5.2.09
20.10.08
Schwagg (With 2 G's)
We went to lunch at the student center. I watched Olivia consume a ridiculous amount of fried rice. I had spicy tofu and eggplant and it was A M A Z I N G. I don't have high expectations in the least for panda express but damn!
Walking back, we noticed a bunch of stuff set up for the democratic party candidates of fort collins, and they were yelling that Udall (Mark Udall, for US senate) would be speaking in half an hour. We begged our normally freakishly uptight history teacher, apparently in a good mood after recieving a box of free brownies, into letting us attend the rally. It was really cool; I've never seen so many politicians up close in the same place before. A bunch of us nerdy IB kids signed up to help get voters out on the big day (and the three before that). In return, we got Udall stickers, Udall lawn signs, really sweet Obama stickers, Obama posters and get this- Free T-Shirts! It was awesome. There was Obama trivia while we waited for Udall to show up (he was ridiculously late and talked for something like 15 minutes). We're going to wear the shirts tomorrow to annoy the militant conservative girl who sends us angry text messages about how she's going to burn the next thing featuring Obama she sees. She used to be our friend and now she's driving us all insane. Even other conservatives don't like her. She ditched the field trip to see Sarah Palin (*shudder*) speak, and sent us constant updates about the whole thing. Yeah, we're not too happy about her at the moment.
May November 4th arrive and everyone doesn't have to deal with any of this anymore!
They have moving shelves at the library. They were most captivating. And it was cool being able to use a computer that didn't have content blocker absolutely everwhere. Highschool internet sucks. No joke. How can computers be the ideal learning tool if they don't let us do anything at all, and we still do half the things they don't want us to do anyways? Geez... Don't get me started.
French word du jour: Aile meaning wing. Its a good word. Tu est le soleil qui seche mes ailes. From 'Flamme' last year's totally cheesy french song. You are the sun that dries my wings.
Fact du jour: Freerice.org, now not only your best and brightest SAT-studyin', world feedin', justified procrastinatin' machine, but it also helps with Math Facts, French, Italian, German, or Spanish vocab, Chemical Symbols, Map Reading, World Capitals, Art History, and English grammar. Wow! So much to learn! So go try it! I did 4000 grains of rice today, can you beat me?
Makes my day a little better, how 'bout you?
18.10.08
12 Year Old Boys
They don't do as they're told.
They eat disgusting amounts of cheerios.
They make big messes.
They brake my favorite bowl. The one with the pink bunny rabbits making cute faces.
I cried.
24.5.08
Two Hour Refugee
About 11:45 Thursday morning, while Rachel and I were goofing around in our math class, writing a note to our friends in our history class because our teacher didn't have enough copies for us, I felt my cell phone vibrate in my backpack at my feet. I didn't bother to answer; people who call me during class obviously don't know me. We continued to giggle wildly in our hyperactive end-of-the-year rush. Things were so normal, despite the extremely dark, wet weather outside. May in Colorado has always been unpredictable.
We heard the hail falling on our plexiglass, clattering as if someone was emptying the contents of a pocket on the roof above us. We were all very excited, everyone except the nerdiest of math nerds, ran to see the balls of ice bounce off the curved skylight. Rachel and I put up our hands, stretching towards the sky, as if we could reach past the barrier and catch one of the imperfect spheres.
Soon the hail stopped, but the excited commotion didn't.
During our conversations, our teacher suddenly and urgently hushed us. There was someone speaking over the intercom. At our high school this is very uncommon; they don't like to interrupt class. They only ever use it during lesson time when the message is important to the entire school, otherwise they try to tell us things during passing periods when nobody can hear them.
The voice from above told us to please move, calmly and orderly, to the long English and history hallway or downstairs to the foreign language hall. We were to keep away from any windows.
Now, the first thing we assume is this is some sort of new drill. Some also assume that since we must stay away from windows there are shooters outside the building. Many think its a drill for the second possibility.
As they herded us to seated positions against the walls we learn as if by some strange osmosis that there are tornados in the northern front range. We knew without a doubt that none of them would ever come anywhere near our school. This is just one of those paranoid things the district has to do so nobody sues them for being not careful enough. We sit, happy to be missing math, English presentations, history tests, finals reviews. The teachers stand above us, far tenser, surveying the length of the hall. They are like prairie dog lookouts, making sure none of us get out of line.
A ditcher I know told us yesterday that he wasn't in fourth hour that day. He went outside with some friends to hang out in the parking lot. The weather was being crazy, but it wasn't even raining, he said. Before a teacher came out to scream at them to get inside, he saw the sky in the south-east was orange.
Inside the long hall, we could see nothing beyond the off colored walls, the flickering fluorescent lights and the back of the stranger sitting almost in our laps.
The first thing to happen was every cell phone in the school was brought out. Texters, callers, tetris-ers were in abundance. Things were rather light hearted, but the silences between bits of conversation were full of anxiety. I have to commend the teachers for putting on their bravest faces, they probably had the scariest duty of any that teachers must perform. Keeping calm in the face of disaster for the sake and sanity of 1600 non-related people is a tough job.
Our sitting went through our lunch period. No one was allowed up to get their food. Most didn't have backpacks (no room), some, like me, didn't have phones. Not that phones were really working too well; almost everyone there and probably everywhere else in fort collins was using one. The networks were gummed to the gills with people trying to confirm the safety of their friends and family.
For two hours we lived like disaster refugees, and I'm not trying to disrespect their hardships. I can't say we experienced their hardships to the fullest, but I sincerely believe we got a taste. We were packed like sardines in the hall, and such close quarters under such circumstances gets stressful. There were people completely broken down. "Where is my family, what if they're not okay? How can I know? Nobody's answering their phone!" Some were brought to tears, even myself for awhile. I didn't have any way of communication. Borrowing a phone was only a 50-50 chance that I could get on the network, and even then, I couldn't know about my brother. The stress was exhausting, and the chatter, mind-numbing, and every time the lights flickered I was holding my breath waiting for the power to go out and all of us stuck in close quarters in the dark. Some seemed to still believe this was only a drill, and others seemed to believe we were all going to die in a funnel cloud. I had a friend asleep on the floor next to me, using a sweatshirt for a pillow and her backpack for a blanket. If I could have slept I would, but my eyes were glued open to keep from crying. I want to be the strong one, and I know, if I cry, they'll cry with me and then we'll all be crying and where can we go from there?
The teachers couldn't do much for us. I heard that downstairs they had 3 bags of chips they were trying to split between 600 students. A teacher in our hall was passing out gummi worms to kids in her classes. There weren't enough bathrooms, some kids had panic attacks or needed medication of some kind. Everyone wanted, needed, attention. But nobody could keep track of all of us.
Some people just shut down, and wouldn't speak. We were all hungry and bored and worried and running out of things to say. Rumors bounced up and down the halls like pinball. Trout Elementary was bussed to the Lincoln center to get out of the way of the storm. At least 4 tornadoes had touched down. We would be let out at 8 pm when the watch was ended. They were going to give us cheeseburgers left over from convocation that morning. Almost none of these rumors were entirely true, but some had grains of truth.
We sat, a school of scared teenagers, for two hours, knowing nothing, almost totally in the dark, until they finally let us go, two hours after our initial order to sit in the hall.
I'd like to say we have a little more knowledge now of what it means to be a refugee from a tornado. Hungry, tired, worried, scared, and in need of a little TLC that may be long in coming. I got mine after a mere two hours but many still, are not so lucky. I'm just grateful with my entire being that my family and the families of my friends are all okay, and I know I've learned a lot from my experience as a two hour refugee.
21.4.08
Hard Core Du Jour
So--- Hardcore Anime Du Jour - Sakura Taisen!! Just got back into it, after watching the first disk from the vidiot a while back. The vidiot is possibly the best video store in fort collins, at least anime -wise. No better spot. The dude there is seriously the most stereotypical otaku ever. I'm too lazy at the moment to find a picture; but no shit this guy knows everything about anime. And he quizzes me every time I come in. I used to be scared of him (he's a bit creepy..) but he knows his stuff!!
Hardcore Video Du Jour: Caramell Dansen, the disgustingly obnoxious swedish dance song that has taken anime otaku (freaks) by storm. And it's in swedish. At costuming today, Siobahn and I were doing the dance while this song played out of her freakishly large headphones. I want headphones like that... boo hoo. Anyways, the dance, the song, and the pink is here for you ---
CLICK HERE
I'd be afraid. So. Painfully. Cute. And people do the dance in large groups at anime conventions.
Hardcore French Word Du Jour: rater - to miss or to fail "J'ai raté le vol" I missed the flight or "Je raterai sans doute l'examen" I will fail the test without a doubt. Definately a negative term. Most excellent for a foreign language pessimist such as myself. For example, in my french class we were doing short dialogues, with one person being a young child who had never flown, and the other being his/her older sibling going to tell them about how the system works. So, when asked "what if the plane crashes?" I answered "everyone will die. good luck." So, pessimistic foreign language.
Hey! At foreign language day at UNC (basically an anime convention without costumes... and based on foreign languages) I learned how to count in chinese! I really only remember up to 5 at the moment (we learned 6-10 in about 30 seconds after spending 10 minutes on 1-5). It was really interesting because Chinese is a very tonal language and our room full of 25 american, foreign-language people had terrible pronunciation. Well, thank you to the instructor. Shyeh shyeh. We were a tough class and she gave us candy anyways!! I was happy.
Continuing with the Hardcore theme of today... Hardcore Japanese Word du Jour : joubu, meaning strong, as an adjective. The noun for strength is a different kanji character, it is chikara, and it's a pretty common symbol. It's actually used in the kanji for otoko, meaning man. Otoko is a combo of 'ta' for rice paddy and 'chikara' for strength. Beeken-sensei (my japanese teacher) says it's from an old fashioned belief that the strong one who work in the rice fields was the man. Which was pointless for me to tell you but what ever.
Hardcore List of Things I Should Do:
- Get my radio show song list done and all of them up in mp3 format!!! grah!
- Do work on my lit log.
- Find good excuse not to let my brother do a big 'NO DRUGS' thing on my radio show. I'm already a nerd for being a freshman and I don't need to help it along by being a straight-edge. I don't do drugs myself and I guess they're bad but on a highschool radio station? No thanks.
- Find creative way to ditch PE tomorrow and not get in trouble. Damn, I had my meeting already this week, getting out of weight lifting, so now I have to take the Pacer. Damn damn damn.
- Sleep.
Hardcore Movie that makes me cry Du Jour: Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. 'Nuff said. You should watch it and cry with me. I've been thinking about that movie for days. It deserved it's oscar.
Hardcore Songs That aren't really hardcore but whatever du Jour:
- A Love Before Time (Mandarin Version) from Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, it's a really beautiful song, especially with the Yo Yo Ma cello solo at the beginning that is actually the main theme of the film. Powerful stuff.
- This Is How It Goes by Billy Talent. Bad ass band. Yep yep. This used to be the song I woke up to. One hell of a wake up it was.
- Blackbird from Across the Universe. Besides the last song, can you tell what kind of mood I'm in?
- I Don't Love You by My Chemical Romance. Haven't been listening to them much lately, but this is one of their more overlooked songs. And I like it.
Thats enough, I'm done with hardcore for now. And I finished my saddam effigy yesterday. Fuck yeah!
bz
shyeh shyeh
13.4.08
Wrong 'Em Boyo
So. What is going on? Lets make a list then I'll elaborate---
- Costuming for 43
- School- MOM essay bleh, Thing Fall Apart, Evolution, Fantome, yada
- Public Transportation
- An awesome concert
- Du Jour
So.. numerically, we would start with number one..
1. The new show is 43 plays for 43 presidents, a homage to the commander in chief, with satirical, comedic, dramatic, musical, and weird skits and sketches about each president. And I'm going to help costume it. The main costume is a jacket that the actor that is the president at the moment wears, and Phil and Siobahn and I argued over that alot. Phil doesn't like being the leader of us as soon as it gets difficult. So I let him pretend he's in charge and try to make his thought process a bit more verbal at times. It works usually. We have two sort of similar white jackets and we're doing a diagonal line across the front with different sized red stripes and stars stamped in acrylic paint. And some other stuff. I think it'll turn out okay. I, on the other hand, am in charge of the saddam effigy. I'm so happy! I get to dress up a 7 foot cloth doll as Saddam Hussein. There are only 5 actors to costume but things might get interesting. The show opens at Poudre on May 1st, and runs through the 3rd. I'm pretty psyched. This is my third show this year and thats more than some of the seniors have done, acting, teching, costuming, or otherwise! I am accomplished.
2. School, the occupier of a lot of my time. In one day I sleep from midnight to 5:30, so 5.5 hours, 5:30 to 7 is at home, so 1.5 hours. 7 to 3:30 is at school, a whopping 8.5 hours. Then I'm home from 3:30 to 8; 4.5 hours. 8 till midnight is sleep. 4 hours. So--
- Sleeping- 9.5 hours. 39.589%
- At home- 6 hours. 25%
- School- 8.5 hours. 35.4166%
That seems like way too much! More than a third of my life is spent at school! Yikes! Thats not even counting costuming days when I don't go home until 5! Yah!! What is my life?! I don't know. I don't know.
I'm writing a big essay for my history class. Including endnotes and stuff it's 8 pages. So really its more like 6 pages but hey. Its about Karl Marx. So now my history teacher thinks I'm a communist lesbian. Both of which are untrue. Ain't life unfair. Thats okay, I guess she thinks we might have something in common (that was below the belt. she's a nice lady, just crazy). But Marxism turned out to be really interesting, but my argument kind of sucks. The second half didn't go well. I need to make stalin sound way evil but emphasize that even though he was not a nice guy by a long shot, Marx was influential. Not really a well thought out idea, but its just an essay. And I think its well written. I even have a doonesbury quote, which makes everything better. G.B. Trudeau is a genius. That essay is due the week before finals. Along with my lit log. Its going to be a tough two months.
We're reading yet another disappointing book in my english class. We just finished Romeo and Juliet, which I thouroughly enjoyed (good stuff, twas) so fate demands we read something horrible. Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe seems like an okay book, just not to study. Its about the destruction of Nigeria's Ibo culture by white missionaries. The first half of the book is weird, the second half is weirder. It starts out as an extremely in depth view of the culture, and its really interesting but slow and disconnected and strange. It isn't a story its a video of a life with nothing left out. Few characters really stick out besides Okonkwo. Even that one guy dies. I don't know, it just doesn't seem like a book I can write an essay about, but eventually I know I will. My english teacher is weird, she's so nice but she doesn't know some of the weirdest stuff like 3rd grade math. Hm..
I'm also reading The Agile Gene for biology class (I'd recommend it) and Fantome de l'Opera in French. We never did anything cool like that in French II. It's really simplified (written in present tense half the time.. weird.) but still cool to be reading. I'm so done with 9th grade, haha. I need to study hard for my finals! Bring it! I will so have a 4.0 this semester! I can do it! Fight!
3. I have started taking the city bus home from school. The time I get to my house is the time when my school bus (..damn it) gets to Poudre. Wow. Its kind of cool, waiting for the bus in the rain.. I'm not sure why. Poetic value?
4. I saw the awesomest concert yesterday! Dad took me and a couple of guys from his work to Copper for closing weekend. It keeps snowing all the time and it snowed then too. The snow was fantastic, the skiing superb (blacks + moguls - spencer = fun!) and the afterparty jammin'. Shit! Goddamn! Get off your ass and jam! (one of the songs involved this..o.O fun to sing ^_^) Yep yep, George Clinton and the P(arliament) Funk(adelic) Allstars! Awesome awesome concert. I smelled like pot when I got home, but it was worth the second hand smoke. Groovy! George Clinton is like a god, he doesn't have to do anything and the whole crowd is worshipping him.
5. Du Jour? Nah. Forget it for now. I'm distracted!
heart!bz
8.3.08
I'mmmm Baaaackk!!!
So, I submitted to the school creative writing magazing, Kaleidoscope. Yeah. Three poems and a short story. So. Here they are:
Dark Blue
The second shadow
tiptoeing behind, far quieter
Than the echoing steps I take between two streetlights
6 paces.
A lake, trying to compose itself
after the lingering rain
stirred cold darkness from the depths.
A fisherman returns,
hoping his luck has changed
with the color of the waves.
Elusive cat’s-eyes in my neighbor’s yard, deciding
whether the hand-that-does-not-feed
is worthy of her attention.
I press my forehead against the passenger side window
and stare at the road,
Gazing so intently, a gaze becomes a doze.
I muse to the blurred highway, that every 60 seconds,
I am one mile closer to something,
and one farther away.
Trying to relax, eyes shut tight,
waiting for sleep to come,
but the 2 AM train opens them
screaming as softly as possible,
as if it cares not to wake me.
I pay the fare on a bus to a movie
all my friends have seen.
I look up and find I am alone, although
every seat is filled.
The quiet humming song you sing
after you’ve pulled the covers completely
over your head
and pretend you are camping.
In your fortress, the lightning
is the headlights of a speeding car, the thunder
keeps time to the tune you are fabricating,
and the monsters under the bed
are merely sick of playing solitaire.
Graveyard Walk
Walking home through the cemetery
over carefully mown grass
there is no sign of what lies beneath
but I step cautiously over
each grave, just in case.
The sun is gold and soft in the grass,
I hear my breath fade into my surroundings.
Mid-evening traffic fails to make any sound.
Do they stop at the light,
waiting for a green sign from above,
and hear their breath become
slower, in the silence?
An old man and woman
step out of their car.
The door shuts, cracking the clear sky
with its hollow sound.
Their bouquet is doomed to wilt
on a modest headstone. A friend? A child?
I don’t know what to do as I pass by.
I know nothing of death and loss,
outliving someone I love,
so I stare at my feet,
trying to look at least respectful.
I do not see their faces again.
My steps echo
between each blade of grass
My shadow
pushes the afternoon closer to evening.
The Watcher
I am a watcher
the one walking by
Reading a book on a bench
one eye following the strings of words,
The other carefully watching the world,
The autumn geese
Two small children bickering.
I am not the one
pondering loss at the funeral,
Wondering what we leave behind
when its time to go.
I am across the street
drinking a half-cold latte
Thinking about the cars in the funeral home parking lot,
they look like shiny black beetles,
Dressed for the somber occasion.
I am not the one
driving down the highway,
Looking for somewhere to go,
Wondering if the next turn is the turn,
the one that will make all the difference.
I am in the car that just passed you.
the girl looking out the window
Watching
many faces in the many cars
racing by.
Short Story- Queen to Her Color
Richard Durand stepped along the banks of the Seine, feeling very old. He pulled his coat closer to him with withered hands. He had been very handsome once, but that was years ago, before the wars, before everything. Now he was silver-haired but still strong, walking tall. Only the sturdy wooden cane gave away his weakness. The morning was dark with thick low clouds and the river was drab slate gray, agitated, and moving like the next breeze would become a full-on storm.
The fog in his mind cleared for a moment and Richard remembered. There had been lights, he recalled, and music. A real band, not a radio and the officers had been lively, the war was over and the celebration had begun. He remembered her red dress, the one with white flowers, and her pearl necklace, a gift from her father. But not her face, never her face. The memory of that summer evening so many years ago faded. He looked at the damp sidewalk and sighed. His face, old and reserved, didn’t fall, just relaxed. His footsteps set up an even rhythm with his cane, two soft taps and a sharper accent. He thought of the riddle of the sphinx.
“On three legs in the evening, walks the old man. Trop tôt vient le soir#. ” he murmured, and tried to think of home.
He knew home was far away, but how far, he had no idea. She was gone from that place and it had no memories left for him to search out. In fact, he couldn’t remember the address or when he had left. Richard focused, trying to remember. Nothing came to him. He stopped to gaze at the river. A pigeon flapped raucously in front of him from the eaves beneath one of the Seine’s 32 bridges. Richard barely flinched, if at all. He remembered a black door, with the paint long since worn off the handle.
A patisserie was opening its doors and the warm buttery scent of baking croissants drifted over the cobblestones. He turned and smiled, beginning to take a step before he remembered another day. This memory was sunny and dusted with gold. A spring morning and the river sparkled vividly, sending a shimmering pattern of light across the shore.
That day, he had set up a cheap folding table near the riverbank with two chairs that looked as if they had been brought out from a kitchen, simple and wooden. It must have been a memory from very long ago. He had been sitting in a chair across from a boy. The boy’s face was blurred and distant, but cleared up after a moment. Michel. The boy was Michel. Richard was setting up a chessboard, taking the pieces out of the blue felt bag and setting them upright, putting them in place without even looking. It was a practiced motion, the queen on her color and the knights on the second square from both the left and the right.
Michel must have been 11 or 12, and he was trying very hard to look careless, but the impression he gave was fidgety. His hair was combed neatly but it looked like he had tried to make it messier. He was staring grumpily off to one side, his body turned so he was slouched in his chair with one leg off to the side and stretched out and the other facing forward, bent at the knee. His jacket was left unbuttoned.
“Now, Michel, my father taught me how to play chess and I think its time I taught you.” He continued to set up the board, the pawns in a neat orderly line before the court.
The boy shifted to a more obvious sulk. Richard noticed and smiled. He put the last piece, a black knight, onto the board in front of Michel. It teetered, then fell, clattering on its side. The boy glanced at it then looked away. Richard picked it up and returned it to its place, then leaned back and adjusted his deep red suspenders.
“A real gentleman knows how to play chess.”
Michel rolled his eyes.
“I know, Papa. You only tell me all the time.” Richard gave him one of those stern fatherly looks he so rarely used. Michel groaned with another roll of his eyes and made a face.
Suddenly there she was. She was wearing a pink dress and the same pearls and she was beautifully lit by the sun. She placed a hand on Michel’s shoulder, and leaned over to speak, looking them both in the eye. She always wore the silver bracelet Richard had given her for their engagement and the simple gold band that she would wear every day for forty years. She had been buried with them, and the pearls.
“Now, Michel my love, listen to your father, won’t you?” She smiled sweetly. “Only gentlemen get croissants for breakfast!”
The paper bag she held out was steaming. Michel sat up straight and ran his fingers through his hair. She laughed brightly.
“I can’t beat him you know!” Michel protested, after making sure he had eaten at least one croissant. “There’s no point in trying. Only boring old men play chess anyways.”
She stood up and put one hand on her hip.
“Are you calling your father a boring old man? If he’s old then you must be at least 35! And besides, you‘re a fast learner and he‘s a good teacher. Silly, a jeune chasseur, il faut vieux chien.#” She smiled and turned to walk back to the house. Richard remembered the way she wore heels even in the early morning, but she could walk quietly in them nevertheless. He tried not to think about her, it hurt to think he couldn’t remember her eyes or her middle name. She had slipped away.
A shout pushed Richard out of his reverie. There was a gang of dirty children jumping and yelling around the door of the patisserie, a hundred yards away. From the mass of rowdy delinquents (by their look) a single boy escaped, and ran with a lopsided side-to-side gait that bespoke his life on the streets. He dashed across the empty road and towards the river and Richard.
He glanced back just as the baker broke free of the mob to shake his fist.
“Dirty little thief! Stop! Hey, you! Stop that! Stop the boy!” The man was yelling, his thin face red with anger, although there was something a bit comical about the smear of flour under his left eye.
Richard turned to watch the scene, wondering if the baker had been talking to him. He didn’t have time to think twice before the boy was there. Somehow, his cane was in the way of the boy’s legs and the thief was airborne.
Not for long. He came crashing down after an elegant but momentary flight with a thud and a string of profanities. The baker was shaking a few leftover children off his apron and shuffling towards them.
Richard looked at the boy sprawled by his feet. There was something about him that was very familiar. Was it his hat? Or maybe his old hand knitted gloves with all the fingers missing. Perhaps it was the stubborn confused look on his face, but he looked like someone familiar. Michel. He looked like Michel.
The baker had finally caught up to them.
“Thank you, Monsieur, for catching the little imp.” He addressed Richard politely, before turning on the boy. “Thought you could get away with stealing breakfast, didn’t you!” The boy just glared fiercely, and put a hand on his knee to stand up.
Before he could dash away Richard had him by the back of the collar. The boy looked up in surprise and indignation.
“If you wouldn’t mind Monsieur, please let me apologize for my grandson. Children are so impatient these days and I do admit, your fine croissants had the same idea running through my mind.” Richard smiled sagely. “Let’s not make a scene, alright? Of course.” He handed the baker some money, the coins softly clanking as they exchanged hands. The baker looked behind himself and sniffed.
“Well. Good day then, monsieur.” And he walked back to the open doors of his bakery.
Richard turned to the boy, who was struggling weakly, instead focusing his energy on watching Richard. Richard smiled and handed the boy the small wooden box he had been carrying in his pocket.
“Carry this for me, would you? It would do an old man a bit of good. Now, what’s your name?” He began walking along, using his cane for support. He was tired. The boy looked confused, but walked along side him just the same.
“Why should I tell you?” He said, putting on a tough face that was out of place on his young features. Richard didn’t even look at him. The boy pouted, not used to being ignored, and nothing seemed to faze the old man.
“Where are we going?” He demanded rudely, forgetting that he was a new addition to the party. Richard just smiled, and angled towards a few tables and chairs sitting in a grassy place where the sidewalk deviated from its normal path, leaving an open space. The boy followed him without a thought.
Richard watched as the boy walked just ahead of him and picked up a small stone. He lightly tossed the pebble into the current. It splashed, and Richard watched the ripples remembering another child who had tossed stones into a river.
That day had been blue-skied but cold. Richard didn’t remember why they had built the cemetery around the stream. The water was clear in the autumn and every stone was deceptively close to the surface. A child’s giggle broke the windy silence. The little girl was only two years old, and not tall enough to see over the field of perfect white crosses. Her coat was buttoned up to her chin and her short brown hair was quickly escaping its pink bows. She was bending over awkwardly as a child does and pulling stones out of the untrimmed grass at the river’s edge. They would then fly through the air about a foot and a half and splash into the river. With every splash came another giggle.
Then she turned and walked straight-kneed to Richard. She tugged on the hem of his black overcoat and looked up at him. He knew what she would say.
“Papa?” The only word she really said. Richard drew a sharp breath, he never got used to it. “Papa?” He leaned down to pick her up. Then he sighed and turned his back to the wind.
He looked over to the women standing by one of the crosses. One of many crosses. Their hats, firmly pinned in their hair, struggled. One woman lifted her hand to steady it, showing her slender wrist and single silver bracelet. Richard looked away and didn’t move for almost fifteen minutes. The wind blew straight through him. He was not so young anymore.
The little girl had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Richard looked down at her tiny face and whispered, “He’s not here anymore is he.” Michel. They said he died a hero, but what use is a dead hero? A dead man can’t raise his daughter.
Richard reached with one hand into his pocket and pulled out the black knight. It seemed colder than usual, even having been inside his coat for most of the morning. He put it in the girl’s pocket. She shifted and put her hand on Richard’s shoulder.
He blinked back into the present. What had been the little brown-haired girl’s name? He was ashamed to have forgotten. The boy was looking at him sharply. Richard straightened and took the wooden box from him.
“Please, sit.” He motioned to a chair by one of the tables. The boy did, trying very hard to look bored. “What did you say your name was?”
“Remy.” The boy didn’t make eye contact. Richard nodded and took the white knight out of the box and reached across the table to set it on a square to Remy’s left.
“Well, Remy, my father taught me how to play chess, and I taught my son.” Remy rolled his eyes.
“A real gentleman knows how to play chess.” Richard said with a smile.
“Maybe I don‘t want to learn.” The boy retorted. “Only boring old men play chess anyways.”
Richard smiled widely as he lined up the pawns. Tomorrow would be another day to remember, but now, the board was set and the sun was clearing away the fog. He smiled sagely and turned to his opponent and student.
“Perhaps you don’t want to learn, but this ornery old man is going to teach you either way. White moves first, any pawn, either one or two spaces…”
Okay. So there they are.
On to my stuff of today--
French word of the day- coquette, meaning flirt, or flirty. I like it. We learned it while watching the film of Cyrano De Bergerac, starring Gerard Depardieu (click here). Oui, Roxane est une coquette. Elle prend quoi elle veut. Okay. Done now.
Japanese word of the day- rekishi, meaning history. I just learned this word. We were talking about school. I love japanese lessons. Mako-sensei and Beeken-sensei are great teachers ^_^. I'm very grateful to them.
Picture for today-
Its L. I've been reading alot of DeathNote. Its much less, innocent?, as alot of shojo manga I read. I guess its not shojo at all. I don't mind. I have this theory, comparing shojo and shonen (girls and boys comics). Girls wear both pants and skirts, but guys generally only wear pants, so its like girls usually read both shojo and shonen, but boys generally stick with shonen. This is a generalization. Don't eat me.
My biology group filmed a video yesterday for our project. We don't actually have to present however, because most of our group is leaving early for spring break next week and we won't be able to go. Its a trailer for a hypothetical movie based on a book that we 'chose' to read for class, called Lab 257 by Michael C. Carroll. Don't read it. It was so horrible, I didn't finish it, but don't tell my bio teacher. Click here if you want to know more. Amazon people gave it 4 out of 5 stars! What the hell? I guess only people who liked it rated it.. It was so horrible. Don't try. Our movie is cool though. Except it isn't finished. After I finish, I'll put it up here.
So, I'm sure you're all asking, what's new at Poudre High School, where our beloved blogger Bailey attends so diligently and enthusiastically every single day?
Welllll...
how about a handy dandy bulleted list?
- CSAPs are next week. And I don't get to miss them. CSAP is colorado's standardized test. This year, alot of people are choosing to not take them because their parents are not into it, but the teachers are pushing it. They want us to get good scores so they will get money, and not taking the test is entered as a big ugly zero. I wonder why they think we'll be sympathetic. We're the ones forced to do all this weird review study shit just so we won't fail the stupid test. They spend so much time teaching us to write well and uniquely then tell us, (I quote my english teacher. Although not word for word.. whatever) "write exactly what they want to see. Go back to fifth grade, and write something with obvious structure and cheesy transitions. Forget everything we've taught you". I suspect I'm a rebel here. I'm going to write something bizarre. I don't care about my score, I have good enough grades to get into college anyways. I'm a freshman, why should I be thinking that far ahead anyways? Gaa!
- I'm missing the only possibly fun day this entire year to instead be on an airplane. Fuck. I'm missing international day, instead staying through the last few days of unbearable school. I don't even get to miss any sex week. Health is so awkward. But in 3 weeks the PE part is beginning. I'm looking forward to it.
- I just began the new play, my third this year. I'm quite excited about it, its called 43 plays for 43 presidents (click here), a political piece documenting america's entire political history. It has a cast of 5, and I'm one of two costumers. It'll be fun ^_^. I just last month finished the spring play, Under the Gaslight (click here), a melodrama. That was fun, and I scored points with the costuming career, by costuming a lead. It was quite a challenge. I hope someday I can live up to Sierra, the costume-amazing-person. She's a senior and so cool. And not a british man... The first play/show/musical I ever costumed was the famous Once Upon A Mattress (click here), and that was so much fun too! The costumes were great, princess dresses for almost everybody! But with a cast of fifty and several dance numbers, wow! I guess theater is usually like this.
- My percussion ensemble did our concert on thursday. That was cool. Who would have thought temple blocks could be bad-ass? And I wore my converse instead of my black flats because I still have blisters from the last time I wore the flats. And my boyfriend noticed. I was really happy :).
- SPRING BREAK!! breathe breathe.
Okay, enough bullets.
Top 5 Songs of today
1. This is Halloween - from Nightmare Before Christmas
2. My Name Is - by Eminem. I hate lauren for giving me this song.
3. Float On - by Modest Mouse. I need to chill out
4. Red Flag - by Billy Talent. I'm in the weirdest mood right now. Both badass and upset and not.
5. Foux de Fa Fa (sp?)- from Flight of the Conchordes, which brings us to the video of the day
Its amazing. Do you speak basic french? If you don't think so, this video will teach you otherwise. See how many words you can pick out! (If the player doesn't work, click here)
Quote of the day, courtesy of Mona from my french class who has taught me my first arabic words, meaning 'idiot'.
"Je t'aime comme j'aime ma grand-mere et mon chien... mais plus."
-Mona
Thank you for your sincerity and eloquence. French is the language of love, n'est-ce pas?
Do you know basic french? Here's a cool site for stuff like that--- CLICK HERE
Word. (strangest way of saying good bye ever. anyway. word. peace and shit.)
bAiLeY
