, can love exist without sincerity? I don’t think much of money or fame, but I’m not sure I agree with Thoreau when it comes to love.
“Nobody wants the person who hurt them to ever see how badly they’ve been hurt.”— SCRUBS IS SO FULL OF WISDOM (via unicornology) (via vivalamusica)
I didn’t reblog this because I’ve recently been hurt and bla bla bla boring bullshit teenage angst that seems to be so prominent on this website. I reblogged this because it is true in any close relationship; my best friend, my father etc. And it is a regular part of life. You deal with it and move on. Scrubs IS so full of wisdom; JD’s monologues are beautiful. Kudos
I hope that you don’t. That would be creepy. Anyway, I just made a playlist on my iPod of what songs I want to listen to by running, this being judged after my several jogs exploring different types of music. I found that most of the best music to run to is either stuff I listened to when I was 11 or stuff I would normally hate.
Seriously, these are some of the people (I seriously hesitate to call them artists) that motivate me to run: Ashlee Simpson, Avril Lavigne, blink-182, Bowling for Soup, Enrique Iglasias, Eve 6, Sum 41. See!? Told you.
Of course, there are some surprisingly good artists in the mix: Dandy Warhols, Kanye West, Lily Allen, Mates of State, Nada Surf.
Of course, by far the best song on the playlist is See You Again by Miley Cyrus. Don’t try to deny, haterz. It is a damn good piece of work and you KNOW IT.
Mtn. Grove is the best paradox to exist, hands down. In this little redneck town, you learn about the value of hard work and tradition and hospitality and friendship and neighbors and most things that are good in the world. I lived there from ages 5 - 14, and I was always reading in a tree or playing outside with my neighors. What fun, right? It is also the location of poverty (think broken toilet in the front yard of a trailer), skankiness (from age 9 on), ignorance, and a dangerous sort of fundamentalism. But at last night’s graduation, I lost it and legit bawled my eyes out. Maybe it was the 48 hours without sleep, but I’m assuming that it was for more sentimental reasons. Central may be one of the best things that has ever happened to me, but I met my friends there when I was 15 years old. I should’ve graduated with Mtn. Grove, with the friends (and happy memories) of my childhood, no matter how many of them already had birthed children. I still haven’t gotten over how much I miss that place. Am I going to have to go through the same thing when I leave Central in a few days? acht, I can’t handle all of this nostalgia.
Damn they don’t make ‘em like this anymore
I ask ‘cause I’m not sure
Do anybody make real shit anymore?
Bow in the presence of greatness
‘cause right now thou has forsaken us
you should be honored by my lateness
that I would even show up to this fake shit…
Kanye West, Stronger.
I actually really like these lyrics, not because of his arrogance, but because he’s right. Nobody makes “real shit” anymore; everything is about what is easy, not what has quality. I am so sick of listening to honors constantly being bestowed to mediocrity. I hate that dropping out of IB is glamourized, I hate that sophomores don’t even want to begin the program, I hate that people stop because “colleges don’t actually give credit.” Who cares whether or not colleges give credit? I actually enjoy learning about the CIA’s covert operations or Zimbardo’s prison experiment, I love perfecting my writing in the countless number of papers, I love challenging myself with every timed exam. I love that I can be proud of myself for something, that maybe I’m not so lazy, that I have proven perserverance and dignity through IB.
So when I hear all of this bullshit talk about how our high school years are all about having fun and bla bla bla, I want to shoot the nearest person in the face. There’s no way that you’re going to grow if you don’t push yourself because you are too busy spending all of your time partying. High school years are your prime years for learning, both in school and in life. I think that I have a pretty good balance. I mean, I get to relax with friends on the weekends, so I’m not complaining.
I wish that everyone could recognize the critical value of hard work. But in this culture, that isn’t going to happen anytime soon. In the end, I guess I just have to get used to this “fake shit.”
Acht, I seriously need some insipiration right now.
Last night was an incredible senior prom, and, for girls, tanning beds are an essential part of the prom process. I expect this from stupid girls. If Paris Hilton gouged her eyes out because eyeballs are so not hot, then I wouldn’t at all be shocked to see the stupid girls follow her example. What does shock me, however, is how my smart friends are so eager to lay down in a tanning bed as well. Seriously, these sick creations are a prayer for a premature death. But for some reason, my friends insist on going tanning anyway. I absolutely don’t understand it.
I’ve been told by my friends, “Well, it’s not like I go tanning every day. I’m not going to get cancer.” I’m saying this because I care: bullshit. Using a tanning bed more than 10 times a year made people seven times more likely to develop malignant melanoma than those who did not use tanning beds as often. The risk of melanoma was increased by 300% for those using tanning beds occasionally and by 800% for those using tanning beds more than 10 times a year.
Here is another excuse that I get: “The sun is more dangerous than tanning beds anyway.” Girls, stop stop stop telling yourself lies. Traditional tanning beds and sun lamps typically give off about three times the UVA rays that are emitted by the sun. New, high-pressure sunlamps emit doses of both UVA and UVB rays that can be as much as 15 times that of the sun.
Newsflash: orange is not your color. In fact, it’s not anybody’s color, save maybe oompa-loompas. So why do you insist on making yourself look like a ridiculous character anyway? Why do you girls follow this trend so blindly? I’m a firm believer that a beautiful tan comes from playing out in the sun – with plenty of sunscreen, of course. A light, natural tan is gorgeous. Whould’a thunk?
If anybody can help me understand this phenomenon, it would be much appreciated.
Oh yeah, want to double check my facts? I even have a source; knock yourself out.
Westerdahl J, Ingvar C, MasbackA. Jonsson N, Olsson H. Risk of cutaneous malignant melanoma in relation to use of sunbeds: further evidence for UV-A carcinogenicity. Br J Cancer 2000;82:1593-9.
I’d very much like to quit facebook. At first, it was another way for me to stay connected with old and new friends. By now, it is a hubbub of baby-boomers and 12-year-olds, along with everyone else, who seriously think that they are important enough for me to read their 25 random things. (Thanks collegehumor for that music video, by the way.)
I am so pestered that I have almost reached the breaking point. Almost. See, I’ve gotten to the point that my life seems dependent on facebook. Everytime I think about quitting, a million thoughts run through my mind in order to stop me from doing so: “you’re going to lose touch with all of your high school friends! how else are you going to find your roommate for next year? how are you going to live without those photos of…” and you get the idea.
In essence, I’ve become addicted to something that I despise. Whoa, I have a lot more sympathy for smokers now. But I’m working on it. I don’t think that I would be able to quit cold turkey, but it WILL happen. Some time.
My former-hippie Theory of Knowledge teacher taught our class one of Einstein’s theories; one concerning relative time. I can’t find it online (granted I’ve only been searching for 48 seconds), but in a wierd way it actually makes sense.
You’ve felt this: every year of your life, you think, “man that went by so quickly!” On a smaller scale, you are shocked every Sunday night, wondering where the weekend went. Well, according to Einstein, time actually sort of does speed up as you grow older. Think about it. A year in the life of a two-year-old is of much greater fraction than a year in the life of a 62-year-old. I know that I’ve noticed minutes whizz by much faster now than they did even a year ago. Last year, I would prepare for every night for which I had to stay up until 3:00 am to finish my stupid IB homework. This year, I look at the clock and think, “Whoa, it’s already three in the morning? I’ve got to finish this paper.”
Now that I’m in hardcore studying mode for my exams, it’s happening. There are truly not enough minutes in a day for me. The expression “time flies by when you are having fun” has turned into “time flies by even when you are depressed and studying, so basically it is always flying by.”
I don’t know, this concept is terrifying in my eyes. Oh well. It’s time (get it!? because this post is about… sorry) to continue studying up on Arbenz for my history exam tomorrow. Peace out friends.
A week ago, I said that I would post this song. It is called Gypsy, written and sung by one of the most brilliant poets of our day, Suzanne Vega. It is by far my favorite love song. (And truly, there are very few love songs that I believe.)
Today I was at Price Cutter, and I saw three obnoxiously loud girls ordering at Starbucks. It was fairly cold outside today, and they were wearing workout shorts with Uggs. All three of them had some of the most obvious tanning bed tans I have seen a long time. Although their clothes had the appearance of “just rolled out of bed,” their processed blonde hair was meticulously prepared to match the makeup that caked their faces. I think Central has spoiled me, because I haven’t seen typical Missouri girls in a while.
After they left, I mumbled a short prayer. “God, thank you for not making me a Stupid Girl.”