Take my love, take my land, take me where I cannot stand

Common Motif

2009-12-07T07:29:23Z

There's this song that I love--well, really a set of bars that I love, the sample they use is not long. It's a motif.
It's been appearing in Dexter for the last season or so during crucial moments in his relationship with Rita.

Pregnancy
Song begins at 8:00.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kmldk3a2pbM

Proposal
Song begins at 1:17.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JryrPvsugq8&feature=related

Wedding
Song begins at 0:13.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AW3H7GtKQSQ

None of the fan sites seem to know what it is, but it reappeared tonight. Dexter found out that Rita and his neighbor had kissed, and initially failed to react in any sort of normal way. No rage, no jealousy, no hurt, nothing.
Then, when he finally has a moment to process, he sees the neighbor, tells him to never touch his wife again and punches him in the face. Goes inside his house, Rita puts ice on his hand, the song plays.

Apparently, genuine jealousy is a crucial turning point in a relationship. Or so Daniel Licht would seem to imply.

Blood Pressure Machines

2009-11-11T08:29:23Z

I saw this Kevin Nealon HBO special a while back. In it, he mentioned that the blood pressure reader is about the hippest thing that you can whip out at grown up parties. Basically, from what I can infer, it's like having a pocket breathalyzer at technically-legally-but-not-functionally-grown-up parties. It sounds lame in theory, but you take one out and all of a sudden everyone wants to have a crack at it.

My parents have one of these little machines now because they both have high enough blood pressure that it's a good idea at this point. The other day, my mom was about to use it, and I blurted out, "Dad bought me new gym shoes today but he said I had to throw away the old ones, but I don't wanna because they're still good shoes, they're just not supportive enough for working out, but I really like having bright blue and bright red tennis shoes for other uses."
"That's fine, he always tells me to throw out shoes and I never do."
"Oh. Ok, cool. Because I really like to use those shoes for when I wanna sport the sporty look at the gay clubs."
". . . why would you say that right before I take my blood pressure?"

Hence my new game. Anytime my mom starts to strap that appliance to her arm, I come up with something fun that will stress her out, true or not.
Today, I blurted out, "Oh, by the way, I'm pregnant."
"No you're not."
"No, I totally am. Connor sent me some bread in the mail and also a sample so I can perform an artificial insemination and make hippie eco-babies."
"130 over 85. I hate you."
I love my new game.

Ominous overtones and underpinings

2009-10-02T09:09:45Z

For those to whom I haven't mentioned it yet, the mother of one of my best friends (Nicole Ligerman) has been diagnosed with breast cancer. She told me near the end of the school year. I was walking to a rugby party when she called. Put a bit of a damper on the party, hearing that the woman who's been like my second mother since high school has cancer.

BUT . . . they caught it early and her chance of recovery is very good. I'm participating in the Los Angeles Walk for Hope on October 25th. It's a Sunday, it's in Santa Anita. Despite going to a school where everyone had a cause of choice, despite having a father who had cancer, I somehow never participated in one of these walks. But there it is.

No pressure, but if anyone else is interested in participating or donating, here's the team's page:
http://nationalevents.cityofhope.org/site/TR/Walk/General?team_id=11700&pg=team&fr_id=1115

In other news, I received a sparsely written letter today.

"September 30, 2009

Dear Friend

We have your driver license and bank card.

Call the number listed below to pick up your property or to have it mailed to you.

Said personal property will be destroyed if we do not get a reply within 10 days.

Thank you,

Silva
Office Manager"

. . . followed by contact information.

Again, in case I haven't mentioned it somehow . . . my credit card and driver's license were stolen a couple weeks ago while I was at Das Bunker. It was very upsetting, but I now have both replaced.

After searching the mailing address I confirmed that it was from the Catch-One. Which suggests that someone maybe didn't mean to steal my credit card and driver's license, but in fact wanted to steal my pack of cigarettes. Which I placed my ID and credit card inside of.
Seriously though . . . is it just me, or does that letter have a vaguely sinister tone? Like, "Dear Friend . . . we have your daughter. Please call the number below and follow the instructions you are given. Failure to comply will result in the destruction of your daughter."

Full Circle

2009-08-09T11:06:29Z

It's been some time since I've written. I've spent the last week in northern California, the first part with Nicole and Patrick in Sonora, and the last part in Sacramento. I'll be returning tomorrow. Well, later today I suppose, to be more precise.

In case I haven't explained it to you personally, Nicole and Patrick met at AMDA (musical theater school) and have been dating for a couple of years. They found paid jobs with board included at a regional theater in Sonora, so anytime they have a show, they spend a few months living there, in varied conditions each time. Since they're a couple, they're generally given their own space. Another actress I met there is living in a house with an elderly couple with 7 cats. More on that later.
Nicole and Patrick are living in a cabin in a forest. It's creepy, it has no internet, and, as much as I love Nicole, she's no Martha Stewart when it comes to homemaking. When I arrived on Sunday night, she insisted that she needed to do laundry so that I could shower the next day, since all their towels had been used. Of course, in my mind, if towels are only being used post shower, then they remain relatively clean and I certainly don't mind sharing those with a friend whom I've known for 8 years and shared a bed with at times. But, she insisted.
The next day I woke up late and spent the better part of the day with Patrick, since Nicole was meeting with a more experienced actress in the theater troupe to receive some training and advice. The towels were not cleaned, so I grabbed a clean looking and dry one and decided it would be mine for the remainder of my stay.
We were supposed to go to Columbia--which apparently was nearly the capitol of California along with several dozen other towns, all of which possess that as the towns' only claim to fame. Instead, we stopped for lunch in downtown Sonora, and started walking around. We sat in a music store and I pulled sheet music off shelves and played the keyboard while trying to convince Patrick that buying a ukulele was definitely a responsible decision. He was persuaded.
He spent the rest of my visit playing that ukulele at every free moment, while Nicole angrily blamed me for playing accessory to his new hobby.

On Tuesday, we went on a hike with the groundskeeper. My knowledge of the groundskeeper prior to this was entirely based on his "office"--another cabin, across a field from Nicole and Patrick's, and the only place to access internet for free. The office included a fair amount of literature: How to Talk to a Liberal (If You Must) by Coulter (Nicole was tickled that, when she mentioned the title, I knew who the author was, then launched on some diatribe about how Coulter:Republicans::Moore:Democrats) and several books about the misdeeds of Clinton. Limbaugh's magazine, where he touts himself as comparable to Paul Revere, sat on the desk, with a radio that was consisting playing conservative pundits' rants.
"He's very nice," they reassured me. "Just . . . ignorant. Just try not to say anything during the hike."
Ten minutes into our 5 mile round trip hike, Nicole made mention of a friend who was visiting some middle eastern city, who had been concerned about what manner of dress she should don. She was reassured, Nicole explained, that it was a very western-friendly city and it wouldn't be a problem. The groundskeeper dismissively insisted that "all Arabs are the same." When met with mostly silence, he continued, "It's like the south during integration. Most of 'em would say they were okay with it to the public, but what they said to each other was a different matter." The irony that he was condemning the south for being racist while in the same breath expressing unilateral disapproval of an entire ethnicity seemed to escape him.
I bit my tongue. Hard.
We reached a gate that led to a road, which we had to climb through to climb over a different gate for our hike down to a small nearby (or as nearby as you consider 2 miles) river. A kitten, perhaps a year old at most, ran from the front yard of a house adjacent to the road, and began to follow us down the hill. He followed us just far enough to not know his way back, and we spent the rest of the time coaxing him down the trail, giving him water, and carrying him partway. He enjoyed the river, we fed him some turkey from a Lunchable that Nicole brought, and carried him most of the way back. The rest of the day was without event, other than Nicole being on the verge of a heatstroke for the better part of the climb up.
The next morning I noted that my reserved towel had disappeared--someone decided to use it, ball it up, and toss the moist mess on the floor--and the shower after the hike would be my last for a few days. I saw their play--Damn Yankees--a really fantastic production other than the very talented, but entirely too close to middle-aged, Lola. She was visibly in her mid-30s. I was later taken to bowling, where I drank because I didn't know anyone there and I don't like theater people, but I still beat everyone. Oh, I bowled terribly. My score is too embarrassing to report. But it was still better than anyone there.
I was then dragged to the So You Think You Can Dance first part, final episode. After enough wine, I became amused by it, as well as the old woman who made vulgar jokes and her 7 cats. (And now I just took a moment to look up who the winner was. And I am pleased.)
The next day, we had lunch at an Indian restaurant that, while passable, was still inferior to anything Indian I've had in Los Angeles or in Seattle. Then drove to Sacramento.
I could bore you with anecdotes about my cousin's precious daughter. She's adorable and they're adorable together. Well, in that they remind me of me and my dad. We bantered like that when I was younger, but I just thought he was being a jerk. Which might be what my cousin's kid thinks of him, but they're still amusing and she still relishes his attention unlike anything I've ever seen, so I suppose it's fine. Other than that, I spent the better part of my time here talking to my grandmother. Who I think wants me to move in now. I'm really good at moving heavy stuff, and I think she likes my company a little too.

That's all I got. I'm sitting in the room where I once slept on the floor during visits, looking at old pictures of my mom and her sisters, a keyboard, and . . . what do you know? A ukulele.

Return

2009-05-30T02:27:32Z

So, commencement . . . that happened.

FYI to people in L.A.: I'm back. Actually, technically back since Monday night. I've been unpacking, fighting off the death cold my mother passed to me during commencement, furiously applying for work, housesitting, and generally being a shut-in. The only person who knew I was back other than my family was Nicole and that's because we've been talking pretty consistently for the last week.

Have I mentioned how awesome housesitting is? It is. The dogs are adorable, if needy. Mary Anne is my new favorite. Ferguson is all right, but Mary Anne is small (relatively, she's no lap dog), cuddly, and far less pushy. Also, when she's excited for a walk, she lets me put the fucking harness on her. Unlike Ferguson, who gets excited and tries to eat his leash.

Anyway, I guess I could say more, but this was really just my way of saying, "What's up? I'm done being a shut-in for a bit now."

Call me or something if you're bored.

Fair Use Doctrine

2009-05-15T04:11:47Z

So, on the one hand, I think that it's completely legitimate for musical artists to want to get paid for their work. For that reason, it's great that there's laws out there to protect their intellectual property.

On the other hand, there is a certain amount to be said for allowing remixes, covers, and other uses of someone else's intellectual property. It's like the market place of ideas . . . it's like open source code . . . it's putting an idea out there, so that other people can take it and adapt it and improve it.
It's a worldwide brainstorming session, and it can be fucking beautiful.

Case in point, Lil' Wayne's song "Let the Beat Build" (don't pay attention to the video itself, it's just the first video I found with the song on top of it):
Lil' Wayne does it
. . . which sounds like the same dried up, throaty, strung-out, mainstream tripe that rap has been reduced to, for the most part, in the last decade or so.

Now compare that with this--Lil' Wayne's melody is "borrowed" but the rapper, Nyle, is considerably more talented, has more inspired lyrics, and has a back-up band of NYU students:
But Nyle does it better.

"I don't need no sample
Got a girl with a banjo"

Now . . . back to that research paper for Krislov. Military recruiting. Public schools. Solomon Amendment. No Child Left Behind.
Couldn't be more delighted.

Over 10 hours later . . .

2009-04-30T04:30:51Z

The mediation is resolved. It feels . . . good. Some people here at Oberlin have a cause of choice. They go canvassing for Obama, or they work at the SIC and HIV testers, or they work with the Green EDGE fund or whatever.

That stuff is all important, but it feels good to realize that, even though "president of the rugby team" might not look like much on a resumé, but if there's one thing I tried to do while I was here, other than get an education of course, it was to make this team the best I possibly could. And maybe there's a little egoism that goes into feeling good about that, but I just want to leave things better than I found them, you know? I don't want to be the person with a thick resumé filled with shit I didn't care about, coasting as much as possible.
I take part in the ResEd student staff steering committee because I want every student to have a better experience with their housing. I don't want them to stop hating ResEd, I want ResEd to stop giving them reasons to hate them.

And I want the rugby team to have every opportunity to do everything they want to do. I was mostly concerned with this socialing issue because it was a logistical nightmare. The transportation, the visiting teams (or the teams they visit), the financial issues involved and the liability issues involved . . . I was afraid of leaving that all for Kayla, next year's president, to resolve. And now she won't have to. And because she'll have that already done, she'll be able to focus on getting everything else done for the team.
And because she'll be able to focus on that, the team will be able to focus on playing rugby and having fun and not feeling weighed down by unresolved issues and bureaucratic bullshit. And then they will go to playoffs again. And this time, they will go to finals. And then they'll play Michigan's top team and get slaughtered, but it will be glorious.

I just want my team to be happy. And 10 hours is a lot. Ten hours is time that I didn't spend doing work for classes, it's time that I didn't spend going to improv shows that I wanted to see or to senior recitals that I wanted to hear (all tensions aside, I would have liked to see Jim's senior recital because I think he has actual talent). But I happen to think that the sacrifices that you're willing to make for the people that you love is about the only thing that makes life worthwhile.
So, here I am. And I'm tired, and I still have tons of work to do, and I'm missing out on some pretty cool things.

But then again, I also feel like I'm overflowing with love right now, and that . . . that is a wonderful feeling.

Bears repeating

2009-04-22T04:29:37Z

"Well, I only legit-tripped once on acid."
"What do you mean 'legit-tripped'?"
"Like, the last time I took it, I didn't hallucinate or anything, I just felt all paranoid."
"Huh. Bad trip."
"Yeah, and my friend like, took his acid on a piece of gum."
"What? Aren't you supposed to use papers?"
"Yeah, but like, the guy we bought from was out of papers. So we just put it on a piece of gum and a Tums."
"That's ridic--I'm sorry . . . did you say Tums?"
"Yeah."
"Tums is a base. It's pure base."
"Yeah?"
"It neutralizes acid. You turned it into a salt."
"Oh man. And it's totally an acid. It's even called 'acid.' "

For the record, most types of gum effectively reduce acidity as well. Though probably not to the same degree as Tums.

Midterm plus more obnoxious gushing

2009-04-09T17:50:17Z

Hey . . . you know what's awesome? Setting the mothafuckin curve on your sociology midterm.

Okay, yeah, it's sociology, so it's not that hard, but I also took that exam (take home) while I was in the hospital getting some sort of lung treatment because they didn't know what was wrong with my respiratory system.

Sidenote: taking Robitussin and codeine on an empty stomach will make it feel like a morbidly obese man is sitting on your solar plexus. Do not do it.

Speaking of which, my immune system is shit this semester. I got sick again a few days ago because my boy got sick and I stubbornly refused to stay away from him. I'm almost recovered now, and he was equally doting for a few days. He also made me earrings out of shells he found on Myrtle Beach during spring break.

Also, although I haven't mentioned this before, Brian has been all up in the grad-school-decision-making process. And, as of now, it looks like he's leaning towards Seattle. Apparently the school is really awesome and I hear the city is too. This is exciting because it makes Brian a lot closer to where I will be post-graduation. And possibly even closer if I decide to edge my way up the coastline.
That's a story for a different time though.

Also, my brother's visiting this weekend and it's really exciting.

And now, Arabic homework.
-----------------

Once a young woman asked me,

"How does it feel to be a man?"
And I replied,

"My dear,
I am not so sure."

Then she said,
"Well, aren't you a man?"

And this time I replied,

"I view gender
As a beautiful animal
That people often take for a walk on a leash
And might enter in some odd contest
To try to win strange prizes.

My dear,
A better question for Hafiz
Would have been,

'How does it feel to be a heart?'

For all I know is Love,
And I find my heart Infinite
And Everywhere!"

Playing catch up always takes so much space . . .

2009-04-03T02:54:10Z

I got this e-mail in the women's rugby team e-mail account . . . which is just like the official presidential e-mail, since it gets passed down.

Subject: Your Calendar
To: womrugby@oberlin.edu

Is a great idea. Don't let anyone tell you different. I played rugby and you all know as well as I that not everything we do or did as a team is for public consumption. The fact that it drew national attention is only a plus. I hope you can sell a million calendars. Good luck to you all. Cheers.
--------------

After trying to figure out who this guy was through some google searches, I determined that he is a member of a rugby club in Manchester.
So that was pretty great. We got mixed responses here and from other women's teams . . . they were mostly positive, but it's rough when there's guys out there saying things like, "But what if there's no hot chicks on the team next year?" and women that are accusing us of being anti-feminist and selling sex. Not that he necessarily understands our exact motivation, but he seems to at least get that we did it for our own reasons, because we wanted to. Yes, as a fundraiser also, losing money sucks, but mostly, we had our reasons as a team and we had our reasons as individuals and . . . I don't know. It's just neat to get positive feedback from people we don't know in other countries.

Nash Bash was the mountain of stress that it always is for me. It was great. It was so much fun. I played in 5 halves of our 3 games (did not play for one half, do not regret it, team was mean). The teams we played were . . . interesting. The first team was okay, we beat them, but not by a large margin. The ref gave them a try that I don't think they deserved--the ball wasn't controlled to the ground, it was fumbled and the girl was falling and losing the ball at the time.
The second team we played on Saturday was obviously better than us. They just were. They also played kind of mean and did a few nasty illegal things but, all-in-all, they were better.
The last team we played had this odd dynamic. Some of their players were very good, very clean, very professional in their dealings. Then a handful of them played the dirtiest, roughest game I've been in for some time. One girl threw me down by my neck, and her teammate helped me up. Another girl grabbed Robyn's jersey in a ruck and pulled it over her head. While trying to tackle a girl, Boner was stiff armed--which isn't a problem, that's legal, except that the girl grabbed her neck and squeezed it. Mary got sin binned. She tried to tackle a girl, who turned to start a maul, which left Mary hanging off her collar and essentially choking her with her jersey from behind.
So the girl turned and slapped her, and Mary lost her shit. When she retold that story angrily to Boner, Boner responded with, "Really? Slapped you? I think I would have punched you in the face."
Mary: "Yeah, I probably would have too."

What really concerns me, and I suppose this is jumping the gun, is that I don't know who will take care of this trip when I graduate. I mean, it's always been involved, but the trip became more difficult in the last few years. Nash Bash is at the end of spring break now instead of the beginning. We take college vehicles now. We stay with people instead of in hotels. The last two are money-saving measures, but they make arranging everything so much more difficult. I can't imagine anyone wanting to take on that responsibility. I never make real plans for spring break because I know I'll need to have reliable internet access and lots of free time to make it work.

Anyway, I was just posting because I haven't in a while. That was long, I'll bullet point the rest:
1. Midterms passed and I have 'S' markings in all my classes. Arabic isn't even kicking my ass as much as it was. And I really like the tutor now. We have convo sessions once a week.
2. I feel really bad about missing as much marching band as I have. Like, I'm worried about how I'll sound Sunday. Then again, I'm always sharp. Good to know there's things I can count on.
3. Going to Drag Ball with Sean, Abby, and Connor. It's like a double date kinda. A double date of people who won't want to stay out late--Connor has a tournament and it required crazy finagling (and getting up early on Sunday) to make this work so he could be at the tournament both days; Sean probably still has a curfew; I'll be tired from my tournament this Saturday; I know nothing about Abby, but I assume she won't stick around when we all leave.
4. Things with Connor = so so good. So good. I just . . . I can't actually express how good they are. I woke up late this morning, despite his attempts to wake me up. Once I pulled myself out of bed and started panicking, I asked if he could hit the "on" switch on the coffee maker. Turns out, he'd already made me coffee and started putting all my stuff together in my bag. He made me a mix CD of Beatles love songs, some of which I hadn't heard. He made me sweet bread. He used one of his Scrabble teaching aids to write me Scrabble love poetry.
He is just . . . wonderful. I feel really fucking lucky.

Also, today I stole a lacrosse ball. If they didn't want me to take it, they wouldn't have left it on the rugby pitch. It is my new toy and they cannot have it back.

So the show sucks . . .

2009-03-18T04:17:03Z

But we're, like, famous. Again.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbawATMiWzI&feature=related

كان صديقي خاصّ صديقك خاصّ

2009-03-16T16:56:21Z

So, the last few weeks I've been getting back Arabic homework that says things like, "sloppy" or "needs more effort" at the top.
Each time, my prof hands it back to me and says, "Don't worry, I marked in the book that you did well" or "You're showing a lot of improvement" or something else to that effect. This struck me as odd, and I assumed that my new tutor, Dalia, must hate me as well. She snaps at me a bit when I mispronounce things--at first I assumed that's just how she teaches or the tone she happens to have, but then I thought maybe she just dislikes me.

Oh--also, apparently I've been misunderstanding some of the homework. A consistent assignment is to "watch the DVD and write new sentences with the vocab." I took "write new sentences" to mean, write my own original sentences. Which seems both more difficult and more effective for learning to communicate than just transcribing what I hear. I mean, I can transcribe without necessarily understanding what I'm writing. Better if I find ways to implement the new vocabulary, yes?
On Friday I received back several assignments that were completed with original sentences rather than transcriptions, just as I was about to turn in another homework assignment done in the same way. I turned it in anyway, nothing to be done at that point.
Today I got back a homework assignment that I'd turned in on Friday. One of the words was in the vocab was:
خاص
"hauS"--emphatic s, and the beginning is more like a growling, breathy sound than any "h" you ever heard. The context that the prof consistently uses for this--I don't know why, maybe she's just nosy--is "suh-deek haus" or "suh-deeka haus," meaning "my special/private friend" male or female, respectively. There's another word for boyfriend or girlfriend in the book, but she likes this phrase. So, given that it was the only context I'd heard the word in, and I didn't know if it translated in the same way if I said something like "private school," I decided I'd use it in that context.
And came up with sentences like, "My special friend has beautiful eyes"--"eye" was another vocab word, and I wanted to practice pluralizing nouns, and using the correct adjective for those nouns (since the adjectives change tenses depending on gender, plurality, and human or nonhuman status).
Another sentence: "My special friend wakes me up in the morning"--practicing use of direct objects, which is just being introduced, and using another new vocab word-- "to wake (someone) up." This all struck me as way more useful than copying whatever the DVD gave me. Also, I wasn't aware that the assignment was transcribing.
Anyway.

This time, not only did the notes on my paper say "sloppy"--which isn't even true, I'm bad at Arabic, but I have beautiful penmanship (so much so that the professor often makes impressed sounds when she collects my homework because it looks pretty)--but the tone seemed completely off for someone correcting homework. Even harshly.
"Sloppy.
Parts missing
and not even the assignment."
Yes, initially wrote "parts missing" and crossed out the "s" when she realized I had only not done one problem (it said to guess what a word means. I didn't have a decent guess, so I didn't). Which I would assume just means that I didn't know the answer, not that "parts are missing."
Then, the sentences on the back about "suh-deek-ee haus" had arrows to them. "That's nice. This is not the assignment. You need to transcribe the sentences from the DVD. Ask الأستاذة if you need help finding it."
الأستاذة
is professor.
As I said--tone was just a touch off. So I went to the prof afterwards, thinking this was a fairly harsh critique of my work which wasn't sloppy, and was actually pretty good (considering I'd misunderstood the assignment). I asked her if Dalia was correcting the homework.
She said, "Yes, Dalia or . . . what's her name [professor forgets names a lot] . . . Rebecca. I don't remember who corrected which."
Now, looking at the penmanship, it looks like Rebecca's. I'm not sure if it's worse if Rebecca wrote this and I've unintentionally been rubbing the relationship in her face, or if Dalia wrote it and now I have to deal with a new tutor that hates me also.
Ugh.
Anyway, in unrelated news, I've been sick for two weeks, so I finally went to the hospital yesterday and now I have lots of drugs.
So, hopefully that'll put me in decent shape for midterms.

Unless someone who hates me is grading my work.

Quick n' Dirty Catch Up

2009-02-04T19:48:30Z

Trip to Boston was excellent. Thanks for asking.
I apologize to all the people that I didn't manage to see--or didn't manage to see enough--before leaving L.A. I was busy and broke and learning to drive all over again, and wasn't feeling inspired to work too hard at getting in touch with people given those factors. I'll probably be back in the spring, and I'll be back in L.A. indefinitely come summer, so I hope to see you all then.

That being said . . .

Class schedule:

MWF, 11 a.m.: Arabic
M, 2:30-4:20 p.m.: Politics seminar with President Krislov "Public Education, Policy, and Law"
W, 6:30-8:20 p.m.: Religion seminar with Mahallati "Islamic Mysticism"
TR, 9:35 a.m.: Sociology class on CYBERSPACE (apparently I need to learn HTML or some other simple thing that I never bothered to learn)

I haven't been to the religion seminar yet, but my understanding of it is that we're going to read a lot of Sufi poetry and literature. I'm kind of thrilled about it.
By the end of the semester, maybe I'll be able to read some of it in Arabic.
All other classes are going pretty well (which is to say, I continue to scramble in Arabic, but the awesomeness of everything else averages out to "pretty well.")

My Arabic professor is apparently discouraging me from having a tutor this semester. I told her I thought I'd be fine without one. I did not see fit to mention to her that I likely will not have a tutor who is willing to meet with me anymore, on account of my dating her ex.

Related note: I have a boyfriend. He is wonderful. On Monday night, he brought me a jar of co-op recipe lemonade (sweetened with maple syrup instead of sugar). Just add water. In the morning, he went to my sociology class with me. Why? Because he had no classes that morning and thought he should attend one sociology class during his time at Oberlin. He also appears to be on some sort of solar internal clock where he wakes up when the sun comes up, regardless of when he went to bed. As much as I'm not a morning person, I definitely prefer his gentle method of waking me up to the blaring of an alarm clock.

First rugby practice is tomorrow. *excited*
I've had some issues with my officers getting things done for tournaments, and making the skills clinic happen is going to suck, since it's so hard to get practice space right now anyway, but I think Diva's on top of tournament registration now and recruitment is imminent, so it remains an *exciting* if stressful time.

Don't know my work schedule yet--might be working weddings this semester with Heidi in the ResEd office. The thought of spending 4 months surrounded by wedding accoutrements turns my stomach, but hopefully wedding planners/caterers have the same office crap as everyone else--filing, shredding, and tidying.

Looking forward to seeing marching band people again. And more rugby people, though I've had so many meetings that it feels like it's already started.
It's a good start.

Presenting . . .

2009-01-10T11:33:46Z

The entire mechanism. The top is suspended by an S-hook, with a series of chains culminating there.
The glass itself didn't take half as long as the rest of it.

Head-on. After days of searching, I was unable to find a horse of the correct size and pose in metal. I eventually found a toy plastic horse with some heft to it and settled for that.
Once I'd made the wings, I made loops from copper wire, attached two to each wing, tinned the wire. I attached screw eyes (two on each side) to the horse itself and used more copper wire, running it through the four loops, allowing the wings to move freely.
I then cut up a dowel, sanded down the pieces, nailed them together, then attached the chains by wrapping the ends in copper foil and soldering.

The glass didn't take long, but the body of the horse had so much heft that it outweighed the wings, which was an issue for making the horsecow appear to fly (weight outside the solder points for the wing-chains must be more-or-less equal to the weight between the solder points). Those two glass pieces at the end of the wing were added later, as I realized my problem.
Once I added those pieces, the horse became front heavy. The udder is molded Crayola modeling foam. After it dried, I carved out the inside and filled it with solder to act as a ballast. I altered the tail, which once looked like a full, flowing horsetail, with a dremel until it resembled a thin cow's tail at the base with a flowing horsetail at the end.

The entire body was painted over with oil-based modeling paints. A layer of gray primer followed by a layer of silver gloss. My garage and I smelled like turpentine for days.
Another screw eye is attached to the tail and a chain hangs from that, supporting a granite ball (which I found in my room, I've had it since I was a child) which is wrapped in spiraling tinned copper wire. When you pull on the ball, or the chain above it, the wings tilt up and down while the body bobs, creating the illusion of flight.

What My Clumsy Ass Did for Winter Break

2008-12-30T19:31:07Z

I remember once sitting with Brian on the fire escape and telling him about my fascination . . . my fixation . . . on heights. It's not a fear, although I've experienced vertigo and some heights make me uncomfortable. Sitting on the fire escape, I look over the edge and idly wonder, "What if I fell? What if I jumped?"
Would I die? Would I break my legs? Paralysis? Shattered ribcage? What's in store down there?
I have this same thought at many middling heights. Not the enormous ones--I know they'd kill me. But two to five stories up--even just on the patio to Brian's house, which is only a second floor (albeit a tall one) to a house.
I also have these same thoughts on chair lifts. Younger-dumber-me actually thought it would be awesome to jump from a chair lift. Too many Warren Miller films, people diving into snow banks from incredible heights and skiing straight down the mountain, but I figured it was possible, if I landed right, on a steep enough slope so that the landing wasn't so hard. Of course, I always imagined falling into a few feet of fresh powder, facing downhill on a double black diamond.

My family left for Mammoth on Friday. Skiied all day Saturday--which was great, once I cut the elastic off the ankles of my thermals. They were cutting off circulation to the lower part of my legs and becoming painful. The next day we went out again, morning and early afternoon were great. We went to the backside of the mountain which is less windy (more protected by trees) and less crowded (because it requires either skiing black diamond runs or some monstrous traverses to get to it and to get back). Chairs 12, 13, and 14. Most of the newer chair lifts are detachable quads. Four seaters, with the chairs not fixed at a point on the cable. The chairs are not fixed so that they can slow down just slightly (making them temporarily closer to the chair behind them) when people get on and off of them, which also allows them to move much faster at the in-between portions.
The fixed-grip chairs, the older ones, move slower than the high-speed detachable quads for most of the trip, but faster during loading and unloading. Chair 13 is a fixed-grip double chair. I was going up on this chair with my brother, parents in the chair ahead of us. As the chair came around, it bumped the backs of my knees, sliding me forward just enough that I thought I was sitting on the chair, but I wasn't.
I don't remember all of what came next, my brother and mom have filled in some gaps.
As we left the ground, I grabbed at the lift and my brother tells me that he yelled at the lift operator to stop it. The lift operator was nowhere near the stop button and, it seems, took a while getting to it. My brother also claimed that, as I hung there, holding on to the side of the seat with my left arm, and with him holding on to my right arm, I asked him if he could "please hold my poles for a moment?"--evidently, I was fully convinced that I was just about to do a pull up with my arms fully extended at 45 degree angles behind me and about 20 lbs of ski equipment attached to my feet, if only someone would hold my poles.
He yelled at me to drop my poles, which I did, but I felt my gloved hands slipping from him, slipping off the metal chair, and I took this opportunity to glance down.
A familiar thought entered my head at this height: "well . . . that doesn't look very far." My parents had now realized what was happening, why the lift stopped, and turned around just in time to watch me let go. My legs bent, my feet hit only a fraction of a second before my back. When I hit the ground, my feet released from their bindings, and my entire body (my mom tells me) bounced. This second bounce temporarily knocked the air out of me, and then everything out of my vocabulary other than "I'm fine" and "awesome." Once I could talk, someone came over and asked if I could feel my legs, "Yes, I'm fine." Someone grabbed my right hand, started pushing on each fingerpad and asking if I could feel it, "Yes, I'm fine."
A snowboarder came over and said that he'd nearly gotten a picture, if I'd just held on for a second longer.
"Awesome."
"I would've given you a copy of the picture."
Sighing, "Awesome."

Moments later, he offered me some weed and then gave me a hug.

I stood myself up just before ski patrol got there, and I looked suspiciously at their toboggan--"Who is that for?"
"It's for you."
"I don't need that. I'm skiing back."
"Are you shaking?"
"A little--just adrenaline."
"Maybe you should wait until the adrenaline's worn off so you know if you're injured."
"No, I'm good, see I have a lot of energy right now, so I should go."
"How are your knees?"
"Knees? Fine. Shins sore, knees fine."

Ski patrol told me that, since I'm over 18, I can turn down their help if I'd like, so I told them to go away and reassured the medic that I "wasn't going to let that fucker win," gesturing wildly at the chair lift.

I did manage to ski back, feeling every bump along the way. I spent the night insisting I was fine, but my mom forced me to go to the emergency room the next day because my chest still hurt, despite my protests that I'm pretty sure it's normal for your chest to be sore after you drop it on hard pack ice from 20 feet up.
X-rays revealed . . . contussions. Bruises.
So, the sum of the damage: severely bruised shins, bruised neck (I don't know why, but it is), sore back, sore sternum, and probably a little bone bruising/tissue damage.

On the upside, last night I took muscle relaxants, which didn't help me sleep, but instead caused me to have amazing ideas about different ways to do my stained glass projects. Oh, also weird rugby fantasy sequences.

Christmas, Family, Etc

2008-12-25T12:08:40Z

Christmas Eve . . . we used to spend Christmas Eve at grandma's house, with Uncle Linas (pronounced lin-US, not line-us) and, in the later years, his girlfriend, first Linda and later Mickey. He and Mickey married years ago and he became a stepfather to Katie. Katie used to slap herself when she stuttered.
Shortly thereafter they all moved to Tennessee. He used to work in astro-engineering . . . JPL or something. Now they sell camping supplies through some website.

I guess he's happy--I never hear from him anymore, which is a shame, since he was my favorite relative. The last time I heard anything about him was when my mother told me that Mickey had called to say Linas was suicidal and that she needed my mother's (expert psychologist) advice. My mom advised her and then never heard from her after that. I assume that someone would have told me if he wasn't still alive.

But, for years, Grandma always gave preference to Chris (which made sense, she practically raised him, and I was her granddaughter that refused to act like a girl). Linas preferred me though, so it balanced out. He gave me weird nerdy gifts, the sort of things they have at Sharper Image stores that serve no purpose other than to make you go, "Ooooooh, pretty. I wonder how that works?" Linda always bought me pretty earrings, and Mickey got me bizarre home decorating items. One of them is the glass bowl that holds my ancient roses.

We don't go to grandma's for Christmas Eve anymore. She got tired of cooking and hosting and the whole thing.

Today--by which I mean the yesterday of a few hours ago:
1. I learned to drive manual competently. To the mall, in the midst of Christmas Eve traffic, on the freeway and everything. After, I drove my dad to a Starbucks and we sat and talked for a while.
2. I made a stained glass candle holder for my grandmother to go with a candle that I'd bought for her--it wasn't a passion project, but it was a labor of love and I have cuts all over my hands to prove it (I also forgot to turn the fume absorber back on when I took a break from working for a bit, so I spent a couple hours inhaling glass dust and soldering fumes--I only lose brain cells for people that I really care about. Also booze.)
The piece itself is far from perfect--I changed the design partway through when I realized some pieces were so small that the solder would cover them up. At least one piece is flipped backwards--it's waterglass, so the grain is less important, but it has a murkier look than I'm happy with. Other parts look like I used the wrong side because I used areas of the glass where the color changed significantly without thinking about it. It's not as perfectly geometric or symmetrical as I wanted, and I still need to smooth out some of the solder in the morning. But it's not a terrible piece, and I'm a little amazed that I managed to make a 14-some-odd piece (originally meant to be 18-some-odd piece) work in one evening/night.
3. Received a tutorial in key-making and locksmithing from my dad.
4. Tied up other Christmas-y loose ends--wrapping things, helping others shop, etc

I also found out that my parents' present to my brother is going to be paying to fly him out to Oberlin to see me. Which feels . . . weird. I mean, I've wanted him to visit for a while, and he said he wanted to visit, but maybe that's just one of those things people say . . . I don't think he's crazy about planes in the first place and he makes fun of my school a fair amount. Moreover, it feels more like it's a gift to me. Although, by that reasoning, every time they fly me home they're giving him a gift.

My dad joked yesterday that he and mom had gotten me a very "appropriate" gift--$500 to spend at a tattoo parlor in San Pedro.
Oh yes, I told him about the new tattoo. His immediate response was, "Why do you feel the need to deface your body?"
Mom has also made a number of pointed remarks about how she wonders how I'll feel about the tattoo in 10 years, since there were poems that she "totally loved in college" and now she absolutely doesn't understand why. I don't want to deal with either of them on this front anymore. My dad thinks all tattoos are trashy and there's no point in telling my mom that I actually read this poem when I was 16 and it has held significance for me for all these years. She should really know that by now anyway, and frankly I don't have to justify the significance of modifications that I make to my body. I don't want to respond to her claims that I have picked areas of my body that "won't age well" for my tattoos--aging, in her estimation, refers specifically to getting fat. I don't want to respond to the hypocrisy of getting any kind of body modification, even socially accepted ones, for purely aesthetic reasons and then criticizing someone else for making a change that's both meaningful and attractive to the owner of the modification.
After rambling for a long time about the regrets that's she's "worried that [I] might have" she concluded with, "But, you know, it's your body so--"
"Yes. Yes it is."

New Projects

2008-12-23T06:07:06Z

I have a couple of stained glass project ideas in mind. I wish I'd brought a copy of the student directory with me so I could mail them to home addresses. One of them might involve fusing. It's a complicated pattern and I'm afraid that solder will distract from the piece overall, especially if I want to make it really detailed. Those small pieces are killers.

We'll see. Also, I just really like the idea of having this particular piece look like a plate or disc. It'll work better that way. If only I had a mold for slumping glass, I'd be in business.

The other one will have some extreme angles, but should work well as a necklace, I think . . . I'll post pictures when they're made. If they're made.

Been reading Watchmen. Dig it so far.

Did all of my Christmas shopping today. Essentially done. Win.

Need to learn how to drive manual. Very soon. Currently suck at it and am concerned that I'm going to stall in an intersection and kill someone.

Canceled TV night was excellent. I feel pretty strongly that there should be a sequel.

Time to finish off some ResEd paperwork and then put my nose to the grindstone. Or put glass to the grindstone.

To Do lists just make me feel bad . . .

2008-12-02T03:33:41Z

Things I have done in the past 24 hours:
1. Paid my credit card bill.
2. Turned in ResEd paperwork.
3. Wrote prose, drew a picture, submitted both (plus two poems) to Spiral.
4. Slept for a grand total of maybe 3 hours.
5. Sent out important rugby e-mails.
6. Planned a tenant board meeting.
7. Posted on lj way too often.
8. Drew a design for a tattoo that I plan to get soon.
9. Contacted an artist about an estimate for said tattoo (maybe this weekend if I can find transportation).
10. Talked to Marena.
11. Talked to Alicia.
12. Talked to Shades and made plans to hang out tomorrow.
13. Bid on a pretty girl that I don't know in the date auction for Sierra Leone.
14. Chatted with the pretty girl in my Arabic class (incidentally, I was drawing in class because I forgot my book and she saw it over my shoulder and loved it. The ladies, they love my mad skillz.)
15. Vacuumed.

Things I have not done:
1. Made any significant headway on my Hinduism paper, which is due tomorrow.

Hmm. Fuck.

Whatever. It'll get done. I might be half-dead tomorrow, but it'll get done.

Hodge Podge

2008-12-01T05:32:16Z

Because I said I would, because Trevor asked, because I hadn't gotten around to it yet:

The Tribe is a New Zealand post-apocalyptic teen soap opera. It ran from 1999-2003 (during approximately the same time as Dawson's Creek did in the U.S., and appealing to a similar audience).

The premise is that a virus has infected this region of New Zealand (and likely a much larger area than that, possibly the world, but we're only familiar with what the characters are experiencing) which older people are particularly susceptible to. Therefore, everyone on the show is an orphan and there are no adults around.
Following the infection and mass-death, several teens and kids begin to form tribes--the two most often alluded to are the Locos (shortened from Locusts) and Demon Dogs. The Locos are a constant threat to anyone outside their tribe and are motivated by power and chaos.

We follow a group of "strays"--people without a tribe, officially, who are nonetheless bound together by circumstances. They live in a dilapidated mall.

What I find so astoundingly excellent about this show:
1. In other teen dramas, audiences will frequently ask amongst the drug use, the eating disorders, the self-mutilation and other self-destructive behavior: where are the parents? How can parents not notice this happening? Well, they don't notice because they're dead.

2. We also sometimes ask how it seems that the teens in these dramas are so mature. They're just kids! Why are they so stressed? Again, it makes sense here because they're forced to grow up and fend for themselves quickly.

3. The costuming. It's fantastic.
a. These kids are living in a run-down city, scrounging for food, medical supplies, water, anything they can get their hands on, and yet most of them are wearing face paint everyday. They can't seem to find fresh water or soap, and yet, here they are, drawing new designs on their faces everyday. How much time are these kids spending on make-up? And how the hell are they washing it off everyday? Never mind that, where the fuck did all this paint come from? Someone went out on a food run, got confused, and raided a Halloween store instead?

b. The hair. Whoever decided the hair styles at the end of the world party was clearly under the influence of something that made them love intense colors. Bray and Ryan look mostly normal (save the occasional tribal headband). Amber has some industrial-punk-rock thing going on. Trudy looks like she was pulled from a 50s magazine. Seline and Zandra have intensely dyed hair which, somehow, seems to never fade or show roots (either this apocalypse also included insane amounts of radiation that only daft females were susceptible to, or someone stole some dye when they were looting the Halloween store).

c. The clothes are some mix between the actual trends at the time, the occasional peasant shirt, leather vests, and pseudo-militant items. It looks like a tank crashed into a Forever 21 and decided to have a Waterworld-themed party. It's excellent.

4. They don't ever let the fact that the world is ending get in the way of teen drama. I still haven't finished the first season (in my defense, it's 50-something episodes), and we've already hit date rape, teen pregnancy, death in the family, jealousy, eating disorders, cheating, lying, "sharing is important," and teen heartbreak. Eating disorder is given an extra layer of awesome because bulemics just aren't particularly sustainable in the post-apocalyptic future.

Apparently this show has something of a cult following, which I was unaware of until recently. Which isn't surprising. It's a little absurd, and you can't make a cult omelet without breaking some absurdity eggs. Also, the guy that plays Bray--Dwayne Cameron--is 1. super adorably gay and 2. apparently an excellent painter. I wanted to buy a painting of the Kiwi coast from him, actually, but the only place I can find it for sale is on the New Zealand version of Ebay, which doesn't ship to the U.S. Terrible disappointment that was.

On a totally unrelated note, I think I should share this with anyone who somehow hasn't seen it yet. It's pretty hilarious.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRuNxHqwazs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-3qncy5Qfk&feature=related

WHEN GOD GIVES YOU LEMONS YOU
FIND A NEW GOD.
(There's a third one, but I wouldn't bother with it. It is le suck.)

Back to the Hinduism paper. As a side note, Sufis are way more fun than the Malikis and Hanbalis. Actually, more fun than most Sunnis. Sunnis are comparably pretty uptight.

I miss Marena already

2008-12-01T00:34:06Z

"So, what movie did you want to watch?"
"What?"
"I mean, I have a few, you can look through them . . . "
"Is that what we're doing now?"
"Well, you just said you felt like watching a movie . . . "
"I did? I don't remember that."
"No, you totally said it. Like 30 seconds ago."
"What could I have said that sounded like that?"
"Um . . . watch . . . wash . . . movie--wash a boobie. You want to wash a boobie."

We made a friend last night. He wanted to bum a cigarette. I invited him over, we had a few cigarettes, had a few drinks, and watched an episode of Freaks and Geeks before sending him on his way to write a paper.
Which, come to think of it, I should be doing right now.

Thanksgiving

2008-11-28T03:08:27Z

At 4 a.m. last night, I decided I was not satisfied with the layout of my room. I spent the next 2 and a half hours rearranging it as a result. I like the new arrangement. Less floor space, but better for hosting.

I've made little/no progress on my Hindu-Islam paper. But Marena's here. So that's pretty cool. I took her to Harkness and she met rugby people.
My family Skyped me, so I got to talk to my parents, grandmother, and brother.

And that was Thanksgiving.
I'm thankful that I have a friend who likes me enough to come out here and watch TV shows with me. And who brings me sweet rocking glasses.
http://www.velocityartanddesign.com/rocking-glass-set-of-4-pr-19671.html

Sweet, right?

The lining is silver, which I prefer to gold.

2008-11-24T08:52:37Z

Marena's coming out to see me for Thanksgiving.
And I'm going to get to see Shades more during break.

And Owen is currently making me a mix CD.

Life . . . isn't bad. I'm a little bit of a mess right now, and I can't seem to stop watching episodes of The Tribe (more on that later, I promise), but things aren't awful and it's good to know that I have a touchstone in the world.

Sacrilege

2008-11-22T11:32:10Z

I'm going to a special place in hell for trying to read the Qur'an. In Arabic. While slightly (increasingly) intoxicated.

I mean, that and the tattoos. The Muslims, they frown on that.

Concerts in Brief

2008-11-14T06:31:20Z

I wanted to put a post in here about Dredg, who I saw last night. Then I realized I never posted about the two concerts I went to right before leaving L.A. and decided they deserved some quick mention.

Tegan and Sara at the Henry Ford
Amazing show, high energy performance, excellent opening acts--Girl in a Coma and City and Color were both pleasant surprises. They also did a kickin' rendition of Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark" and a cover of "Tired of Sex" featuring Matt Sharp of Weezer fame.
Show was only compromised by the number of people in front of me who seemed more concerned with getting pics for their myspaces than enjoying the show. No joke--I was less than 10 feet from the stage and couldn't see significant portions of the performance because there was a sea of arms, cell phones, and cameras in front of me.

VNV Nation at the El Rey
Opening act blew and my brother and I only humored them for as long as it took us to get drinks from the bar, finish those drinks, and retreat to the smoking area. VNV was incredible, although they didn't play some of my older favorites, they played some new music that I didn't have which was exciting in its own right. I also managed to slither my way to the front of the crowd and got high fives from both Ronan and Mark.
So that was sweet.

Dredg at the Agora in Cleveland
The opening acts were fantastic, even if they had the crappiest names I've ever come across from a non-high school band in my life (actually, my high school bands had way cooler names). Judgement Day was mind-blowingly good. Telescreen was enjoyable, but their aesthetic gimick didn't seem to lend itself to a concert setting, especially in an intimately small space like the Agora's smaller side theater. As for Dredg: I didn't recognize any of the new music that comprised about half the show. But I loved every minute of it. I loved the minutes when they brought the string players from Judgement Day on stage to accompany them just slightly more. Energetic without being overwhelming.
Also Gavin touched my hand. And Jim got a drumstick. I did not, however get the souvenir that I wanted--the cellist from Judgement Day.

And now that I've pissed some time away doing that, I'm going to do Arabic homework until I pass out. It's like a bedtime story, only it makes my brain hurt.

Where are they now?

2008-11-06T03:07:49Z

Yes, it's long. Yes, I've been posting a lot. Trust me, this one's worth a read.

About 3.5 years ago, I was graduating from Granada Hills (Charter) High School. One of my nearest and dearest friends, Marena Lin, was preparing her salutatorian speech. She'd tried to incorporate some humor into it and enlisted my help, since I had a knack for speech writing/rewriting/editing, as we learned from my involvement with the academic decathlon team.
We (mostly she) came up with, what I thought, was a pretty solid piece. Sentimental in all the right ways, humorous with correct delivery, and powerful--but not too powerful because it's a graduation speech not a political movement.

Two weeks ago, three things threatened to keep me from graduating: I still didn’t have a cap and gown. I still hadn’t served my detentions. I wasn’t too far away from getting my fifteenth absence in Mrs. Allford’s class. Two weeks ago, many of us were in that same position. Today, again, we are on the same playing field . . .
well okay, football field.

My name is Marena, and I’ve gotten to know many of you pretty well over the last several years. I was privileged with the opportunity to speak in front of you all today only because my GPA exceeded that of my good friend, Doug Chain, by a trivial 0.0034 points. And if this speaking position were really based on the important things—like character, good will, and maturity—any of the 800 or so of us might be speaking today.
Okay, maybe not 800. . . maybe just 200 of us.
This might very well be the last day that my high school transcript defines who I am and what I have achieved—you know, the sheet of paper that has tracked our every little step--and misstep--in high school. Yes, it’s a spectacular accomplishment to have gotten this far, but that little piece of paper will never again define who we are, where we stand, where we sit—or what tassels we wear.

After high school, our paths will vary widely. Some of us will go to college. Others will join the workforce. Some of us will join Midwest vegan convents. Others will move out and become homeless after lapsing on the second $1800 payment for a classy Santa Monica apartment. I can just hear my parents “(heavy Asian accent) You learn your lesson. Do not disobey your parents.”

The renowned “news” anchor, Jon Stewart, once stated that “life is something you experience” not something that another person grades you on. I agree with him. High school has been something that we’ve experienced, and it hasn’t been defined by the grades we’ve received. Nor is high school predictive of our lives, or our futures.

Our grades will not define how many kids we have or how much money we earn. The number of hours of detention that we’ve collected doesn’t correlate with the number of jobs we lose. Our bosses might fire us—but they will never send us to A5 and ask us to fill out a reflection sheet on why we are always late to work.

So if grades didn’t matter, I had to ask myself, “Well, what does?” I don’t know all the answers, but I do think that our character and our decisions that we make in the coming years will hold tremendous weight: Whether to hit the brakes or floor it after grazing someone’s car . . . Would your decision change if it was Mr. Bauer’s car? And I don’t even drive yet. So I guess my option would be to pedal really fast.

All kidding aside, my decision on what to do after hitting Mr. Bauer’s car means so much more than the decision on whether or not to complete my English portfolio at 3 AM the night before it’s due. Sure, I may have forgotten to tab half the sections and most of the documents may be missing, but the fact that I leave a note on Mr. Bauer’s car says more about me as a human being than any portfolio can tell. Being able to make that judgment call means more that all the grades or points we’ve ever received throughout high school.

In fact, the one person who has to make the greatest judgment calls of all, our esteemed, often misunderestimated president, George “Dubya” Bush, once uttered to Yale University’s 2001 graduating class:

“To those of you who received honors, awards, and distinction, I say, well done.

And to the C students, I say, you too can be president of the United States.”

All I can say is—President Bush, that is awesome.

If there’s a single thing that I’ve learned at Granada, it’s the spirit of the underdog, the idea that past trespasses will never dictate the possibilities of the future. We watched the Academic Decathlon team ascend from 11th in the district back in 2003 to an astounding 3rd place National standing in 2005. We watched the girl’s golf program progress from not even having a team to achieving four consecutive city titles. We watched the Science Bowl team, founded only 4 years ago, go from 34th in the district to earning a 4th place trophy last February. But it’s not the numbers or rankings that mattered; it’s the fact that our teams refused to settle for the status quo. The Change the World club has in fact changed the world. It matters not where we end up but what we do. And these teams and others on campus will continue to excel in the coming years. If I’ve learned anything, that shows me that beginnings never determine the final result. And all of us, we’re still only beginning.

Thank you.

For those who did not attend my high school, Mr. Bauer is the executive director of GHCHS. We also have a principal, about six vice principals, and two deans (one of whom was an imposingly large-in-stature black man by the name of Percy Pleasant--I shit you not) last I checked.
Marena did her practice delivery and was approached by Sonja Eddings Brown after. Sonja, at the time, was the head of some parent committee at the school. She offered to help Marena with her speech, making some mention of how Michelle Kwan was a terrible public speaker until Sonja had generously offered a helping hand. Marena agreed and sent her a copy of the speech. They met later and discussed some changes that Sonja wanted to make. Because the changes were awful, Marena was resistent. Sonja accused her of being "selfish" by mentioning Doug in her speech (Marena's original plan had been to invite Doug to come on stage with her). Then the following exchange, in Sonja's "original Northridge farmhouse home" transpired:

BROWN: How badly do you want to speak tomorrow?

MARENA: What do you mean?

BROWN: Do you get some kind of personal kick out of speaking with your classmates?

MARENA: Huh?

BROWN: Because you don't have to speak tomorrow.

MARENA: Yes, I do. I earned this position.

BROWN: We don't have to let you speak.

MARENA: Who's we?

BROWN: The administration of Granada.

In light of that, Marena sent her an e-mail telling Sonja that she would consider the changes she'd suggested, in light of the circumstances. Sonja replied, telling her she'd already rewritten it, and reminding her to "remember, it's more important to be heard, than to say nothing at all." She attached her version.

Two weeks ago, three things threatened to keep me from graduating:

I still didn’t have a cap and gown.

Still hadn’t served my detentions.

And I wasn’t too far away from getting my fifteenth absence in Mrs. Allford’s class.

Two weeks ago, many of us were in that same position. Today, again, we are on the same playing field . . . well okay, football field.

I am honored to speak at the graduation of the Class of 2005, and to be able to represent, if just for a moment, all of the outstanding students at Granada Hills Charter High School, and in particular, those 36 who achieved the honor of Valedictorians in our Senior Class.

Academic achievement is a value here at Granada, and there are enough accomplished students among us, that just a couple of hundredths of point in either direction, and any number of you could be taking my place on this podium today.

So I honor you. For the sacrifices you have made this year and every year for excellence, because you refuse to settle for anything but your very best. To all of us, who worked through the night, fought through our projects and tests, and missed every good thing on TV except American Idol. I salute you.

It is interesting to note that the word Valedictorian stems from the greek word vale….which is also the root of the word:

Valor. Meaning: Strength of mind or spirit.

I would like to recognize some of our fellow classmen who have shown such strength of mind and spirit.

Whose educations have been a matter of sacrifice, and who have shown their own brand of personal valor.

Tonight diplomas will go to competitive swimmers, All-City wrestlers, defensive backs, soccer forwards, and home run hitters, and who have risen every day trying to achieved their personal bests, represent Granada, while still maintaining good grades. We salute these graduates.

To seniors who have shown special dedication by catching a bus downtown every day and riding an hour both ways just for the opportunity to learn at Granada. We salute these graduates.

Some of our senior classmen and women whose names will be read tonight, are the first ever in their families to graduate from high school. We salute these remarkable people.

Other standouts in the Class of 2005 will receive their diplomas tonight having distinguished themselves through hours of practice as musicians and artists. We salute these seniors.

Then there are fellow classmen who have become talented craftsmen, or learned how to run a professional kitchen, or who already have a job waiting for them upon graduation. We salute these seniors.

Every year there are a few special seniors who set out for the military, who desire to serve their country. We salute these seniors.

Finally, there are always the people we love whose gift is their mere presence in our lives. They help us through the hardest days of high school and they will be part of our greatest memories of Granada. We will always treasure these dear friends.

The greatness of this school, is that there has been a place for all of us. Diverse and different as we may be.

After high school, our paths will vary widely. Some of us will go to college. Others will join the workforce. Some of us will join Midwest vegan convents. Others will move out and become homeless because we miss a payment on our $1800 a month Santa Monica apartments. I can just hear my parents “(heavy asian accent) You learn your lesson. Do not disobey your parents.”

The renowned “news” anchor, Jon Stewart, once stated that “life is something you experience” not something that another person grades you on. I agree with him. High school has been something that we’ve all experienced, and it hasn’t been defined just by the grades we’ve received. Nor is high school necessarily predictive of our lives, or our futures.

Our futures will be determined by many things, but in great measure by our character, goodwill, and maturity.

For instance, imagine just for a moment what I would do if I accidentally scraped the bumper of Mr. Bauer’s sport wagon in the parking lot.

Do I split?

Or do I rush to the office and tell him? (pregnant pause)

Don’t worry Mr. Bauer. I don’t even have a car. The most I could ever do is pedal by.

But the point is, our lives will be determined by the important choices me make. By the tests of our character. If we strive to make the small important decisions with courage, the large ones will take care of themselves.

Senior classmen of 2005, the world awaits.

There is no dream that cannot be fulfilled if we simply believe in ourselves.

In fact, President George W. Bush encouraged everyone to seek even the highest office of the land, when he spoke to the 2001 graduating class of Yale University:

“To those of you who received honors, awards, and distinction, I say, well done.

And to the C students, I say, you TOO can be president of the United States!”

All I can say is—President Bush, that is awesome. It’s true. It’s not where you start….it’s where you finish.

Together we’ve watched the Academic Decathlon team ascend from 11th in the district to an astounding 3rd place National standing in this year.

We’ve watched the girl’s golf program progress from not even having a team to achieving four consecutive city titles.

We’ve watched the Science Bowl team, founded only 4 years ago, go from 34th in the district to earning a 4th place trophy last February.

But it’s not the numbers or rankings that mattered; it’s the fact that our teams refused to settle for the status quo.

The Change the World club has in fact changed the world.

And Highlanders, we can too.

As the philosopher Lao-tse has said…..

“The journey of a thousand miles, begins with one step.”

Tomorrow we begin.

Thank you

Noteworthy, also, is that fact that valedictorian does not take it's origins from Greek. Fucking moron. No, it's rooted from the Latin valedictus, meaning "bidding goodbye" or "saying farewell." But evidently that definition did not suit Sonja's purpose, so she made up her own.

Marena shared this speech with me, and I immediately retched on my vanilla latte a bit and let her know that it was, frankly, the most trifling, saccarine piece of shit I'd ever heard. I also refused to believe this woman had as much power as she let on. Marena mentioned that she wanted to talk to Bauer about it (before graduation, the next day). Despite my dislike for Bauer for his politics towards marching band, I knew that he liked Marena, liked decathlon, and had a sense of humor about him.
The next morning, Marena did the administrative run-around, since Bauer is evidently difficult to get to, only to find that Sonja had no power whatsoever, that the other speakers had not submitted speeches to her, and that Bauer took no issue with Marena's speech.
Marena delivered her own speech without a hitch (beach balls amongst seniors aside) and received no complaints.
After posting the story immediately after in her own blog--which has since been erased--Marena received this comment from a fellow GHCHS student:

Sonja Brown is the universe's biggest whack job. I was at a friend's house last summer for a going away to college party, and Sonja Brown was also there. I had barely walked in the door, and was saying hi to everybody... she cornered me and asked who I was planning to vote for in the upcoming presidential election. I don't even know why I answered, but I told her Kerry. The bitch proceeded to tell me (very loudly, to ensure that all of my friend's parent's friends were made aware of my "ignorance") that I was morally reprehensible and that I was doing my country a great diservice, not to mention that I was a prime example of why 18 year olds shouldn't be allowed to vote- because they were too easily coerced by the democratic propaganda (sic). Who does that?

Now, you might be wondering why I told you a story about a whackjob administrator on a censorship power trip at my high school. I mean, who gives a fuck? What's she going to do, rally the PTA?
But a few of you might think Sonja Brown's name sounds slightly familiar. Maybe. If you watch either O'Reilly or The Daily Show.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvG_Jk9PJIU
http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?videoId=189782&title=i-now-denounce-you-chucklarry

That is the face of Prop 8 and Protect Marriage. That is the face that doesn't think that 18-year-olds should vote (contrary to our Constitutional rights) and that is the face that has no problem with redefining a word (contrary to the dictionary) for the sake of cheesy rhetoric.
That is also a face that appears to be melting at the chin into its own giraffe neck.