illusions and realities

so here I am, momming for the summer again. like everything, there's pros and cons. I get to laze around more than if I had a consistent day job. I make a lot less money. I can't go the places I want when I want. I get to stay home. it's the ultimate balancing act between the fighting sides of my personality and it's draining. and pretty boring. I hope this thing becomes, not more glamorous, but at least more enjoyable, more fulfilling, when I have my own kids. cause these brothers just don't feel worth the monotony. I don't know if I would sacrifice career, travel, learning, or more tailored personal fulfillment for them.

I do like cooking, but not under pressure or without thanks. or worrying about the appropriate quantity of onions. I like my dog, but not putting her out five times in ten minutes or waking up three times to put her back to bed. I like my brothers, but not bossing them. I wish I could imagine a day of jeffrey's life where I didn't have to squeeze the toothpaste or micromanage every moment of the day. if I don't, he'll scarf ten cookies before breakfast. it's more tolerable when the recipient is 3 but infinitely more frustrating when he's 13 + 3. 

I like mothering. I can't help worrying for my friends and wanting to take care of them, make sure they're safe. I'm a fierce defender of jeffrey. I would punch someone out (and consequently get beaten to a pulp) for him, though I use my wits and words more often, to greater effect. but there's an indefinite distance between being sister and mom. between going out with them, teasing, exchanging levels of immaturity, but always ready to fight, defend; and sending them off to school and waiting, waiting, feeling the worry like a constant shadow, a steady pressure on the lungs, barricaded by definition behind sheltering walls that rise taller and taller to cut off even the whisper of a breeze.

am I being too dramatic? 

I'm going to die of hypertension, product of a bizarre internal melodrama.

I'm out of shape

today, I played lacrosse with gregory. played being a completely relative term, of course. he doesn't cradle and has a whole lot more willingness to completely tire himself out. and we were on one-man teams. my one moment of awesomeness was when my shot missed the section of fence that was the goal, but hit this giant knot in the wood and completely busted it. it was pretty sweet. the basic skills came back much more quickly than I thought they would -- cradling, scooping, throwing. I don't think it would take very long to get back to my old skill level, considering I wasn't very skilled. but I am just way out of shape. I came inside and my face was ridiculously pink. but that's just cause I'm pink.

since I've been watching wimbledon of late, it occurred to me that when an athlete reaches a level of professional competition, their equipment loses all value. right now, my lacrosse stick is awesome and I love it and wouldn't want another one. but if I were a pro, it wouldn't be that big of a deal if it cracked or wore out and I had to get a new one. ballerinas get new toe shoes twice a week. tennis players go through more than one racquet in a match. I think it's kind of depressing that you lose that relationship with your enablers.

I guess I'm comparing it to music; it's because in sports, any stick with quality and features up to par will work. and the same goes with instruments, I suppose, but my viola is so much a part of me. yes, I can play any instrument, but I don't want any instrument, I want mine. because it's an extension of everything I put into my music. I think the soul of an athlete's performance is much more internal and distanced from the external equipment. when you find the stick you like, a massive enterprise of manufacturing can supply you indefinitely. but my viola is handmade and I'll never have another just like it.

names

I've been looking around for character names for anything I might be writing in the near or far future. here's what I came up with. feel free to post your own favorites, but I can't guarantee I'll like them. I'm really quite particular.

girls:

maren

ingrid

lenore

berlin

linnéa

austen

frankie

ella

mona

leila

larue

isabelle

lilah

boys:

ferris

ilan

roscoe

dai

ioan

eamon

surnames:

silverthorn

ryland

coleman

chandler

alston

birch

bevin (bevan)

howie

mcquarrie

corcoran

clemons

darby

emory

nathan

fletcher

faron

now I just need to create some characters. you can't very well place a personality with a name if it doesn't exist yet.

dream blog premier

I think dreams are fascinating and always have. I've been writing them down, when I remember them, for a long time now. I read once or heard someone say that people who tell other people about their dreams are _____. I can't recall, but it was something negative. which surprised me. at the risk of the negative opinions of all you who can fill in that blank, I've decided to post my dreams every now and then. if that's not your thing, feel free to skip those posts. I try to include as many details as possible to reform the sensation of setting, so you might find it tedious. and if that is your thing, feel free to comment and let me know your interpretation, even though my interpretation might make more sense, considering I know myself better than anyone else does. the subconscious is so mysterious and fascinating. "we are not only less reasonable and less decent in our dreams, we are also more intelligent, wiser, and capable of better judgment when we are asleep." the awake self might not acknowledge the truth of that, but the sleep self knows better.

huge, awesome castle -- there's a big ceremonial thing going on in this hall, and I'm royalty or something, or at least someone with authority. it's like narnia, with aslan maybe? and I'm wearing a medievally dress. there are 2 guys standing next to me, giving reports I think. one is very tall and thin, but not too skinny, dark hair and olive skin, not too young looking. he is eyeing me.

a battle, castle under attack, aslan missing. people are running around and there's no order. sometimes I am directing many people and being helpful, other times rushing to other places to accomplish tasks that only I can do, very separate from everyone. I and someone else push these stone walls around, like plates, with a mural or carving of a lion on it, trying to get his help and instigate the assembly in the large hall below to action -- it doesn't work.

I was at the top of this tower and the tall guy wants to kiss me, but we were both eating peanuts and I still have peanuts in my mouth, so I say I taste like peanuts and we don't kiss. he pulls me back into the tower from outside the window, he is strong and secure. we really want to kiss, but we don't. we run off to try and organize.

under serious attack. I convince a little girl to let go of her cat and promise her that if she has faith, she will find it at the end of the battle. we head outside to fight. it's sandy, but not dunes. everyone's out there in a caravan. we start being bombed. the two guys are beside me on the left and others are on my right. the guys start flinging themselves onto the ground with the momentum of the shock waves from the blasts, to absorb the shock safely. (I have no idea if this makes any sense for real, but it worked) 

we all start doing it. me and the guy grip each other's hand in the sand. people are dying and now we're all retreating back to the castle. even though it's sand, it doesn't feel like running in sand. I get separated from everyone and I'm just trying to avoid explosions and help as many people as I can get back unharmed.

we finally get back safe, some of the very last to get in and he's waiting for me, worried. I run to him and kiss him fiercely and we make out for a bit cause we could be dead soon and cause I'm really scared, even though I act with precision and seem like I'm in control of the situation. (the make out was good but sloppy cause your brain can only work with what it already has)

then there's a day of non-war, of recuperation. there's maybe a half-dozen couples who get married because it's now or never. me and dallin watch them, but there aren't any feelings towards each other. roy and mindy get married.

I'm wandering through the castle, which is gorgeous. there are tons of people from college. for some reason, I'm looking for eric hansen who has my frying pan, so I'm wandering around the boys' living quarters. I talk to hestin. random. 

I'm not looking for tall love interest boy because I know he's out fighting. I go to the command headquarters -- it's all dark and there are these kiosk/command stations where you could see on a screen the battle details of outside. I'm worried about him.

I was out fighting and got a sword wound in the side and an arrow in my shoulder. it's the dead calm, literally, after the battle and I'm lying among the corpses. make-out man is out trying to find me. he kisses me when he finds me. he warns me that he's going to take out the arrow and I agree, pale and scared, but still brave. my lips are cracked and dry. I hold his arm and bite my fist and he takes it out. he lifts me and carries me with my legs around his waist and leaning front-ways on his shoulder.

the end.

it was a really fun dream! my mom says I'm a freudian gold mine. 

things I noticed:

-- we didn't kiss because of food (like a previous dream where me and roy didn't kiss because I was eating peas)

-- I am strong and scared at the same time

-- aslan (god) never shows up

sculpture

these are some of my favorites:

st. george by donatello

tomb of pauline bonaparte borghese as venus victorius

 by antonio canova

la pieta by michelangelo

sorrow and tenderness made solid.

detail of the rape of proserpina by bernini

that is marble. absolutely unbelievable.

the kiss by rodin

yeah, this incredible art was put in storage at the 

byu museum of art when the rodin exhibition came.

I don't know about you, but this sculpture

gives me seriously evil evil thoughts.

(sarcasm! if you didn't get that you don't deserve to

read my blog. this sculpture is one of the most beautiful

things I have ever seen. ever.)

I climbed a mountain

yesterday was an awesome and ridiculous adventure. david, his little brother matthew, and I hiked old rag to do some filming (of course). first, we left at 6am to get there in good time and hike early before it got too hot, but we didn't get there until 11.30, having gotten very lost and ended up somewhere near the maryland border before figuring out where we were. there we sat in a parking lot in purcellville laughing outrageously when we figured out we had just driven almost four and half hours to the wrong place, and I'll admit, my crying was not just cause I was laughing so hard. 

but we finally got there and the hike was hard but amazing. the view was breath-taking and liberating, the weather was mild. virginia is indescribably beautiful. and it was fun! we did the necessary filming, including two costume changes on my part. I seriously don't know why I do this. it's such a joke. this "movie" is ridiculous and I am ridiculously bad at acting. I really don't know. but it's a good thing I love hiking or I wouldn't have done this just for the movie. so we left the summit at 5.30 and headed down the fire trail without getting stormed on, lucky considering the brewing storm clouds and rowdy wind. then we saw a black bear in the parking lot. then we drove home. 

and called our parents as soon as we got signals back on our phone. and were immediately chewed out and informed that they had called park authority and highway patrol cause they thought we had died. well, david's parents did. my parents were just starting to wonder when would be the rational time to call when david's parents had already reached the conclusion that we had all fallen off a cliff and died. or that matthew had fallen off a cliff and we, responsible 19 year olds, left him there. we got lost again on the way home. of course. seriously not my fault. and when I finally got home, I took a shower, observed my various scrapes and bruises, drank a ton of water, and went to sleep. and this morning, my butt hurts. not my legs, just my butt. ???

like I said, an adventure.

pictures forthcoming.

in the office of the enemy

being back at school reminded me of all the good times I had in this the IB office of mr. bassett, commonly referred to as "the enemy" by just about everyone in IB except me. nah, they really liked him too, he was just a physical target for all of our general IB hatred. bassett says we're complaining about teachers here, we probably were, but I don't remember. why am I wearing that jacket? it's tennis season. it looks like I'm about to throw up some gang hand signals. 

wherein christina makes clear the distinction between blah and blegh

I have 50 mosquito bites. I counted. I wish they would go away. it's not the itching that bothers me, it's the fact that I can't wear anything except pants without grossing myself out.

observing my random psychology is kind of fun. the other day, when I ate mcdonald's (I'm not sure what possessed me to do that, I knew it was going to be nasty), I kept thinking about how nasty it was and all the gross things I'd read about in Fast Food Nation and I actually made myself feel sick. also, I've always hated getting a drink of water from the faucet after washing your hands because the water tastes like soap. even though I know it can't possibly and that it makes no logical sense, I can still taste the soap. I also don't like hand-washing dishes to use immediately, for the same reason. 

I do not have enough money to get tickets to see coldplay live during their viva la vida tour. it is upsetting, but I am not distraught. in fact, I'm kind of blah about everything right now. take note, there is a crucial difference between blah and blegh. blah is indifferent, kind of like a tortoise that sits without reacting while annoying children shoot him with water pistols because the effort to get up and move two feet out of their reach is too great. blegh can be either that bug on the windshield that gave you a nice two inch streak of electric blue slime, or paris hilton. more commonly used in reference to paris hilton. I will never understand why, when hearing my name, men will invariably chuckle idiotically and say, "heh heh, like paris hilton?" yes, by automatically thinking of a nasty, attention-seeking, idiotic slut you are paying me a wonderful compliment that of course endears all of your sordid character traits to me, your instantaneous lover. yes, everyone, we fell in love over paris hilton's porn video.

I love the build-up before a storm breaks loose. the sky gets greenish and the wind starts blowing through the trees in multiple directions and you can hear the raindrops falling faster and faster. it's happening right now.

I'm going to go eat a salad.

back to school

today was the last day of school for everywhere here in p.w. and I stopped by gar-field to say hello to all my old teachers. the new principal has shaken up all the old rules and I was thoroughly annoyed. I had to leave my i.d. at the desk, go through the farther away entrance, wear a stupid visitor tag, etc. incredibly lame. but whatever, at least I got to see my teachers. first person I saw was mr. bassett, of course. he's boisterous and free like always, hair not as awful as I remember. it was great to see him; I used to live in his office. it felt good to hear him say how terrible this year was and how much he missed us. the teachers keep saying that, which surprises me, cause it always seemed like the years behind us were getting progressively better and better. maybe in school itself, but they just can't ever be as awesome as we are. so mr. bassett brought me over and said, prefacing his statement with a disclaimer, that I look good, healthy, that last year I was "just too damn skinny". it was hilarious and very bassett and made me feel good. 

then I went to see chenevert, a conversation that was just slightly awkward like always, and mrs. mays, whose hair looks good!!! most tremendous contradiction of my life. then the english teachers who didn't really know me. then the history teachers who pretty much worship me (it's okay, I worship them too). I got to see mr. pell before he heads out never to return. I talked to all-time favorite mr. parada for almost two hours, about so many things, including immigration, presidential elections, humanitarian aid, the purpose of life, and other profound things that we could never fully approach during 20 minute lunches in high school. then, incredulous at how long I'd spent at a school I didn't go to anymore, I ran to nolen's room, gave him a hug, promised to return his birds movie, learn how to rock-climb, and hang out with him next week, and ran out the door cause I was late. 

for filming. which was mostly a failure anyway, except for the che hat I bought at the thrift store. then I went to work. then I bought mcdonalds and ate it. I feel like I should throw up every time I think about it. for the first time in a long time, nobody's at home, I have a car at my disposal, and I don't want to go anywhere. actually, I'd like to, but I feel really gross and it's hard to have fun when you're gross (aka ate 4 honey buns and mcdonalds in one day and need to take a shower). there's a ripe pineapple in my fridge and I want to eat it SO bad! but I don't know how to cut it and it's torturing me. I just teared up thinking about how much I want to eat the whole thing right now. man, I'm weirding myself out.

a poem

I decided to share my favorite of the poems I've written. I wrote a couple years ago. that said, don't cut me up too badly, the muses are more fragile than the furies.

"I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearth stone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."  Abraham Lincoln, 4 March 1861, 1st Inaugural

(lacking a title that does it justice. but it's about lincoln)

There was a note of pleading in his voice that March day,

But I'm not sure that they heard it.

They couldn't know the price he would have to pay. 

There was too much on their minds.

As he said farewell at a Springfield station platform,

How many of them knew?

Had they grown to regard his integrity as the norm,

And only miss his silhouette?

Did they realize that the next time he'd return

It would be with eyes closed

And a delicate woman in black who would learn

To show nothing but red eyes?

Here on a cot, half a leg gone, half my sanity, too.

He's outside, a giant in his top hat.

As he scanned the camp, his eyes mirrored what I knew

As screams of pain echoed.

Were I as strong as he, I would never have cried.

He accepts duty with dignity;

But who guessed what weeping we might have spied

In the White House, alone.

As she pulled on white gloves and put a jewel in her hair,

Tiny feet in satin shoes,

And floated like angelic silk down the fairy tale stair

To her waiting, noble prince,

Had all fear been whisked away, or did it just hide

Til the wisp of a shadow

Roared in her ears and a scream wrenched her throat wide

As his blood splattered her cheek?

Now he lies on a cot, but still his eyes stare tearless,

Fearless, facing the light.

Do they smile sadly at the irony of the killer's success

That will bring only failure?

And the little gloved hands grip his own desperately

As the pulsing blood slows

To a trickle that runs down the bedpost freely

And puddles in her lap.

Now the missing silhouette is forever burned into our mind.

Or is it our pockets?

And our memories of the most human leader, we find,

Are neglected altogether.

an assortment of random events

so this kid requested to be my friend on facebook and I, being the simultaneously wary and trusting person that I am, looked at his profile, saw that he likes kings of convenience and decided that was as good a reason as any to agree. then, I later saw that he was having this contest with his friends to see who could get the most friends on facebook. lame! I guess I'm still a naive little facebook newbie who holds by her die-hard rule that no one deserves the title of friend until I've at least had an intelligible conversation with them. hence the reason I rejected will budge's friend request about fifty times until I spoke to him for a couple minutes and didn't have an excuse anymore. what kind of a reflection is it of my personal life that I nursed the slightly flattering belief that somebody was interested in me, if only in passing, on facebook for god's sake? and it wasn't even true. I feel slightly defiant and ashamed.

I really want to be writing, but I feel like I don't have any life experiences that would qualify me, and the ones that I have qualify me to write about things I don't want to. well, since I just finished reading harry potters six and seven in french, and my fingers were suddenly itching to write something, I stooped to a baseness I am ashamed of. I wrote a harry potter fanfic. it's short, not even 700 words, and I think I got it all out of my system cause I can't think of anything else I would write, fanfic wise. anyway, I would post it, but I'm slightly embarrassed. probably blushing at my juvenility at this very moment. so, not this time. but maybe I'll share some of my other work soon. still blushing.

I'm lucky enough to have a remedy to emotional distress that never fails me. reading oscar wilde's the importance of being earnest out loud. and lately tom stoppard's rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead has been doing the trick too. of course, that makes loads of sense. reading nonsensical cyclical lines about fear, fate, existentialism, and death, wouldn't that make you not depressed? I don't know if I've ever made sense in my life. I am still convinced that if ever given a real chance, I could be a great stage actress.

someone told me about a month ago that I am very dichotomous about what I do and do not enjoy. I have fully embraced this word as a magnificent christina descriptor. it is true. I always make it very clear about what I consider foolish, ridiculous, and unacceptable. I have the perpetual habit of stating my opinion as truth, or rather as the only opinion that anyone with any measure of sense would ever possibly consider adopting. my truth opinion of the day: gas stations should always be open. in fact, every store in the united states should always be open. this is the world haven of immediate self-gratification. how can we achieve this most worthy of goals if I cannot buy strawberries when I want to?? this only applies to the states, though. anywhere else, especially picturesque europe is the haven of calm and foresight where one would rather walk than drive through montmartre and I would always have food because people make a lovely ritual out of buying it fresh every morning. 

my mother leaves in little more than a week. then at least my life will be a lot less boring. more hectic, more annoying, but less boring. 

my future secret night-time side-life

I figured it out. all I have to do now is get a guitar and learn to play it. I'm going to sing at cafes or somewhere else small and cute. I'll play the piano sometimes and the guitar sometimes and just sing covers. that I can do. and since I'll be in music mode every night, maybe I'll even start writing my own stuff. I guess this idea technically goes to amanda, but I'm adopting it whole-heartedly. seriously, if people would pay me to sing, I would be so ecstatically happy. the other day when I was at the graffs, last sunday? after the regina spektor concert, I was just singing while we all played chinese checkers and christian told me to stop showing off. it took me a few seconds to realize he was talking to me and I was so shocked. how dare he? I never sing to show off! I just love to sing and express my joy for emotions and experiences and living. that made me start thinking if other people think I sing to show off. I don't think so, though. people who are really around me all of the time know that I sing constantly, in the shower, doing my hair, in the car, doing chores, everything. I just love to sing. and I think it shows how much I love it when I do. I'm just going to ignore that whole incident, or at least be conscience of never ever singing to show off. I'm excited for coldplay's newest album. I'm going to pre-order it as soon as I get some of my cash deposited into my checking account. this whole juggling of cash and debit, savings and checking, stupid banks that don't have branches in virginia and utah, I've just about had enough.

sorry non-french speakers

I was writing in my journal, something I've been neglecting since I started this blog thing, in french, which I love to do. the best is to go back and read french entries and see all the random english words I didn't feel like looking up as I was writing, like facebook sitcom, snowflakes, viewing, towed, upset, and over-whelmed. anyway, today I wrote something kind of profound about myself, but I hate translating from french to english, it's never quite the same thing I meant to say. so, sorry non-french readers, this one's just for me.

Je voudrais "m'évader vers de nouvelles contrées", en Europe ou en Afrique ou n'importe où dehors de ces épouvantables Etats-Unis et cette culture écrasante qui m'enlève la patience, l'essence de l'esprit. C'est presque impossible à imaginer passer tout l'été coincée ici et puis d'être emprisonner à BYU, piégée entre le ciel ardoisé et mon propre cynisme. Je ne peux guère respirer et je ne sais pas pour combien de temps je pourrai le supporter.

(hopefully I didn't do anything illegal posting this picture. thanks to jon armstrong, co-conspirator of the blurbodoocery.)

shoes = ocd

today was my fourth day of work at my new/only/first job at skechers. I'm a really hard worker and I find things to do and fix and work on without having to be asked. but I'm not officially trained on register yet so I can't be as completely helpful and competent as I'd like to be. oh well. there's only one problem with this job. if there's nothing to do, there's always something to do like bump boxes up or down, straighten displays, etc. in other words, make sure everything is absolutely perfect. well, we get a lot of down time during the week, so I find myself going completely insane at the end of a five hour shift. chasing down every tiny bit of trash with a push broom that's too small for the aisles and automatically correcting shoe displays without thinking. I'm going to have to pay attention to my brain and make sure I'm not letting my ocd-ness get out of control. my coworkers probably think I'm insane. plus, when I'm working on something I get totally absorbed in what I'm doing and don't pay attention to their conversation, so when they ask me something I sound crazy cause I don't know what they're talking about. or I don't hear them when they talk to me and they think I'm rude. which is never good. rapport with the coworkers is crucial. so I guess I'll have to work on that. I just wish dan wasn't out of town so I could get trained on register and so he could see what a good worker I am. I guess I have all summer though. this job will feel a whole lot more worth it once I get a paycheck.

a response

a response to: http://newnewsnet.byu.edu/story.cfm/65978

I've wanted to answer to this opinion piece ever since I read it months ago, not only because I feel a strong connection with Harry Potter & co. but because I also feel a pressing responsibility to expose the fallacy that all mormons have the same opinions and prejudices. so here I go.

first of all, I need to defend J.K. Rowling. I have little patience with a fan base that berates an author for her creative decisions. in my opinion, art is created for the artist, not for the sake of itself or for any other person. because of its nature, it is subject to personal interpretation by millions, which is the beauty of it after all, but that should not be a factor in its creation. Jo feels a great appreciation for her readers -- she couldn't have continued to write and publish her story without them -- but she does not have to answer to them for anything. she is the creator of Harry and his world and can do whatever she damn well pleases with it.

despite this right, Jo never tried to impose things on her readership. if she intended to turn her story into an "argument for gay rights" she would have done so. but she didn't. she didn't say anywhere in the books that Dumbledore is gay. knowing it after the fact, readers can find subtle hints that allude to the possibility, but nothing outright or even on the radar amongst all the plot lines and drama of Harry's adventures. Jo kept her character's controversial truth to herself until she was confronted with an outright question by a reader. it is exactly because of her profound respect for her readership that she felt she should tell the truth about Dumbledore. it is absolutely true that "just because she likes picturing a gay wizard does not mean that every other reader must do the same." Jo's revelation does not have to have any bearing on an individual reader. you don't like a gay Dumbledore? fine. there is nothing in the books that forces you to see him as such. imagine him differently. that is the magic of books.

I'm going to stop matching Lee point for point now because his next few paragraphs are so full of logical fallacies and incoherent justifications that they're not worth refuting. I'll just tell you how I feel. J.K. Rowling dedicates the seventh book to "you, if you have stuck with Harry to the very end." I first read sorcerer's stone when I was 11 and at some point, either with a book release or a movie release, I was the same age as the characters. I grew up with Harry. I learned with Harry. some would say that Jo got started with a children's book and, once her franchise was secured, could write adult themes. I disagree. the themes have always been the same. Harry has just grown to understand them. I think it was Jo's hope that her readers would too, but I'm afraid some of them forgot the lessons they learned on the way. 

one of the grand motifs of the books is tolerance. as Hogwarts approached a time of dark threats and danger, the sorting hat's advice was to put differences aside and stand together. at the end of book seven, Harry and Malfoy have made a kind of peace. no, they will probably never be friends. Malfoy still likes the dark arts. Harry still despises them. but they have a measure of respect for each other, and tolerance. they can co-exist. and frankly, is that the best we can do? co-exist? I believe we can do better. it is easy to read a moving story and take heart in its good messages, but when Jo takes her message out of Harry's magical adventures and places them in our own context, all her bold advocates flee. why does a practical application of a truth suddenly erase its legitimacy? we lack the bravery of our favorite bespectacled hero.

Lee says, "Oh, and for those of us who don't jump up and down with jubilation over your fictional character's sexual preference, show a little tolerance and allow us the right to think what we will of Dumbledore." it is futile to point fingers and denounce everyone else as intolerant. both sides can do that. everybody take a step towards the middle and acknowledge that we all need to be more tolerant. and the right to think what you will? nobody has taken this right away from you, readers. the moment you stop believing in your power to imagine what you want, you lose that magic. Stephen King says that "to ignore the truth inside the lie is to sin against the craft in general and one's own work in particular." might I extend that to the recipients of the craft? to ignore the truth inside the lie is to demote it to a simple story, robbing it of its true intent and its true power to change who we are and what we believe in.

sorry about the repost, I was trying to fix the font. I am now officially giving up.

people are just people

I went to see Regina Spektor yesterday -- she was giving a short free concert on the mall for the Israel @ 60 celebration. she was so ... I've used up all appropriate adjectives in describing it to all my friends. it was transcendent. I really need to get the rest of her albums. it's incredible that I haven't considering how much I love her music. if I were ever to become a singer/songwriter, I would be her. but I've decided that I'm not going to because 1 I have a good voice but it is still not comparable to hers and 2 I have a passion for music, but not one that compels me to write and create, just one that makes me want to sing all the time and play the piano. it may not make sense, but singing other people's songs is enough for me, but you can't be discovered by making other artists' music. I'm in a weird gap of music stagnation. so many of my favorite artists aren't creating anymore or they're making crap and changing their sound in a way I don't like. and I've forgotten how to discover new music. I don't remember how I did it before. I dislike the whole process because I'm so particular about my music taste that it's very tiresome to sift through all the not-quite-good-enough and the tolerable to find something I'd really care to listen to. but here is my newest discovery:

The Avett Brothers - Die Die Die