Rebellious

Oh my, look at jack! He left the blog til 8pm. Only four hours left and I might have not made it!* It must be the new red streak in my hair, I'm feeling all daring and teenage-rebellion. I might not even put a title on this blog- how risqué. No, not quite that far yet. I have to go write one now. Ahh, better.

This month is april, you know. (Really? tell us more facts jack!) And there's a tradition going around the internet, started by a certain Maureen Johnson- of famed authordom- to blog every day in april. This is known, in a clever way, as BEDA. Now what you readers might not know is that we've actually been building up to the best BEDA of all time: we have blogged every day in april. Well, every week day. But the 3 previous months more than make up for our missed weekends. Seeing as april has come to a close today, this is officially the conclusion of BEDA.

Now I see your worried faces- is this the end of Nano Jokes? HA! I laugh in your faces. You won't get rid of us that easily. We will, however, be cutting back just a bit on the quantity overall. Quality is more important, and it's been dropping a bit recently. If we restrain ourselves to, say, 1 post per week by each person: that's still 2 posts a week, more than enough to satiate your literary hunger (as if we're great literature), while giving us a bit more freedom and allowance creativity-wise. Sounds like a plan.

* Like sasha did! She missed a thursday! Did anyone notice? Did it sneak by you? Quickly, let's punish! Suggestions in the comments pleaseandthankyou.

Write you a letter

The title is a song I'm listening to right now by Ray LaMontagne. Oh! Ok, maybe it's not. It's actually Trouble. Ah well, I'm thinking about letters now.

Aren't letters fun? So much better than emails, or text messages, or phone calls. They're much more personal, from the paper, to the type of pen used. Then there's the handwriting of whoever you're receiving your letter from, it tells you so much about them! Handwriting that slants backwards means they are strongly linked to their past. Fast writing that slants forwards, with the dots of the 'i' ahead of the stick part mean they are impulsive and looking ahead. Small writing = small self esteem. Tall roofs of letters, words with 'ts' and 'ls' and other long stems reaching upwards show daydreamers, optimistic people. Letters like 'gs' and 'js' with tails sweeping downwards show people who are more connected with their more primal, darker instincts. Or at least that's what some book said. My friends and I analysed each other's handwriting and actually found it fairly accurate.

Jack and I are going to write a letter to Douglas Coupland. Someday.

Antiblog

I have to blog tonight. But I'm upset and tired and either thirsty or overdrank. So this is my useless non-post to prove that I'm not dead. See you tomorrow Sasha.

I feel awfully inadequate after that post, but shall bravely carry on!

"They will see us waving from such great heights, come down now, they'll say"

Good song, good song.

Art trip today! We drew from a live model, and it was AMAZING. Not even comparable to drawing from a photograph or reference picture. The realness, the life and almost tangibility, the motion it lends to your line, was lovely.

In the art gallery, there was a ...sculpture I guess...

a massive piece of thick rope,

which nearing the end, was unraveled bit by bit

to create these branches

getting thinner and thinner, the ends were hair sized

ps- the whole thing was suspended from the ceiling by tiny nylon threads.

so basically, this massive towering tree, branching it's way out of a single rope.

mind boggling.

Plus some really striking photography exhibits.

And a massive inflatable cloud! fabric stitched together in this gently undulating design to create an enormous twisting shape that seemed almost to breathe.

And some beautiful paintings of gooseberries. I like gooseberries. And cinnamon yogurt.

wish us luck, culture shock is tomorrow!

La bilinguisme

Je m'excuse en avant pour le contenu de ce post, mais j'en ai besoin d'un expression francophone. Il n'y a pas assez de la langue français dans ma vie, alors je changerai ce fait maintenant.

Je suis un fier partisan de l'idée du bilinguisme mandatoire pour tous les canadiens. C'est vrai que des classes en français sont nécessaires durant quelques années scolaires, mais c'est vraiment insuffisant. De plus, un fait avéré est la facilité avec lequel les enfants jeunes peuvent apprendre des autres langues: après environ onze ou douze ans, c'est beaucoup plus difficile d'enseigner un langage nouveau. La vocabulaire est important, c'est vrai, mais l'obstacle primaire est la capacité de créer des sons nouveaux. Vous savez le mot radio, très bien. Mais si vous ne connaissez pas le pronocement, ou la difference entre l'anglais ou la français du combinaison -adio, votre lutte pour aisance est fini.

Si les enfants des jardins d'enfants avaient des leçons francos- juste la langue essentielle- leurs efforts plus tard dans la vie seront beacoup plus faciles.

Je sais qu'il y a de nombreux gens qui ne désirent pas apprendre la français- Pourquoi on doit la savoir si les québecois ne savent pas l'anglais? Cet avis enfantile n'aide personne: bien sur, la bilinguisme mandatoire s'appliquent aux quebecois aussi que le reste du Canada. Ils ont, au moins, un excuse: leur culture isolée dans la belle province (avec un petit peu du Nouveau-Brunswick) est instable et fragile. Leur langue spécial est un moyen de protéger leur patrimonie. Oui, ils se plainent chaque chance qu'ils ont: le "nation en un nation" est idiot, c'est vrai. Mais je suis sympa aux québecois. Ils reçoivent un peu et prennent beaucoup, bien sur. Laisse-les.

Je pense que ma vie est amelioré avec la connaissance francophone. Au plus mineur, une classe de gens qui étaient ensembles depuis le cinquième année serait très proches. Avoir un communauté aussi familaire dans le lycée peut être bénéfice aux étudiants, surtout en la neuvième année.

23

The lighting right now is so that I can really see the veins sticking out in my hands, and I rather like it. They've been working pretty hard today, twisting wire in art class, smacking on bongo drums after school and just now pounding away on the piano. I can't really see the full veins though, there's just this sort of a bump where it crosses over the tendons of my hand. Like the back of the Loch Ness monster rising up out of the water.

I love hands. So much. First of all, they're very interesting to look at, with all these muscles in the most unexpected places, laced with tendons and veins, the elegant diamond shapes of the knuckles, the little bones that jut out in the wrist. Second of all - they're so expressive, and capable of so much. We use our them for everything, so a persons hands could probably tell you a lot about them. I'm no Sherlock - but just looking at mine - I see a huge callous on the index finger of my right hand from holding a pen/pencil, the side of the knuckle of my pinkie on my right hand is actually kind of buffered from constantly rubbing across paper, my nails are short, but not small, with the ragged remains of some golden polish on them, and my fingers are fairly long. Normally they are decorated with some sort of doodle, but not today.

What do your hands tell you?

Anti-sexist rant

I love purple. And pink. But I'm a guy. Why is this wrong?

Woah, too many short sentences. I need to embrace my inner ramble and let loose a flood of any syllables so that the succint-ness of my phrases goes through an exponential growth. Ahh, much better- wouldn't you agree?

Anyways, back to the colours. I'm rather sad that I don't really get to wear these colours as much as I'd like. I realize there are no zombies of eternal damnation watching my every move, ready to throw me in jail as soon as I picked up a fuschia shirt-

Fuschia. What a weird name. And the purplinks have no shortage of strange descriptions: magenta. Dusty rose. Maroon. Violet. Periwinkle. Love the colours, dislike the names.

- but societal pressure does have an effect on me, no matter how much I wish it didn't. It seems unfair to me, and quite a callback to ancient times that men don't get to wear bright colours that much, let alone pink or purple. Women stole it off of us anyways, purple is a royal colour that was worn by paternalistic rulers of nearly ever culture- Julius Caesar? King Henry VIII? Jesus?

I'll just make myself some pink mittens. Resistance in any ways possible.

Anna Anna Oh!

So this weekend it was Independent Record Store day and I went to pick up some cds. While focusing intently on my cd selection, the faint strains of some rather excellent music broke through into my consciousness. I asked the people behind the counter about it, and so discovered Sunset Rubdown, side project of Wolf Parade, I believe. Here's a taste of their lyrics:

"the buffalo have given up on the world

and Apollo? Apollo is kissing all the valley girls
we climbed up the cross on the mountain on new year's eve
it was just God,the blizzard, the dreamweaver and me

my god, i miss the way we used to be
so here's a photograph for you to hold
it's my picture right before i got old
it's a picture of a buffalo
that we rode into extinction
that was the crime we committed in the night

Apollo, i heard your sister is equated with the moon
i think your sister is just another Runaround Sue
i say where have you been, where have you been, Erato?
where have you been, where have you been, Erato?

because it's been a long time since we sat around the willow tree fire
where Anna played guitar and the rest of us fell in love
that was back before she changed her name
will we ever find our way into Cassandra's gaze again?

the days before Anna changed her name
well here's a photograph for you to hold (here's a photograph)
it's my picture right before i got old (it's a picture)
it's a picture of a buffalo (it's a picture)
that we rode into extinction
that was the crime you committed in the name (that was the crime)
well here's a photograph for you to hold
it's my picture of before i got old
it's a picture of a prize

you hunter, you hunter, oh you hunter

Anna, Anna, Anna, oh!, why'd you change your name?"

I think I'm in love.

Completely unassosciated, but on my mind today - sleepwalking. Apparently you can give someone a heart attack by waking them up while doing it, because their hearts are beating abnormally fast or something. Ahhh. I sleepwalk occasionally ahaa.

Speaking of sleep -goodnight!

The Pain of Aging

Today's culture is intensely focused on youth and the eternal lasting thereof. Look younger, feel younger, act younger- old age has become a disease just as disliked as schizophrenia or psychoses*. I've never been one to jump for this, and it's quite possibly genetic- my mum proudly embraces her grey hairs (sorry mum). But one event, one singular fact has got me feeling really old today. Ready?

Kate can't understand Pal on arthur anymore. Do you know what this means? kate isn't a baby anymore. Of course, she should be a tween by now anyways- Arthur is on its 13th season now. Arthur himself should be out of univerisity- DW would have be graduating high school. Time doesn't really work on this show, but anyways: It started playing 13 years ago. The best episodes:

the giant envelope?

meek for a week?

perfect brain?
D.W. flips?

were shown 13 years ago. I remember when arthur started, and I was 4. I'm four years older than a show that's been a part of my life for nearly all of it- 74% to be precise. This led me to some other trains of thought.

Do you remember the lion king? of course you do. It came out in 1994. That was 16 years ago. Sixteen. The sequel? Can you think back to when you were waiting for Simba's return- 1998. Twelve years ago. I've had friendships longer than that.

It's 2010. We are ten years into the millennium. but if you asked me, I would feel like it just happened recently. In fact, I've lived for a longer time in the new millennium than after it. That's ridiculous. And my mind seems to have stopped accepting my age, because when someone asks me how old I am I have to think for a bit. If I said the first thing that popped into my head I'd still say 14. Why then? Why did the year I turn 14 remain the year I constantly think of? It actually surprises me when I realize that I'm sixteen. Old enough to drive? have legal sex? (not that that's happening anytime soon)- no way. I'm still a kid. I watch arthur, I like to colour, I enjoy playing pokemon and other games. My N64 is one of my best friends. I am not an adult.

But then I remember that I'm nearly out of high school- and it's all worth it.

fears?

Ahh.

Not to sound cocky or anything, but I'm actually not afraid of much. Que sera sera.

I am not afraid of dying, although at 16 this doesn't mean much. I'm not afraid of sadness. But after some introspection, I've found three things that would scare me:

loneliness

not being in control of myself

finding out that I'm actually worthless.

Anything else I think I could handle.

So I have a piano exam coming up in a couple of months, and am not practising nearly enough. I'm starting to get slightly terrified, which is probably a good thing really, I work better under pressure.

AND I have a theory exam in less than a month.

Plans for this weekend: diminished 7th chords, arpeggios, formula pattern in E major and Kuhlau's Sonatina in C major.

Off for a jog, the trees and the clouds are beckoning me :)

InterioRity

Well, you stole my idea so... what to do now? That's a good question Jack, trying answering it instead of requesting information from the populace en masse.

Now there's a thought: what if I just slip in such a plethora of polysyllabic utterances that the veritable significance behind this tangential aside is entirely and completely incomprehensible?

Or not. On second thought, let's try some dictation here and I'll just write to you as I talk. This should be interesting to say the least. Oh yeah, I do parenthical asides when speaking aloud. Doesn't everyone? Am I really that strange?

According to my subconscious, no I'm not. A quote from the fantastic Shampoo Planet, by the incredibly gifted Douglas Coupland, has stuck in my mind since I last read that novel, oh, a couple months ago:

I pretend to be more unusual than I actually am for fear that I am a replaceable cog.

Spooky. And now that I've shared that with the internet, I feel it's only fair that Sasha share a secret fear or phobia of her own.

HEY KIDS! Or more mature readers, we aren't ageist here. Click on the reaction buttons near the bottom! It's like a comment but you don't have to be witty, clever, or eloquent. It's our blog's "Like" button. Unless, you know, you click ftl. Then you're dead to me.

Om Nashi Me

OOOOoooohhhh!

Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nahhhh..... x6

Om Nashi Me x8

Woahh WoahhOhoh x2

flute solo

Woah WoahhOhoh x2

Nah nah nah nah nah nah nahhh - i love you x4

WOoooaaAAhhhhh x2

WOoooaaAAhhhhh\ woahOhoh x2

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh\ nah nah nahh x2

guitar dip
*clapping*

Nah nah nah nah nahhh - eh eh eh ooOww x4

I love you forever, and I'm loving you now. x2

Om Nashi Me x8
-Om-


-the lyrics to our Culture Shock performance. Eloquent, I know. It's going to be pretty awesome, we've got near 12 people, I think? performing, and we'll all just be yelling our heads off. I will be playing the bongos, and Jack will be a lovely tambourinist.
Playing the bongos is fun. They're kind of amazing, the stretched out animal skins are really beautiful, if you look close, and the sound is so individual. My fingers tingle afterwards though.
Here is the song, if you'd like to look it up.
Wish us luck, our audition is tomorrow!

GLEE RETURN

In commemoration of the awesome that is Glee! I will fill this blog post with as many references as I can. Get ready, set, go!

Last Christmas, as I Jumped out of bed, I started to Say a Little Prayer. Because I'm all Alone, I had to pray On my Own. To my surprise, I was Defying Gravity. The only thing I could think was Don't Stop Believin, or else I might fall. Looking up at the ceiling fan, I just Keep Holding On and shot it my brightest Smile. The fan, being evil, decided not to listen and had to Push It. It being me, of course. Maybe This Time, I thought, I wouldn't fall. I was sadly mistaken. If that wasn't enough, there was No Air in the room, so I had to Bust the Windows to be able to breathe. It turned out to be nothing but a dream: it was all Imagined by me. That's what I get for Taking Chances with LSD, I suppose.

Well. Yes. So, I'm superawesomeexcited for this, and I can't really concentrate right now. Sasha is watching Doc Who as I type, so congratulate her on joining the cult. Er, I mean, fandom.

Scars

*edit: posted by jack because sasha's computer was fiendishly manhandled*

I would love to give you a scientific definition, but all I know is cells regenerating and knitting the skin back together is what creates these fantastic thingies. Scars are awesome. They make you so much more individual, as a person, and always tell some sort of story. You could probably work your way across someone's entire body and learn so much about them from the scars they possess.
For example:
-A small line on my palm from jumping a fence at thinkFast.
-A little blotch interrupting the creases in my other hand from tripping over my own feet while playing soccer
-A line on the top of my hand from feeding a cow through a wire fence in Australia, and wrenching my hand back when it lunged at me
-Several small blotches on my other hand from trying to cut cheese with a bread knife
- a dark line on my hand from shutting the car door and having the corner of it scratch across my hand. The nerve still tingles if I press it!
- lots of little blotches around my ankle from scratching mosquito bites until I bled at summer camp in grade 8
AND
a dent (yes a dent) in my thigh from where I slammed into the side of the fort thingy in my backyard, while swinging on the rope swing. This happened in at least...grade 5.

What does this tell you about me? I am
-clumsy
-clumsy
-clumsy
-like cows

Fairly accurate I would say.

Big, Noisy, Dirty, Expensive, ... good?

I hate driving. It's stressful, lazy, bad for the environment, your wallet, and cute furry creatures everywhere. That being said, I'm in driving school now. Lolirony. It's not that I particularily want to drive- it's more of a necessity. Directly contrasting the whole "driving is a right, not a privilege" (begging the question of why someone would invent a great contraption and then make it such an exclusive option- if automobiles are so amazing, why do they cost so much? Why can you only drive one if you pass a test? What if you don't have the $120 required to even WRITE the test? But I digress), I actually have to get my licence. My currently living conditions, no matter how temporary, require me to learn how to drive. It's that or perpetually stay at home as both cars are out being driven by the parental units.

What other things, dear readers, can you think of that are commonly referred to as a right but should be a privilege? Lots of communal wells in poor african locations are only available to those who can pay the fee... does that makes water a privilege? If we have to forever suck down the exhaust from great dirty beasts of industry, our air quality will decrease. it's a fact. Shouldn't clean air be a right? You know, the right-to-not-poison-yourself-with-every-breath?

let us know commenter-type-people. We appreciate your input, and it makes our lives easier if we can waste, oh, 150 characters by just talking nonsense to you. Like I am right now.

EDIT: BMIN/E ARRIVED LIKE, SECONDS AGO. YOU KNOW WHOM I CAME TO FIRST. AND NOW, I GO INTO HIDING FOR HOURS. FAREWELL.

Yes I Forgot a Title-Had to Go Back and Edit It.

Currently riding high on good feelings and optimism, music tends to do that to me.

We just had a session of musicality in preparation for our act for Culture Shock, as Jack has already mentioned (I think?) and needless to say, it went well.

We just got news of our culminating task for art. A pencil (or other) drawing, a collage really, of images that represent our views of the world and spirituality and stuff, while incorporating elements of Renaissance art, like depth, linear perspective, foreshortening, folded drapery to show the human figure, etc etc.

SO UNBELIEVABLY EXCITED.

I would like to maybe do some washes in watercolour with warm colours, yellow and a tad of orange, for the focal points...and go over it with pencil and possibly ink...

Now I have to brainstorm symbols and elements that are me and portray my beliefs..

prepare to hear about this a lot.

I'm sorry if it bores you! please do tell me if this is the case.

so far I want (in there somewhere):

wings

eyes (LOVE eyes)

hands (LOVE hands)

lots of human figures. love the human figure.

and hopefully somehow show the struggle between good and evil, light and darkness that takes place inside of all of us, I believe.

I can see copious amounts of seagulls out my window. Curious, very curious.

ALL CAPS IS CRUISE CONTROL FOR COOL

JUST FOR A LITTLE CHANGE, I THOUGHT I WOULD TRY SOME ALL CAPS BLOGGING. I'M A FAN OF THE BAND, BUT JUST AS MUCH AS THEIR MUSIC ROCKS SO DOES FONT ITSELF. WHY DO YOU THINK INGREDIENT LISTS ARE ALL CAPS? BECAUSE IT MAKES YOUR FOOD *COOLER*. NOW HERE'S A CONUNDRUM: HOW TO ACCENTUATE WHEN ALREADY IN ALL CAPS? IT MAKES YOUR FOOD COOLER? COOLER? COOLER?

Right, that's done. It hurts your eyes after a while. So we have a short day tomorrow for the Literacy Test- grade 10s have to go in on time, but our classes don't start until noon. Excellent. Except I- and sasha- are going in early to work on a poster for our school's culture shock. With sharpies, no less. I love me some sharpies. The smell, the feeling, the permanence... doesn't get much better than a big thick sharpie.

Zombies! Zombies are cool! People like reading about zombies! So let's write about them! That's all we're here for anyways, to please our fans. Our goal in life is to make this as interesting as possible so you don't leave us. never leave us. Never. You have to stay for all time. Til the end of time.

Well, I've gotten steadily creepier so I'll cut it off now before I reach a previously unheard of level.

Fish Bowl.

Happy Tuesday everyone!

My laptop's battery is shot, and I don't have a power cord, so lets see how much I can get out before it dies on me.

Listening to Lodestar by Sarah Harmer, it's been stuck in my head ALL day.

It amazes me

in the beginning it's all soft and mellow and Harmer

and then it slowly and unexpectedly builds, out of nowhere

it rises - "and the fire glows"

like a flame getting brighter and brighter

"the darkness reigns"

not the most cheerful lyrics, I know

but it makes me so happy.

ALSO

I would just like to mention!

That the lovely Regina Spektor, in her time on the radio that Jack mentioned in his last post

said the exact same thing I did in one of my posts!

right...here...last paragraph

well, I asked it as a question, she stated it as a fact.

But still, I feel so...

connected!

Looking back I realize I never title my posts and this really irritates me. I never know what it'll be about, so I save the title for the end, and by then I forget.

Does the show a lack of direction?

I was really happy with the rain today, for some reason. But walking to school this morning, it smelt like fish, it really did.

Speaking of fish, I'm drawing one. In a fishbowl. In case you wanted to know...

Phoenix is a really great band. They are happy, energetic, and mellow at the same time, not an easy feat to achieve. Well actually, I wouldn't really know, but they seem like they'd be hard characteristics to combine. Right now I'm listening to Long Distance Call.

Plus, I think they're french, which, if you're Jack, is always a plus.

PS Kristina! Mrs MacDonald and I were talking about you today. She thinks your art is great :)

I ALMOST FORGOT A TITLE.

ridiculous.

riddikulus

boggarts anyone?

sorry.

Sexy Opera

Now, I'm willing to bet that you guys wouldn't actually put those two words together. Ever. But opera, much like every other style of art- music, painting, sculpture, dance, pottery- is becoming more and more sexualized. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but there are those who mourn the loss of opera as the last great bastion of true art.

Then again, who can argue with this?

I've always been the sort of person who's just addicted to one musical artist, and I'll love whatever they do, anything they do. And recently I've discovered that there are people, difficult as it might be to believe, that might only like one song by an artist and never heard anything else by them. And then they'll have the audacity to say they're fans. I'm sorry, but if the only song you've ever heard by Regina Spektor is Fidelity, then you are not a fan. It's simply impossible.

Speaking of ReSpekt, she's on CBC radio right now so I'll leave you dear readers.

Well I've got 22 minutes left, so I'd better make this good.

Ha-ha-HA Jack, I did in fact finish the book. I didn't finish it on time, but that's beside the point. It was actually quite good, even if I wasn't a huge fan of the end. It didn't have enough oomph for me.

I love regina!! and all her songs. I wish I had gone with you to the concert, it would have been AMAZING.

It's hardly my fault that the administration in charge of foot sizing decided that we should have utterly different sizes despite the fact that our feet are identical in size. Blame Nike.

Ok ok, drop the messenger bag thing already. I said I would get it if we stopped at another store, and we didn't. Not my fault.

I can match your cheery note with one of my own- today, it was simply gorgeous outside. The sun shone brightly, and looking out my window I saw this branch with a few buds on it. New spring growth, you know? I could see sunbeams falling on the branch, and the buds as well. But the shadows cast by the foliage were really really cool, because the stems made this opaque, sharp black line across my desk while the buds were almost translucent, like tiny bits of fluffy grey clouds alongside the big black slash. So awesome.

It's highly unlikely you'll finish the book by tonight Sasha. You do have school, and the book's really not that small.

Consequence of Sounds is a great song! If you don't know it, I highly suggest you check it out. If you find you're enjoying Regina's sounds, you could consequently check out Carbon Monoxide. Or Dance Anthem of Eighties. Or Two Birds. Or anything by her really.

I'm knitting a pair of socks for a certain awesome person who enjoys reading, knitting, and chemistry. But I have to get foot measurements from another friend who has [hopefully] the same size feet as said person. Upon receiving her measurements I realized our feet are apparently the same size around the arch. As she is a woman's size 9, and I am a men's size 10, something about this strikes me as slightly odd.

Speaking of shoes [well shoe sizes really] my mind jumps to the best kind possible: converse. Especially maroon ones. But I digress. Converse have those wonderfully flexible rubber soles, excellent for tree climbing if you're into those sort of things. And they look good with EVERYTHING. Really. You see them with suits on the red carpet, you see them with jeans on the street. Their chameleon-like qualities are what make them so reliable. Aside from the fact that they actually are very reliable -rain, mud, snow, you name it, converse can handle it! I very nearly received a converse messenger bag after the march break, but SOMEONE didn't follow through.

Did you know that march break was established in order to stop overstressed college students from killing themselves? It was put in place to coincide with the dates at which suicide rates reached their peak.

And on this cheery note, I shall leave you dear readers. Auf wiedersehen, sayonara, au revoir and good bye.