Aug 28, 2009

Friday Night Lights

High school football games are curious things.

As with all high school, everybody is sorted quite well, but there is a place for everyone. The jocks, obviously, on the field and their girlfriends are cheering for them. Other popular kids sit in the student section with obnoxious school-colored decorations, yelling back and forth with the cheerleaders. Proud parents and high school has-beens adorn the stands, yelling everytime something remotely good happens. Musically talented geeks or those who can wave flags semi-gracefully join the band, and other various geeks perform for the ROTC colorguard. "Rebels" and kids with skinny jeans and blue hair hang out around the sidelines, far away as they can get from the field while still being at the game, looking like they're above it all but they're still there. And, my personal favorite, the high school wannabe gang, usually from middle school, dressing like the older kids and wearing way too much makeup and pretending they're having the greatest time.

This various slightly, but pretty much the formula at every high school in every city in every era. There's a slight beauty in it though, when everybody from every clique or group, is screaming at the top of their lungs in celebration when the team pulls out a difficult win.

The high school football game is indeed a curious thing. I'd like to shoot a documentary about it, Discovery Channel-style. Instead, I'll sit in the stands amongst the many groups, not really fitting into any of them as usual, and enjoy the microcosm and the game.

Aug 27, 2009

Hola Frustration

Language is an odd thing.

I can't remember not being able to speak English. I've taken for granted how easily the words slip off my tongue, how simple it is to connect words to my ideas. No more.

Trying to learn another language is like reverting to Huggies and high chairs. You're back at square one, except your brain isn't half so spongelike. I never thought it would be this frustrating to stare down at a page and not recognize a single word. It's weird. I'm used to seeing a word and its meaning instantly presenting itself in my brain, with little to no effort. Now I must slave over the simplest of phrases to glean half-correct, ill-translated English equivalences out of them. Struggling to communicate has to be the most frustrating thing one can encounter.

I feel a whole new level of respect for people entering new countries without knowing the language, or those who rely on Braille or sign language. It takes them twice the effort to achieve what we do every day without even thinking. Great, now I sound like an after school special.

But there are also positives to the pitfalls of new language learning. It shows that some things are universal, unequivocally human. Every person who has a heart that beats and a brain that thinks understands some things unquestionably. There's something a little amazing in that. Sometimes, there's a bazillion ways to say something (in fourteen tenses, perhaps) but you only need to understand one.

Aug 25, 2009

A library is a hospital for the mind

I often feel sorry for people who don't read good books;they are missing a chance to lead an extra life.~ Scott Corbett ~

I've been reading like a crazy person lately. Hundreds of pages in one sitting. I suppose this proves I have no life, but I do enjoy it. Is the definition of life simply enjoying whatever you're doing? If so, maybe I do have a life every now and then.

Every so often, I forget the unadulterated joy that lies in a book, until I randomly pick one up that reignites my need for literature. Sometimes it's a classic, with ancient words and lexiconed lines and enduring characters. Sometimes it's something nobody's ever heard of, randomly plucked from the library shelf in the between-classes rush. No matter where it comes from, the words of another person brings emotions out of me I don't typically get from anywhere else. Maybe that's why I love reading so much. I can live vicariously through Elizabeth Bennet, Winston Smith, or Cassandra Mortmain. I can experience the bizarre real lives of David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs. I can entertain the advanced thoughts of Vincent Campbell or Joshua Halbertan or Anna Quindlen. I can go places I never get to go.

Then why is it I forget this every so often? Does my life get interesting suddenly, and I don't need a fictional fix? I think we can rule that one out. I don't really know. Maybe it's so I can feel the full greatness of rediscovery. Time and time again, this is the one source of comfort that can never be changed or removed.

Now, I think I'll go finish my book. =]

Aug 24, 2009

Stupid College...

The applying to college is unnecessarily complicated. Why do we make it so hard? It's just this constant cloud of stress hovering over me, no matter what I do.

Everything feels too inadequate. Somebody's always preparing better than I am, sending me into a fury of panic. "There goes one more spot in my dream school!"

It seems so silly. Almost everyone that wants to go to college gets in somewhere. Why do we make it such a big deal when if we all relaxed, it wouldn't have to be? The right people can get the right education without facing almost unbearable stress in the preceding years. For some reason, we've decided to create this intimidating aurora around college that probably does more scaring off than anything else.

I know where I want to go; I know what I want to study; I know I could succeed. But that's not enough. I have to prove this by jumping through six thousand unnecessary hoops. My needs get lost in a sea of test scores, statistics, and transfer credits. Somewhere along the way, my voice gets drowned out by the paper trail that consumes me. Every breathing second, I'm supposed to be doing something so I can make a mark on those blasted applications.

I just want to get in, get my degree, and get out. Is that too much to ask?

Aug 18, 2009

Sweet Reassurance

Today, I got a taste of my possible future. I liked it. This is reassuring.

I liked the frantic feeling in the air that signifies something is about to happen. People in suits running everywhere. The abnormal events just make everything feel different; the air is different. I love that feeling. I want to chase that feeling.

And document it. I was afraid that my notes were inadequate and that I wouldn't be able to force the words out of my head and onto the paper. I sat, staring for a brief moment at the blinking cursor, impatiently urging me to write something. I started to type. It was rough at first, but the words did come. And they weren't half bad.

After my teacher read them, she made sure I wanted to do this for the rest of my life. I confidently answered yes. I'm glad those words were in me, that confidence was in me, that passion is in me. This was the kind of reassurance I needed to give me the motivation to power through this year. I was losing faith in my ability to do much of anything. Today, I tasted a little of my old fervor.

Now I'm excited for the future. Temporarily, at least. =]

Aug 13, 2009

Summer Goals Revisited

As today marks the Open House for my Senior year, I figure now's an appropriate time to evaluate myself on my summer goals, which are here.

1. Read. This was generally a fail. I only read two books all summer, one the required reading project and "When You Are Engulfed in Flames" by David Sedaris (which I recommend). Both were enjoyable, but I wish I'd been able to get to the library more.

2. Get my license. Another fail, but not completely. I've made much improvement in my driving and drove a lot this summer, more than I've driven previously. I should be able to get my license fairly soon if I keep it up.

3. Exercise. Yet another fail, and there's no redeeming points on this one. Just fail.

4. Room clean. Semi-win. I did alright. It's never going to be effortlessly perfectly beautiful, but it's not that bad. It's been that way for a few weeks. Still not a complete success.

5. Be more social. Semi-win. I did a few things, but not much.

Well, in conclusion, I didn't complete anything I want to this summer. Yet, I'm not really all that discouraged. Maybe I'm growing apathetic to failure on my self-made goals, which is probably not good. I would make a goal to work on that, but that seems a little counter-productive.

I think I'll take a new approach to this fall and see how it goes.

Aug 12, 2009

"If I could write a letter to me...

and send it back in time to myself at seventeen..."

What would it say?

Brad Paisley already knows because he's 40something and successful and has plenty of evidence to reassure his young self.

What would reassure me? After all, I'm seventeen and in need of some reassurance. So if I got a letter tomorrow from my adult self, what words would I want to hear?

I would want to hear, first and foremost, that everything worked out decently and I'm not living at home with my parents. I want to know I got into college and got a job I like or love, and am not struggling to merely survive. My worst fear in all the world is being a failure, in my own eyes and the eyes of the rest of the world. I don't want to wake up when I'm 40, hating my life, myself, and everything else. I'm afraid I'm already on a road that's leading in that direction and I'm only seventeen years old.

Second, I'd like to hear that I didn't really waste my youth like I'm always convinced I'm doing. My fatal flaw is that I criticize myself constantly but never take any real action. I want reassurance that one day I do take action.

"Have no fear, these are nowhere near the best years of your life..." sings Mr. Millionaire Brad Paisley. I hope he's right, though. I truly hope these are nowhere near the best years of my life. I know there's no letter coming in the mail telling me it all worked out. I know it's up to me to make sure it works out.

But a letter wouldn't hurt...

Aug 4, 2009

You would not believe your eyes...

if ten million fireflies lit up the world as I fell asleep, cause they'd fill the open air and leave teardrops everywhere. You'd think me rude but I'd just stand and stare.
(Stolen from Owl City...)

Fireflies are so cool. What other living thing can light up? (Okay, there's probably some obscure creature I'm not aware of, but let's ignore that for the sake of my musings.)

I always liked sitting on the deck and watch them put on a show in my backyard. They light up the edge of the woods, making it look all Christmas in July. It's so simple and pretty.

More fun than watching them is catching them, however. I spent many nights catching them at my grandma's house and temporarily imprisoning them. Imprisonment for being pretty? That kinda sucks. I remember my cousin and I forgot to poke holes in the jar once and they all died and we felt horribly guilty. We had a firefly funeral and everything.

At bible school this summer, one of the mascots of the day was a firefly. When the preacher asked all the little kids if they'd ever seen fireflies, their little faces lit up like the bugs in question. They must've been remembering all the nights like the ones I was just thinking of. One of the other teachers corrected the preacher, "we call them lightning bugs around here." I guess she was right; that seems to be the regional term. But I much prefer the term firefly. It just sounds prettier, cooler (haha cooler, fire!) and does the little creature more justice.

On a blog I read, the post mentioned catching fireflies. One of the commenters remarked that she lived on the West Coast and had never seen real fireflies. I'd never thought about that before. I kind of assumed they were just everywhere, but apparently not. Which does make more sense. I never really consider the benefits of living the country very much, but I finally found one in my firefly-filled backyard.

Imagine if you just visiting the East Coast or something and nobody ever told you about fireflies and all the sudden little balls of light come flying out of the grass around you. How would you react to that? I imagine I might jump a little. I sort of wish I hadn't grown up taking the bugs for granted just to experience that small moment of wonder.

I'm not one to talk about miracles and the splendor of nature and all that kind of thing, but I have to be a little sentimental when I see those little buggers zooming around the yard. I just need to find me a mason jar with a lid and a companion willing to go bug hunting with me. =]

Aug 3, 2009

Singing to Turn Back the Time

Sometimes, songs are like mini-time machines.

When I, as most people do, hear certain songs, it instantly zips me back in time. I experienced this very vividly last night.

As usual, I couldn't sleep, so I turned to my trusty ipod to entertain my restless brain until it decided to let me sleep. The first song that came pouring from the headphones to flood my weary head was "I'm Still Breathing" by Katy Perry. Instantly, it was last summer, and I was lying in approximately the same position in my bed, but my headphones were plugged up to side of my cd player.

I'd just spent the day with my dad and grandmother in her town, shopping. It had been an above-average day. It had been a long time since the three of us, a multigenerational group, had been together without the pressures of the rest of the family. These two are perhaps my two favorite people in the world, and if you add them up, you get roughly myself. We laughed and had more fun in a Sam's, a pool store, and a furniture place than anybody ever should. At the furniture store, a distant acquaintance of my grandma's attacked us, desperate for a sale. Dad and I laughed, sipping on the free Cokes in glass bottles that you get upon entering the store, as Grandma tried to keep the persistent sales lady at bay.

At Sam's, we impulsively purchased a gigantic jar of pickles that still remains in our fridge. Mom gawked at it for weeks, cursing our sillyness and love of pickles.

At Target, we inconvenienced the sales people to the point where we thought we'd have to make a great escape before they tied us up in the back with packing tape and price stickers and leave us for dead because Grandma tried on every knee brace in the store, leaving a trail of open packages and frustrated employees in her wake. She didn't even buy one. One girl ran the length of the store in pursuit of a tape measure that turned out unnecessary. We only found this abundantly funny, but she probably didn't.

After that long day of shopping and bonding, I couldn't sleep when I got home. Eager to listen to the new CD I'd gotten at Target, I popped it into my CD player since I didn't want to go through the trouble of turning on my computer to put it on my ipod. I used the headphones as not to awake the rest of the household.

Now every time I hear any Katy Perry song, I remember that day with my grandma and father. The events that took place probably seem mundane to anyone else, but to me it meant a lot. I'm glad I have this sort of mental soundtrack to take me back whenever I wish to relive it.