Dear Santa...

... (if you exist),

I have been a good girl this year (relatively) and would like the following items for Christmas. If you can't afford them on a missionary's salary, that's okay.

• Passion, inspiration, courage
• An A in Advanced Shakespeare (I got it)
• A MacBook (if you're even thinking about it, you probably should talk to me)
  
• Photoshop (to go with the new MacBook...again with the talk to me)
• A New Bible (one that doesn't have cartoons named Jericho Joe and audacious multi-colored pages with titles like "Sex," "School," and "Dating" across the top)
• New Bible would preferably have the word "Study" in it somewhere on the cover.
• a book light
• A Nintendo Wii (if it so happens that the Brotherito and I aren't able to get one before then)
• A sense of style
• A calendar
• Harry Potters 1-3 DVD (Special Editions)
• Animaniacs Season 2 on DVD
• Pinky and the Brain Seasons 1 and 2 on DVD
• my two front teeth
  

At the End of All Things

Can it be possible that I still have a desire to write after the night I just had? I suppose it is, for here I sit, my butt in the same chair it's been in since 11pm last night (with a few breaks, of course). Every part of my body aches a little, especially my fingers and my eyes. I could do with some sleep right about now. I don't want to though, because I know that if I do I might not wake up in time to get to class and turn in this paper. That would be disastrous, and I don't want to risk it.

Last week I looked at my to do list wondering if it would all get done. I can say with confidence that if God didn't come in and bail me out, I probably wouldn't have made it with my sanity intact. There was just too much to do. Better time management throughout the semester and especially this past weekend (I'm still trying to figure out why I read Equus Friday night instead of Doctor Faustus) would have alleviated some of the stress I've felt in the last 48 hours. But that is all a part of the learning experience. That's probably why I'm in college. Anyway, I'm beginning to think that me writing when my brain feels like mush is probably a bad idea. So, I'm going to go now. Hunt down some food maybe. Mmmmm...food.

Oh, and I feel like I need to vomit. Perhaps its from staying up all night.

Assignment 8 Again

Here's the final product. I might go in and make minor changes later, but that's basically it.


I have one more day of classes and one final exam, and then I'm done. I really can't wait. This week has sucked to say the least. Anyway, off to write a paper.

(See an earlier version here)

Photoshop Assignment 8

This was basically created completely in Photoshop. By that I mean, all of the elements of the image were alone, and I just put them together. I don't think it's quite done yet, but I think I'm pretty close.

I would keep working, but I'm very tired and quite ready to do something else. I'm sick of messing with shadows...

To Do:

1. Write and revise Ten Minute Play. Due Thursday, 11/30
2. Write Folklore Collection Project Report, ~10 pages. DueTuesday, 12/5
3. Write Advanced Shakespeare Research Paper, 8-10 pages. Due Thursday, 12/7, 12:30 AM
- chose and read a play by a Shakespeare contemporary
- create thesis
- reread Shakespeare play
- write paper
4. Study for Folklore 2nd Half Semester Exam. Thursday, 12/7, 3:35 PM
Okay, this requires some explanation. We got into class today, and my professor went over what would be on the final, then we watched a thing about zydeco music, then he handed out slips of paper with our grades to date and projected grades based on our past performance. Then he said that if we were satisfied with the projected final grade, we didn't have to take the exam on Thursday. Since my projected grade was a 92% assuming that the grade I will receive on my Collection Project Report is a B- (which I think is a bit low), I decided not to take the final! Yay! One less thing to worry about in the next 48 hours! If that didn't make any sense...I'm sorry, I haven't really slept much in the last day.

5. Complete Photoshop Projects 8, 9 & 10; ~15 hours of work. Due Wednesday, 12/13.
6. Study for Advance Shakespeare Final Exam. Thursday, 12/14, 3:00-5:00 PM

More for my benefit than anyone else's. But you could pray. Pray hard.

Disappointed Again

Well, it's been a strange day for me. The Brotherito and I sat in line for roughly 4.5 hours for the Wii, only to find out that Gamestop only had ten Wiis. We were number seventeen. I vaguely remember drifting off to sleep as the light began filtering through my blinds.

Needless to say, I was quite disappointed. We bought an extra controller (because they are selling out as fast as the actual consoles) and The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess on Wednesday and they have been sitting on the counter taunting us since then. So, we will have to resort to calling local stores daily to find out if they have Wiis in. As long as we get one before Christmas break...

Camping for the Wii

Well, it's about 1 AM, and the Brotherito and I are getting ready to leave for Gamestop where we will sit for 6 hours in hopes of purchasing a Nintendo Wii at 7 AM. Gosh, we're dorks.

Thoughts on Dorm Life

I was looking at some pictures on Facebook a few minutes ago (a little stalkerish? I think so!) and saw pictures of freshman from my Community Group hanging out together on Landis Green. I couldn't help but wonder if my college career would have been different. I was in a Bible Study my freshman year, but I never really bonded with any of them. Some would later become good friends, but the majority are people who I nod to when I see them. I know their names, and that is all. I second guess myself. Should I have done something different? Would it have changed everything if I had lived in the same building as some of those people? Would I live in Bradford Oaks with the rest of the people in Crusade, or would I still be living at where I live?

It's hard to say, and I think it is in my nature to lament the choices of my past. I've always been one to exist on the edge of the crowd, watching from a distance as the people in the middle go about their lives. I am the outsider. That one person who everyone is aware of when present, but does not notice when they are gone.

I'm going to stop second guessing myself. It's not healthy, and it really doesn't change anything. But I would still like to know what would be different.

Home Alone

My roommate is out of town for the weekend, and I have been taking advantage of this reality by spending as much time awake with all the lights on late at night, playing music as loud as my tired old computer can muster, and spinning in my desk chair until I'm so dizzy that I fall off. I am of course not home alone, since that only happens over Christmas and Thanksgiving in a house of seventeen people. But I get a room to myself which is generally a luxury only afforded to the head resident and the most heinous of roommates (they drive away the other occupants). I have to say, I can't wait until this is a permanent fixture in my life, having my own room. That's not to say that my roommate is bad, she just sleeps at 10:30, and I sleep no less than 4 hours later.

This was Homecoming Weekend here at FSU, and I meant to go to the game since it would be my last ever as a student. I didn't wake up until 15 minutes after kickoff, so I ended up staying home and watching a movie on TV instead. Not really a huge deal, to be honest. As much fun as watching our atrocious football team play is, I think I'd rather just be at home. In other news, Jeff Bowden resigned. The future of FSU Football is saved! I heard about it in class on Thursday evening and everyone [that cares about football] was talking excitedly, speculating about how much of a change that would make. Whoever we get, he can't be worse than the lesser Bowden.

This coming Tuesday we have one of our "Grads Made Good" coming into my playwriting class to talk to us about writing for television. I can't remember his name right now, but apparently he was a staff writer for such illustrious shows as "Xena: Warrior Princess" and "Sheena". I wonder if every show he writes for rhymes. Half of me is really excited about this, getting to pick the brain of someone who has actually made it in the theatrical arts. The other half would much rather be able to leave for Thanksgiving break on Monday afternoon, instead of Tuesday evening. Oh well, I guess the upside is that I get to pick up the Brotherito on the way through Gainesville and talk about how excited we are about the new Nintendo Wii.

We're hoping to order the Wii on Amazon, because I have a Crusade thing tonight, and Keith is studying (and he doesn't want to go camp out because if he gets it, he won't study). So we're crossing our fingers and hoping for a quick internet speeds on UFs campus around midnight. Oh, the suspense. If we do get it, Tuesday evening will be spent playing either Wii Sports or The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. Kind of a silly name for a game, but well, I think I'll get over it.

Anyway, if I don't post again before Thursday, Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

It's That Time Of Year Again!

About the same time each semester I reach a point where I get really tired. It all ends up hitting me at once, and I get really irritable and feel the need to just get away from my house, away from campus.

So for the first time ever, here's a list.
I'm tired of:
1. Sharing a room
2. Living on campus
3. Living with 16 other women
4. Homework
5. Pompous professors
6. Not having a Tuesday evening to speak of
7. Not having a Wednesday evening to speak of
8. Grocery shopping for 17
9. Alarm clocks
10. My cell phone
11. Not getting real hugs
12. Not having a piano

This is an incomplete list. Will continue later. Maybe. Actually, probably not.

StoryCorp

I've always loved stories. When I was little I read all the time because I wanted to hear the stories. My love of stories has stayed with me, which is probably why I ended up an English and Theatre major. Anyway, I found this website linked on another blog that I read fairly frequently, and I absolutely love it.

The sight basically has a short clips of longer interviews of people who have stories. They're quick, compact, and 90% of the time, quite entertaining. So anyway, if you like stories, you should check it out. Happy listening!

Darkness

I've been going and playing tennis with a friend at a park not too far from campus. We always end up there at night, because, well, we're college students. The courts are lit, but the floodlights don't drown out the darkness. When we're within the confines of the fenced courts it feels safe; the world can't get to us, there's chain link fences and green mesh, a veritable shield from outside danger. It wasn't creepy going there when we played inside the fence, under the lights. More recently we've been going and hitting on the practice wall, because let's face it, I'm not very good at tennis. The practice wall is not within the fence, but next to it. It is only half illuminated by the lights, enough to play by, but not enough to feel safe. There's no fence either. Having no ball control and an absolutely horrid backhand, I find myself venturing beyond the practice wall and into the increasing darkness of the area behind it. It's a park, so it is relatively open, but there are trees and shadows. Lots and lots of shadows.

The first time I went back there I was creeped out. A lot. More than a lot. I walked slowly, turning my head from side to side, my tennis racket firmly gripped in my right hand. I don't know what I was looking for, something to jump out of the shadows maybe; an errant pet, a homeless person. I moved quickly, looking down only to pick up a ball. The second time I went back there I was still cautious, I loosed my grip on the racket, and I turned my head looking for fuzzy green balls and not something that might kill me. With each subsequent trip to the back side of the wall I became more and more comfortable. I quit looking so hard, I began toying with my racket as I walked. I didn't dread the trips back there so much.

More From Photoshop Class

I just got my portfolio back from Photoshop class, and I did just fine (no surprise, the prof is really laid back). Anyway, I thought I'd share my latest completed project. This took 3-4 (including the time I spent online finding images) hours start to finish.


This is a concept page for a ten-minute play called "Clara's Husbands," which is a humorous take on a woman who can't really decide what she wants in a man. Anyway, I had a good time doing this project. It was basically a lot of layering image upon image with varying opacity.

Anyway, now we're working on photo restoration. He had us print a photo of ourselves, tear it into six pieces, and scan it back into the computer. We get to fix it in Photoshop. I started a little, but it's turning out to be much more time consuming than I anticipated. There is a lot of very detailed work that I'm not really used to doing. Anyway, I'll put it up when I get done with it.

I Think

I think I might love writing. Not poetry, because half the time it doesn't make sense. But prose. It goes all the way across the page. It is a complete thought. You can talk and describe and write like you would speak.

I think I might love writing.

Library Books

I love getting books from the library to read just for fun. As a college student in general, and an English major specifically, reading for fun isn't something I get to do very often. At about this time every year, I get tired of being told what to read, and I make a rebellious trip to the stacks on the fifth floor of Strozier Library and pick something. When I'm feeling extra rebellious, I hide in the Goldstein Library (Children's Literature) and forget that I'm a college student at all.

So the reading for fun bug hit me this year and I picked up Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak. I'm really enjoying it. I loved the movie when I saw it again last year, and I wanted to read it, because as anyone can tell you, the book is always better. I love his words and images. In the first eighty or so pages, there have been at least five times when I've stopped and thought, "Wow, that was a really amazing line." I'm only about a fifth of the way through it, but so far, it's delicious.

I was flipping through the pages idly the other night when I noticed writing. Faint pencil marks crammed into the margins expressing the thought of someone long ago. The book has been in the library for more than 25 years, and I can't help but wonder what the other people that read it were thinking. Someone scribbled a poem in the back of the book. I don't know who wrote it. Maybe it's another Pasternak poem that the editors neglected to include, or maybe it's an original that the poet wanted read by someone else, whether it was published or not. Maybe it's a pastiche of Pasternak poem. But I can't help wondering.

That's why I love library books. They are shared. They've touched someone else's hands and been dropped as the reader drifted off to sleep, shoved in a backpack next to a textbook that has seen far less wear, chosen over assigned reading. I like books. I think they all have their own story.

The Anxiety Never Stops

I got the results from my Folklore midterm back, and I did just fine. Yay. I'm no longer worried about that class too much. I know that with a fair amount of studying, I can do well on the tests. Plus I have an idea of how he grades things in general.

Current source of panic/anxiety: Advanced Shakespeare.

An Update Concerning the Previous

Well, it's been a week since my midterm, and I think I've gotten far enough away to talk about it now. I sat down and looked at the paper, and thought, "I'm gonna be okay."

I was right, until I hit the essay. I had no idea how to answer either of the options. I didn't realized that we were supposed to study a few people in depth (neither did anyone else), so I basically made something up. It was basically incoherent. Perhaps the worst bit of writing I've done since my Freshman year of high school. I think I did get some extra credit, though, so I'm hoping for at least a B. We'll see.

On a totally different note, we had our 2nd Annual Thanksgiving in October on Monday. I spent most of Sunday and half of Monday cooking and I've come to a couple of conclusions:

1. I'm never cooking a Thanksgiving dinner alone again.
2. Cooking a turkey isn't any easier the second time around.
3. Rolls -1 cup of water do not rise.
4. Southerners don't stuff their turkey, or use apples, or have mashed potatoes.

That is all.

I'm Going to Fail, That's All There Is To It

I'm sitting in Panera right now studying for my first exam in many years in which most of the content must be memorized. I'm an English major, see, and we don't memorize things. We analyze. We remember details about books, plot points, images, motifs, etc. We don't memorize things. Ever. But that's what this professor wants. Rote memorization. I really don't remember how to do this stuff. I need to know who wrote what in what year (for example, Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm wrote Kinder und Hausmarchen in 1812 (1st Vol) & 1815(2nd Vol)). How am I supposed to remember that? I think it's time to bust out the flash cards.

Zoomed Out and Blurry

When we were in Virginia a few years ago, I took my dad's Canon A-1 with me. It's beautiful where I grew up, and I wanted to capture it. The front yard. The view of the house from the front gate. I especially wanted pictures of Draper's Valley Presbyterian Church. We didn't go there when I was a little, but every once in a while we'd find ourselves going up through a gap in the hills and into Draper's Valley. You turn a corner and hit the crest of a hill and spread out before you is a green valley, with a church steeple nestled among trees at the bottom of the hill. It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. So I took the camera with me to try and capture it on film. I stood out next to the family van snapping picture after picture. When we finally got them developed, I was disappointed. They were zoomed out too far and a little fuzzy. I ignored one of the main rules from Photography class my freshman or sophomore year of high school: always have a focal point. Don't just take some random picture, there needs to be something to look at. Apparently green rolling hills weren't enough.

I don't know what made me think of that picture, but whatever the case, I couldn't help but draw an analogy between that photograph and my life (here's where it becomes apparent why I'm an English major). The picture is my life. You can tell that the subject has the potential to be beautiful. There's some pretty cool stuff in it. There's that church, and some farm houses in the distance. There's cows and sheep and rocks and a cemetery. It would all make for a really nice picture if I got close enough to really look at it, to focus on it. I tend to bounce around, I'm never focused on one thing long enough to make it something in which I excel. I play piano and guitar, but only just well enough to know that I'm not really that good. I'm mediocre at sports (better than the girliest of girls, but so hopelessly out of shape that I could never be really good). I write fairly well, but the odds of making it as a writer are lower than the odds of getting a speaking part in a feature film. There are all these things that are there in front of me, but I can't focus on any of them and make them a subject for this picture. Instead it's way too zoomed out and a little bit blurry.

Walrulopes and Tiger Chicken

More Photoshop Assignments posted for your enjoyment.

The greatly feared, but rarely seen Tiger Chicken. I'm really not quite satisfied with it, but I got tired of messing with it. I'll probably end up going in again and working on it some more. The stripes are particularly frustrating, since they are not actually black, and I can't get the eyedropper tool to pick up the correct color, as it is in fact several colors.

The docile Walrulope. It has difficulty eating, since it's tusks tend to get in the way when it tries to graze, which is why they are all but extinct. Again, not quite satisfied with it. The tusks and whiskers of the walrus head look a bit digital, but they are significantly better than they were before. I do like the ears and the horns. I had to move the one on the right and cover the natural horn, which is why that area might look a little dodgy.

Anyway, that's that. This was two class periods of work (probably around 5.5-6 hours). Time consuming, but fun.

Outside of schoolwork, I've been good. I got sick last Thursday, and spent all of Cru Fall Getaway sniffling and coughing, but I'm almost fully recovered now, just a little coughing every now and then. Anyway, I still had a blast at getaway. I'm not back into the swing of things though. I skipped class for the first time this semester. Tennis. We were learning the backswing, but I'll learn eventually.

I'm trying to catch up on all the stuff I missed from being out of town this weekend. The house had Fall Cleaning and a house meeting on Saturday, so I have to clean before Wednesday night, lest I be fined. Apparently everyone is not happy with my roommate and I in our BM choices, so we've been trying to work all of that out this week. It's all good though, when it comes to food, you can't make seventeen people happy simultaneously. We do have room to improve though, so it's just more work to do.

Anyway, I have to get cleaning, because on top of homework, house responsibilities, being tired, I have Bible Study tonight.

The Finished Product

Well, it's 3 am, and I'm finally finished. I'm pretty happy with the finished product. I'd love to hear what everyone else thinks.

I really ended up liking the bottom right as well. I saw the photo of the orchid online and thought it would be cool to try and morph someone's face into it.

Photoshop Fun

I'm sitting in the School of Theatre Computer Lab right now, taking a break from my Photoshop homework. I have to say, I'm really loving this class. I can't remember the last time that I spent more than two hours doing homework for one assignment and truly enjoyed it. I'm tired, and my eyes are starting to bug out a little bit, but really, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else at this point in time. Well, maybe bed, but I wish I was there all the time, so I don't think that counts.

Anyway, I thought since I'm here, and working, I might as well show you what I've been doing.

The writing on the bottom left reads, "I never thought I'd land in pictures with a face like mine". It's a quote by Audrey Hepburn as found on IMDB. It's funny to think that a woman who was considered (and still is) among the most beautiful in the world would have a problem with her self image. But enough waxing philosophical. Here's that frame a little bigger:



Anyway, I think that corner is the one I'm the most proud of. I like all those pictures from various films and stages in her life, and I like how I put them in the sections of her umbrella. It took me about an hour to do that, which is probably a bit much, because it really wasn't that hard, but a good bit of that hour was spent trying to remember how to do stuff, as well as fiddling around with various filters and such.

But now I have a bit of a dilemma, because I have no idea what to do with the fourth picture. They all have to be changed/distorted in some way, and I'm fresh out of ideas. Anyway, I'm sure I'll figure something out.

Anyway, I hope you liked looking at my homework. I'm sure I'll post more of my assignments as they come.

A Dream Differed

For a long time I wanted to be a photographer. I pictured myself jetting around the world doing exciting things in dangerous places. Taking pictures of people that the whole world would see. I would flip through the pages of National Geographic, looking at the images of animals, a tribe in the Sahara Desert, a funeral in Bosnia. I wanted to take those pictures someday. I would look at a subject and see an amazing photograph waiting to be taken. When I finally got a camera into my hands, the amazing picture that was in my head somehow got lost in the lens of my Dad's old Canon A-1. No matter how much I wanted those images to make it to the film, it never quite got there. I would be zoomed in too much, or not enough, or it would be only just out of focus.

I realized fairly quickly that photography was not for me. I didn't understand enough about the sunlight, f-stops and apertures. It never looked quite right.

I've been thinking about getting a camera. A point and shoot digital, something I can drop in my pocket and take along for the ride. Then again I want to have control. I want that flower to be out of focus, dang it. I can't do that with a point and shoot. But if I ever got a camera where I had to do more than that, the pictures in my head would never make it to the film, or pixels, however those things work. It's not like I have the money to throw away on a camera anyway.

It would be nice though, to be able to get that image on to film or pixel. If only I had the patience to learn.

Some Thoughts

I was doing laundry at the house today for the first time this semester. I must pause and say that, yes, I have done laundry more than once in the last month, its just that the other time was at home in Orlando, so I am not a completely vile and smelly beast...not because of my clothes at least. Anyway, I switched to liquid detergent from powder, and in the process changed scents. I smell like some type of bubble gum, or perhaps candy. Whatever the case, it's nice, but a little weird. At this point in time, the change to liquid is a good thing. My only fear is that I'll walk into class one day, or perhaps a meeting for Crusade, and someone will brush past me, stop and say, "Wow, you smell like bubble gum, or some kind of candy!"

And now for something completely different...
Within the next week I should begin my foray into the world of Discipleship as a discipler instead of disciplee. The be honest, I'm scared out of my mind. Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 11:1 to "Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ."I was reading 1 Corinthians for part of last semester and into the summer, and that one verse in particular stuck in my brain. Imagine the relationship that Paul must have had with God to be able to confidently admonish Christians to follow his example. I can say with equal confidence that I would be a fool to tell someone to follow my example. For one thing, it took me four months to read 1 Corinthians, all sixteen chapters of it. It seems arrogant to try to lead someone when I know that my own walk with Christ is a faint shadow of what it should be. How can I encourage someone to sit in the shadow of my tower of Biblical knowledge and wisdom when the reality is that the tower is leaning, liable to topple at the pressure of a light wind.

So...I'm scared. And I smell like bubble gum.

Greetings from the Blogging Delinquent

I've been a bit of a blogging delinquent lately. But since I am a college student, I will use the all too frequent excuse of: I'm busy and perpetually tired. The problem with that is it is only partially true. This being the weekend, I've found myself being the most sluggish and lazy person for the last two days. I don't have classes on Fridays, see, so I end up doing nothing despite all intentions of getting something done, like the reading I should be doing for Folklore, and the writing I should be doing for Playwriting. So for the last 48 hours or so I have been neither busy nor tired (although I probably should have been busy).

So today, I sat around and played with my guitar and looked up new songs to learn. I rediscovered my love for the Goo Goo Dolls, and found out that Eric Clapton is probably a little out of my league musically. No surprise there. I haven't really touched my guitar that much for the last two or three weeks, only a few moments here and there, and today was the first time I really tried anything new. My fingers hurt because my callouses have peeled off and I spent half the day working on getting them back.

I started a notebook of guitar music. Now that I have my own printer it's finally practical. No paper rationing here. I'll slowly add songs as I look them up, printing them out instead of closing them for another time. Eventually the little folder that I have now will be replaced by something larger and more impressive. Hopefully the binder will be full of things which are difficult, the kind that make people stare at you when you play because it's so amazing. As of right now that is certainly not the case, except for Eric Clapton's "Classical Gas," but I can't play that yet.

Anyway, I'll try to update more. I'm supposed to be writing every day anyway, so why not make some of it public?

The Move

Tonight is a momentous occasion. I've gone through this three times already, and hopefully this will be my last. My brother, however, is doing it for the first time, the move from home to dorm.

It is strange to know that when I go home for the weekends he won't always be here. Sometimes I'll pick him up on my way home, swing through Gainesville, fight the traffic on Archer and spend the next two hours catching up, or maybe sleeping.

We're already planning our first weekend home. Labor Day weekend. The first long weekend of the school year, as well as the weekend of my 21st birthday.

Weird. That's all I can say. The weirdest thing is, it won't effect me that much. I've already been out of the house for three years, and him not being home on the weekends really isn't that odd. He was always busy, or asleep, or I was asleep.

I think about my parents, coming home tomorrow night to an empty nest, their youngest child off to college for this first time. It'll be quiet around the house. The little bro and I are always making noise. Banging out poor improvisations to "Heart and Soul" on the piano, the sound reverberating of the wood floors. Having tickle fights in which I'm squealing and him laughing at me. Stereos playing Jamie Cullum and Metallica (his, not mine). Quiet.

We're leaving at the crack of dawn tomorrow, and I'm not done packing. I've done it so many times that I basically know what needs to go. I'll be back in two weeks anyway, so it's really not that big of a deal if I forget something. Anyway, enough of being philosophical, back to packing.

Back in the USA

My family returned today from our two week excursion in Canada. For once I was thankful for an early arrival at the airport, although I did not realize how thankful until we got home and watched the evening news. We heard on the radio before crossing the border back into the States that there a terrorist plot had been foiled in the UK, and as a result there was heightened security around the globe, and especially in American airports. By the time we reached Buffalo International Airport around 7am the lines at the security check points were already stacking up. Paper signs informed us multiple times that liquids and gels would not be allowed in carry-on luggage. We got through security unscathed. The woman in front of me failed to heed the warnings posted on every wall and looked on as bottle after bottle of nail polish and assorted cosmetics were thrown unceremoniously into the garbage by the TSA man.

When we landed in Atlanta, a glance at the Arrival/Departure boards hinted at the state of things outside our small bubble of care. Delays up and down the boards, and cancellations of flights from the UK. Our flights were not actually effected, and we arrived on time in Orlando. The evening news several hours later gave us a glimpse of what we'd missed.

At the end of this rather strange day--traveling is weird enough without the immediate threat of terrorists with Gatorade bottles--I am exceedingly thankful to be home after two weeks in Canada. I had a good time, but I'm happy to have my own bed again, and a night of sleep uninterrupted by snoring.

That's It...

...I'm leaving the country. No seriously, I'm leaving. I'll be in Canada for two weeks. If something earth shattering happens and you absolutely must get in touch with me, you're out of luck...I'm sorry. You could try e-mailing me (laura.copenhaver@gmail.com), but I'm not making any promises.

I will be:
-watching the cousin tie the knot in Mississauga (harder to spell than Mississippi)
-road tripping it out to the east coast (Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island) with the parents and the brother-ito. Yeah, I'm pretty stoked. Oh, and hurray for iPods and laptops and Animaniacs and books
-chilling in Mississauga/Toronto with the cousins and visiting friends of my parents (and support raising).

I return to the good old U.S. of A on August 10, eh!

The Kids Will Play

My parents have been out of town for the week, so I thought I'd post some pictures to give you an idea of just how messy the house (kitchen) gets when my mom isn't around. It's really not that bad, but well, let's just say that one pan has been there for a few days...

The kitchen...not too bad. But then again, we've been eating frozen pizza's for the last two days. At least the pizza boxes aren't there anymore.

When Mom is away...we don't use silverware. Or plates.

Kitchen table. Confession: the lasagne dish was a plant, it's actually been on the island all week long.

I think this dish thingy ended up in the sink sometime after I told the sqiurt to clean up the kitchen. That was Tuesday. Today is Friday. Maybe that's where the weird smell is coming from.

So, that's what the kitchen looks like. I have actually cleaned the kitchen this week, on Sunday I think. But hey, that's what Friday evenings and Saturday afternoons are for, right?

The Long Summer Hours

Sorry I haven't updated this blog recently. My life for the past month or so has been pretty boring, so there has been little inspiration to write. I go to work every day and do the same things that I did the day before, which quite frankly is mind numbingly boring to experience, let alone write about. Thus there hasn't been much to write about. I beat "The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker" for the first time and am currently working on the second time. There really is no rhyme or reason why, other than I am bored, and it is easier to stay awake until bedtime playing the GameCube than reading or watching TV. I'm beginning to think that I should really get out of the house more in the evenings. Maybe I should go find a coffee shop that has a big comfortable chair and read there where the caffeine is in the air. I promise that was not intended to rhyme, it just turned out that way, okay. Alright, that was intended to rhyme. I think it's about time. I read a book about Gabriel Syme. I like to eat lime. I need to find a way to pass the time. Maybe I'll learn to be a mime. I'm stopping now, because, well, that's a little embarrassing.

I haven't done as much reading as I would have liked. The long days at the office staring at a computer screen gets to me after a while, so I'm disinclined to spend my evenings staring at small print. That and I like playing Nintendo. I'm still reading A Bridge Too Far by Cornelius Ryan. It's interesting, but sometimes I just want a plot. George Orwell's 1984 has been sitting on my nightstand just waiting to be read, but I don't like reading more than one book at a time. But I'm less than half way through A Bridge Too Far and I'm craving a solid plot line and a limited number of characters. A Bridge Too Far is interesting, but it jumps around a lot between the various companies as they advance on Arnhem and the surrounding towns. I might set it aside for a while and read some fiction then come back to it. I don't know how many times the library will let me renew it though. It's fun hauling around a book like that though, it definitely gets some weird looks. "It's about Operation Market-Garden," I say. Most of the time I get a blank stare. It's all good though.

Reading A Bridge Too Far has brought to my attention the fact that I don't think I would mind being a history teacher. Sometimes history can be so fascinating, thinking about the causes and effects of wars and thinking about the people that fought in them. In high school the readings Mr. Rowland gave us always piled up in my room, unread and collecting dust, only to find their way to a trash can later. But now I wish I had actually read some of them. I'm sure I would have done better in the class, but perhaps more importantly, I actually would have learned something and realized that I liked history before going off and getting a degree in something else.

Summer Reading

Do you remember in high school when you would get a list of books from your next English teacher detailing what your assignment was for the summer? I do. Most of the time the dreaded piece of paper was met with a groan. I would say to my friends, "We work hard all year, why do they have to give us homework for the summer?" Now that I'm out of high school and into college, a land barren of summer reading, I find that I miss that sheet of paper. I can imagine the incredulous looks that are crossing your faces. What? Misses summer reading? How can that be? But it's true. In the back of my notebook, there is an ever growing list of books I want to read, and I miss having someone tell me which ones I must read.

I was on the library website a few moments ago search for books that I've wanted to read. I was about to order three more when I realized I have two books on my night stand that are still unread. So I resisted the urge to click the "Request Home Delivery" button (thank heavens for the Orange County Library System which lets me check out books without having to actually go to the library). When I've whittled away at the pile of books, I'll order another one. I really can't wait.

Laura's List of Books to Read (in no particular order):

• The Great Raid on Cabanatuan - William B. Breuer
• Doctor Zhivago - Boris Pasternak
• The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson (I think I'm will sit on that one for a while, having been up to my eyeballs in the 19th Century literature for the last semester)
• Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson (see parenthetical note on previous)
• The Princess Bride - William Goldman
• 1984 - George Orwell
• Cold Mountain - Charles Frazier
• A Bridge Too Far - Cornelius Ryan (already ordered from the library)
• Follow the River - James Alexander Thorn
• A Farewell to Arms - Ernest Hemingway
• The Red Badge of Courage - Stephen Crane
• Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury
• Something Wicked This Way Comes - Ray Bradbury
• The Little House Books (nine titles in all) - Laura Ingles Wilder (childhood favorites)
• Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen (see parenthetical note for Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde)
• Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
• Les Miserable - Victor Hugo (okay, this has been on my reading list for more than five years. . .I think I've finally decided to give in and read the abridged version, although I am generally against that)
• To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
• Running in the Family - Michael Ondaatjee
• The English Patient - Michael Ondaatjee
  

I'll probably keep adding to this list as the summer progresses.
If there are any books you think I should add to this list, let me know. . .I'm always looking for a good read.

The books I've read this summer:

• Little House in the Big Woods - Laura Ingles Wilder
• Little House on the Prairie - Laura Ingles Wilder
• The DaVinci Code: A Quest for Answers - Josh McDowell
• Ghost Soldiers - Hampton Sides (a great read if you're interested in WWII and Philippine history)
• The Man Who Was Thursday - G.K. Chesterton
• Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason - Helen Fielding (an audiobook)
• The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald (on audiobook, but I'm going to actually read it at some point in time)

Question: do you think it counts as reading a book if I listen to audio books at work?

Click.

I have this daily tradition, maybe more of a habit, of clicking. During the summers it's not daily, more like. . .whenever I'm bored and avoiding something I know I should do--clean my room, go to the john, sleep at a descent hour. It usually starts with me moaning, then rolling out of bed. At school the distance from bed to desk chair is generally less than a foot, so I find myself there, shuffling things around the desk so there is room for my mouse. Then it starts.

Click.

My computer wakes up and the screen goes on. There's a picture of autumn on the desktop background. I don't see autumn anymore, a real autumn that happens from September to November and is precipitated by warm summers and succeeded by snowy winters, so I put one on the background of my laptop all year round. I have one hundred eight square inches of autumn all year round to compensate for two and a half months of autumn all 'round me.

Click. Click.

Firefox opens. While my homepage loads I scan the instant messenger box to see if my friends are awake and admitting it. I change my away message from "sleeping" to "class" or perhaps "not here," or simply "not available." Microsoft Outlook opens and I see that I have a few emails. Usually they aren't important: some article from my dad, or a fellow theatre major informing me of free theatre this weekend. I go back to Firefox and scroll down on my homepage, this very page you're reading right now. I bit narcissistic, I know. I had it on MSN for a time, but realized that my life could be better spent doing something other than looking at the latest celebrity gossip. Besides, I live with a bunch of girls, I get enough of that anyway. So I changed it to my blog. I visit it every day anyway on the off chance that someone actually posted a comment. Usually they don't. Not a biggie.

Click. Click. Click.

There are three sites that I visit every day. For Better or For Worse strip fix. Pearls Before Swine on comics.com. Homestar Runner. Every day. There's usually something new. Well, maybe not on Homestar, but I still get a kick out of the guy in lederhosen saying "Ricola" when I scroll over the "e-mail" button.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

When I have time, I hit up the blogs of various friends. I visit a few of people I've never met, and probably never will. The first I read almost religiously. He's a missionary in Amsterdam and an amazing writer. A friend of a friend referenced him in her prayer letter several months back, and I found that I loved reading it. There are blogs of several friends, in some cases the only way I keep up with what's going on in their lives aside from a phone conversation once in a blue moon.

Click.

I close the browser.

Ouch

So, I've got this ginormous zit on the side of my nose, one of those ones that just kind of sits there and hurts. I just thought I'd share that. Oh, and it hurts...a lot.

I got to be an invigilator for the IB Math exams today for UHS. That was fun...sort of. I sat there and read a book for half of it, peering over the top of the page at the students as they sat and squirmed. I looked through the exam, then realized that I don't remember half of the stuff in there. Although I didn't actually take that exam. I was in the next math up, and we didn't even study Venn diagrams. Anyway. It was fun...sort of. I talked to my senior year English teacher/IB Coordinator for an hour after the exam, which was pretty cool. Caught up, reminisced, blah blah blah.

Anyway, I'ma go now, mkay.

Floating In Puddles

Today was a day to sleep. I woke up this morning-if it was still morning-to the sound of rain battering my window. Sleep, I thought, I should just sleep. So I did for a while longer, although I knew in the back of my brain that I should have been awake and doing homework. After a while the rain stopped and I got up. It was still gloomy outside. That's okay, I thought, gloomy is nice sometimes, maybe it'll rain again later. So I got up and ate a waffle, Eggo, not homemade. The flavor didn't really sink in though, my tongue and the inside of my lip are a little scorched from drinking tea last night. I came down with a tingle in the back of my throat yesterday. So I drank tea, that always helps.

I spent the rainy day watching the telly and thinking about how I should be reading Frankenstein, and how perfect a day it is to be reading a Gothic horror novel. A while later I found myself in my bed, gazing at the work of an 18-year-old Mary Shelley, wondering if I'll ever be published. It was raining again. The heavy drops battered my window, and I fell asleep again.

I dreamed something. I don't remember what. My suitemates voices floated in and out of my consciousness, but I never woke up from my dream. I wasn't happy, that's all I know. Restless, like I had something to do. Reality seeps into dreams sometimes. I wish it wouldn't.

I woke up a while later, it was around six o'clock I think. Something hard was hitting my window. That's odd, I thought. So I listened again, and there was the hard thing hitting my window again. I popped out of bed and gazed through the wet glass at the rain and the hail bouncing off the picnic table on the patio. I ran to the front door, flung it open, and gazed at the ice falling from the sky. There was more rain than hail, and it wasn't even that large--at most the size of an average grape--but I watched just the same, a few of the pebbles hitting my bare shins as I stood in the open doorway. The rain was really coming down, so much that the small steps across the street had become an impressive waterfall. I went around to all the doors to see what each view had to offer. I saw the hail bouncing off the windshield and roof of my car. I watched it float in the massive puddle outside the back door.

Before long it stopped hailing, but the rain kept coming, so I sat at my desk and watched it. I like rainy days. When I was little I always liked when it rained hard. There was a hemlock tree in my yard that always had a deep puddle under its low branches when it rained hard. When the rain stopped and my parents let us out, my brothers and I would make paper boats and float them in the puddle. We would push them with long sticks, stepping through the puddle in our big rubber boots. We would race them until they got waterlogged and wouldn't stay upright anymore. We tried racing paper boats in the gutters with the neighbor kids on rainy summer afternoons when we moved to Orlando. It wasn't the same though.

I tried to make a paper boat the other day. I couldn't remember how.

A Little Metal Sink To Spit In

I found myself wandering through the stacks in Strozier Library today. I had to figure out who wrote the article I referenced for an essay I wrote earlier in the semester, and rewrote for our last assignment before finals week. I was in a hurry, so I asked directions from the man at the information counter. He was a veteran at the job, and new exactly where the periodicals section was. I gave him the call number and he directed me right to it. I still had to wander through the stacks a little though.

So I got up to the second floor and made a left and then a right into the periodicals section. Its amazing. Row after row of books filled with bound periodicals published ages ago. Walking past one stack, I saw the Saturday Evening Post. The clock was the only thing that prevented me from stopping and thumbing through the thick books. Images of famous Norman Rockwells popped into my head; a family at Thanksgiving Dinner, the one of the kid in the doctor's office. I want to say there was a painting of a kid in the dentist's office, but I'm not sure. Anyway, it reminded me of the Norman Rockwell I used to look at it when I was little and someone in my family had to go see Dr. Brockmeier. That's where I was the day the Pulaski County Courthouse burned down in the early 1990s, sitting in Dr. Brockmeier's waiting room looking at a copy of that Norman Rockwell. Funny the things you remember.

Dr. Brockmeier had an old style dentist office, one where there was a bowl to spit in next to the chair. No suction tube things in that place. I want to say the tile was green or maybe aqua, but that might just be me imagining things. I never got to sit in the chair, although I always wanted to. I liked the kid in the Norman Rockwell, I guess I wanted to be like him a little. I had perfect teeth when I was little, so I never got to sit in that chair and spit in the little metal sink. It looked so complicated, so high tech. Before we moved, Dr. Brockmeier retired. I think he had worked on my dad's teeth when he was a kid, so it was probably about time. I was sad though, when we went to the dentist after that. His office was new, and actually high tech, and there wasn't a little metal sink to spit in.

The Crime Fighting Team of Caramel and Macchiato

You know I have a paper due the next day when you get a new blog post from me. You know I really don't want to write the paper when you get two blog posts from me within 12 hours. You know I really really really don't want to write the paper when you get a blog post about a new crime fighting team.

It's funny, the creative juices that flow at one thirty in the morning when something is due the next day. Too bad those creative juices aren't flowing in the right direction, eh?

So I was sitting in the dining room typing away at my trusty laptop, when my roommate poked her head through the swinging door from the kitchen.
"You want some coffee?" she asked me.
"Sure," I said. It was the early hours of the morning on a day a paper is due, and the chance was growing that I would not see my bed tonight. A cup of coffee could not hurt. I capped my pen and joined my roomie in the kitchen. She was doing something nice for me, I figured I should join her.
"So what are you working on?" I asked.
"That project I told you about."
"Oh, right. How's it going?"
"Good," she said, "I'm making a pet rock now."
"Pet rock? Sweet."
So we got into a conversation, one of those conversations that seems to meander through the wrinkles of the brain, stopping at every interesting intersection to point out random bits of information. Paper towel roll binoculars, stupid cows, and coffee...sweet coffee.
"I realized that I don't really like coffee, " I said, putting down my paper towel roll telescope. "I mean, I drink Starbucks, but that's not really coffee. It's like sugar water with a little coffee flavor."
"Starbucks kind of scares me cause they say things like Venti and Macchiato," my roommate says.
"Yeah, Caramel Macchiato sounds like some kind of crime fighting team." I alter my voice to sound like some kind of crazy cartoon announcer. "Behold! The crime fighting team of Caramel and Macchiato! Ridding the world of tea one bag at time!"
We laughed. I grabbed my half-full coffee mug and teaspoon, posing in a kung-foo-esque stance. The conversation went down hill from there. All of a sudden I was six years old again, having a paper towel roll sword fight in the kitchen.

After a while we realized that even though we felt like kids, we are in fact college students who have work to do. We laid down our weapons and returned to our laptops. And now I'm procrastinating...again.

All I have to say is: "Skcubrats! I have to finish my paper! Aahhhh!"

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I Am:
1. Tired
2. Crampy (and yes, I took some Midol)
3. Battling a headache
4. Ache-y
5. Sleepy
6. Feeling like I need to vomit
7. Gas-y
8. PMS-y

I Have to:
1. Write a 2 page summary of a very long, very boring article
2. Write a 4-5 page paper that extends that very long, very boring article

I Feel:
1. Frustrated
2. Burned out
3. Lazy
4. Confused
5. Whine-y

Not a good day for me. Not a good day.

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Been busy. Haven't had a paper to write. Haven't had any inspiration to write. I'm tired of reading [boring stuff] and writing, I feel like that's all I do. Give me a math problem, please, I'd like a concrete answer for once.

Writer's Block

I've been writing a short story for my Fiction Technique class. The problem is I made it personal. Very personal if you ask me. Maybe even too personal. It's a fictionalized version of my grandmother's funeral several years ago--I don't even remember how many--and I'm trying to get it farther away from home than it is. The writing text book said not to make a character too much like yourself, well I ignored that guideline (because rules to writing are really more like guidelines), and now I'm finding myself in a huge pickle, because I don't want to write anymore on these lines. Do I dare cut out one of my brothers from the story, because that just wouldn't be nice.

So this is what I've been wrestling with, while trying to find inspiration on the Grey's Anatomy writer's blog. It's also not funny...I wanted it to be funny. And I think I finally have a theme for my story, but I don't know how to communicate it yet. Do stories have to have a theme? A moral? I'm trying to answer all of these questions and just get it over with, but it's not really working. Maybe I'll roll around on the floor and moan about how horrible my life is and it'll come to me. That actually sounds like a good alternative at the moment.

Or guitar...I could play guitar.

If Only They Understood

I find myself in my classes saying this phrase many times over: "If only they understood...." This is usually after someone has made a statement about Christianity revealing their lack of understanding of the Christian faith. If only they understood grace, I say to myself. If only they understood that Christians are human too. If only they understood that the Bible isn't just a list of "though shalt not"s. If only they understood that Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven. If only they understood that God loves them unconditionally. If only they understood...

I find myself wanting to explain it, but it's usually a statement made in passing that reveals their misconceptions about Christianity. As much as I'd like to, I can't stop the class and explain it all to them. So I sit there and get frustrated, not at those who don't understand necessarily, it's not their fault, but at the Christians of the past who have shaped the image of Christianity today. I begin to wonder, why didn't the wealthy British Christians in the 19th Century do something about all of the poor children? Why didn't all the preachers in the south speak out against slavery? Why didn't the German Christians work against Hitler and the Nazis? Why don't we do more to help the homeless in our own country? Why don't we do more to help hurricane and earthquake victims? Why am I sitting on my comfortable couch instead of volunteering at the homeless shelter on Tennessee St?

At Crusade tonight, the speaker talked on 2 Timothy. He said many things, but among them was this verse, which stuck out to me especially, 2 Timothy 3:12 "In fact, everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted." The Oxford English Dictionary defines persecute as follows: "To seek out and subject (a person, group, organization, etc.) to hostility or ill-treatment, esp. on grounds of religious faith, political belief, race, etc.; to torment; to oppress." Very seldom--if ever--have I been subject to hostility, ill-treatment, torment or oppression on the grounds of anything. I live in a country where such behavior is frowned upon in most civilized circles. Is it because I live in the United States--a country built on the backs of those searching for religious freedom--that I do not face persecution? Or is it because people I come in contact with don't know that I am a Christian? I don't "Preach the word," and I'm not "prepared in season and out of season". I don't wear Christ on my sleeve except for the 2 or 3 times a month when my Campus Crusade for Christ t-shirt is clean.

I find myself making excuses for the Christians of the past. They should have done something, but they didn't. They weren't practicing true Christianity. If only they understood what following Christ really means. What will I say of myself ten years down the road? I was busy, I should have done something more? I should have spoken up in class? I wasn't walking in the Spirit? I just didn't understand.

Realms of Mediocrity

I like being around artists. I like watching them work. Whether it's music, painting, drawing, acting, writing, I love watching them work. They aren't just working. They're creating, loving, living, doing what they do best, but with flare.

I don't like trying to be an artist around artists. It's easier to create when the people observing aren't better at it than me. I like winning. I like being unique. Drafting class last semester was hard for me. We all would work in one room, putting lines on paper, trying to be precise. I'm good at being precise. I can give you a construction line that is 36' long in 1/4" scale. I'm good at using a compass. I'm not good at shading things to give the illusion of dimension, or drawing 6' tall people (to scale, of course). There was a girl in my class whom I've known for quite some time, since my Junior year of high school. She'd draw caricatures of people in our class on the white board when the lines on the drafting vellum started blending together. I felt inadequate when she picked up the marker. In the time it took me to draw the molding on a column, a humorous depiction of our drafting teacher had appeared on the board, along with some crack about Poland rising again. I always did well on my drafting projects, I always got a nine out of ten; to get a ten it would have to look like a Ming Cho Lee. After seeing what a Ming Cho Lee draft looks like, I realized that I was destined to live in the realms of mediocrity.

There is some stuff I'm good at, I built a pretty cool looking table. My pride and joy last year. But I'm no Norm Abrams. And you can't make a living out of making pretty cool looking tables.

Shrug

I keep wanting to write. I do, I really do. So I start. One sentence. Two sentences. Then I stop. It doesn't feel right. I don't know why. So I reword them. They still don't feel right. So I quit.

I wonder why. There have been several times in the last month that I sat down, my computer cradled in my lap, trying to write. But I never can. I could tell you what's going on in my life, but it seems to boring. I'm bored with it, why would anyone else care?

I can't write about what I'm feeling. That hurts too much. It's scary. It would solidifying everything that I would rather ignore. I'd have to see it every time I open my internet browser. There is pain in my heart. Sometimes it's even tangible; a dull ache, or pressure, like someone's got their hand on my chest. Don't go forward. No. You can't. Take a step back. You don't belong here. So I take a step back. I can't go there. I don't even know where there is. That hand stops me.

I'm getting frustrated. I'm tired of not understanding what I'm going through. My life isn't calculus! I should be able to understand. Why can't I understand? Why can't I go on? What is wrong with me that I'm not allowed to get past this? I don't even know where "there" is.

Tragedy

You're probably wondering if I fell off the face of the planet after finals week, seeing as I haven't written anything since before then. As much as I tried to do so and have wished that I had, I'm still here, sitting on my bed in Orlando. Much has happened, but I honestly don't really have time to talk about it.

My hard drive crashed, so I'm in the arduous process of getting my life back. Hopefully, I'll be able to get the pictures from Barbados off of my old hard drive.