Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
More About "Blue Boy"
-- Friday, May 8
-- Rakesh Satyal Blue Boy
-- Magers and Quinn Bookstore
-- Rakesh Satyal
= Graduate from Princeton in Editing
= Indian Background
= Also wrote The Man I Might Become: Gay Men Write About Their Fathers
-- Summary
= Boy named Kiran
= Indian family living in the United States
= Effeminate Tendencies; ex: dance, Makeup
= Story about Acceptance, growing up
-- Last Thoughts
= Highly Recommend it
= Great Character Building; amazing attention to detail
= A book worth reading.
-- Rakesh Satyal Blue Boy
-- Magers and Quinn Bookstore
-- Rakesh Satyal
= Graduate from Princeton in Editing
= Indian Background
= Also wrote The Man I Might Become: Gay Men Write About Their Fathers
-- Summary
= Boy named Kiran
= Indian family living in the United States
= Effeminate Tendencies; ex: dance, Makeup
= Story about Acceptance, growing up
-- Last Thoughts
= Highly Recommend it
= Great Character Building; amazing attention to detail
= A book worth reading.
Monday, May 18, 2009
JON SCHMIDT LOVE STORY MEETS VIVA LA VIDA!!!
http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=88575796713&h=ZWEcR&u=m6pHd
This made me cry. I love music.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Little Big Man
New book for Lit: Little Big Man, by Thomas Berger.
I'm liking the style, so far (I'm only a few pages in.) The characters are really funny, and the part that sticks out the most so far is that the guy wants to be a Mormon, but has only heard about it through other travelers and knows nothing more about them except for the fact that they're allowed to have multiple wives. haha.
I'm liking the style, so far (I'm only a few pages in.) The characters are really funny, and the part that sticks out the most so far is that the guy wants to be a Mormon, but has only heard about it through other travelers and knows nothing more about them except for the fact that they're allowed to have multiple wives. haha.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Love Medicine: By Louise Erdrich
My most recent book this month is one I'm reading for Lit called Love Medicine, by Louise Erdrich, about a Native American Family. Erdrich, who is Native American herself and lives in Minnesota, writes about individual family members and their dealings with one another. They can get to be a little crazy. One man even burns his mistress's house down. Erdrich's style is provocative and worth reading, although I am a little disappointed by the decisions of the characters. But, of course, what's a book without conflict? I'm not done with it yet, but I'm having trouble finding the underlying "theme" of the book. We're supposed to answer the question, "what is love medicine, according to the novel?" And I haven't a clue what it is. It might be forgiveness, because you need a lot of it to still love such a wacko family. There's alcohol, rape, affairs, and death everywhere, and there's a lot of anger. So I guess the real solution is to just forgive, change, and move on.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
MEMORIES
Memory is nothing more than the past's transluscent ghost,
And yet memories are also things I hate the very most.
For memories bring back tears that, never again, should fall.
I often go back inside the cavern of my mind
Trying hard to remember what I've left behind
But sometimes I wish I couldn't remember at all.
Some shine as clear as crystal, sending waves of fear and dread
And some are thin as smoke -- like a fog inside my head.
For some reason, it's the happy ones that I cannot perceive.
These tiny glints of feeling give me reason to believe
It's the memories you have that show the past is never dead.
I see into the past... back to that blessed place
I see a special moment... see a blessed face
And I wish with all my heart to be back there.
Back to the arms of home, and its vague, but sweet carress.
I try to forget it, but I see it nonetheless.
I can't help but reminisce and say a prayer.
I pray I'll see that day again, the hope we'll reunite,
For the pictures in my head to be focused, clear, and bright.
And all amongst the agonies, regret, remorse, and pain,
With every happy memory, a hint of hope remains.
It's the hope of the future that, in this tunnel, shines a light.
And maybe I won't ever see those images I save
And I'll live my life just wishing, and trying to be brave.
Perhaps I'll see that face once more when I have passed through death.
It's for those wondrous moments that I'd give my every breath.
It's the memories I keep that help me not fear the grave.
THIS PLACE
Just one day inside this place
Brings smiles of joy across my face.
For it is here I found a trace
of something goodlike old, dark wood
And now I've learned to love this space.
Every corner, every wall
I can anticipate your call
and though you're often not there at all
I hear your voice
Like soft white noise
Echoing in every hall.
It seems you're in this air I breathe:
The atmosphere I must not leave.
These toxins oft make me believe
You're not away
You're here to stay
Your arms around me like a wreath.
The ground I place my feet upon
Is ground you've graced for oh, so long,
And though I know that you are gone
Your soul is there
In ever chair
In every voice, I hear your song.
And when I leave this memory here
And the pictures grow unclear,
I hope your face shall still appear
Within my dreams
On moonlit beams
And in my heart be always near.
Memory is nothing more than the past's transluscent ghost,
And yet memories are also things I hate the very most.
For memories bring back tears that, never again, should fall.
I often go back inside the cavern of my mind
Trying hard to remember what I've left behind
But sometimes I wish I couldn't remember at all.
Some shine as clear as crystal, sending waves of fear and dread
And some are thin as smoke -- like a fog inside my head.
For some reason, it's the happy ones that I cannot perceive.
These tiny glints of feeling give me reason to believe
It's the memories you have that show the past is never dead.
I see into the past... back to that blessed place
I see a special moment... see a blessed face
And I wish with all my heart to be back there.
Back to the arms of home, and its vague, but sweet carress.
I try to forget it, but I see it nonetheless.
I can't help but reminisce and say a prayer.
I pray I'll see that day again, the hope we'll reunite,
For the pictures in my head to be focused, clear, and bright.
And all amongst the agonies, regret, remorse, and pain,
With every happy memory, a hint of hope remains.
It's the hope of the future that, in this tunnel, shines a light.
And maybe I won't ever see those images I save
And I'll live my life just wishing, and trying to be brave.
Perhaps I'll see that face once more when I have passed through death.
It's for those wondrous moments that I'd give my every breath.
It's the memories I keep that help me not fear the grave.
THIS PLACE
Just one day inside this place
Brings smiles of joy across my face.
For it is here I found a trace
of something goodlike old, dark wood
And now I've learned to love this space.
Every corner, every wall
I can anticipate your call
and though you're often not there at all
I hear your voice
Like soft white noise
Echoing in every hall.
It seems you're in this air I breathe:
The atmosphere I must not leave.
These toxins oft make me believe
You're not away
You're here to stay
Your arms around me like a wreath.
The ground I place my feet upon
Is ground you've graced for oh, so long,
And though I know that you are gone
Your soul is there
In ever chair
In every voice, I hear your song.
And when I leave this memory here
And the pictures grow unclear,
I hope your face shall still appear
Within my dreams
On moonlit beams
And in my heart be always near.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Prom was AMAZING!
I had the best time ever at prom! From the amazing meal, to the limo rides, to grinding with all my friends (blush), to the great music, to my cute sophomore date, to watching prince caspian at a friend's house until 4 in the morning afterward. It was fantastic.
Another Funny Thing Having to do with one of my Teachers...
My old government teacher is actually in an improv club called Comedy Sportz. It's kind of a side job...
"Michael "I see London, I see" Franssen
Throws: Stones in glass houses (with his right hand)
Throws: Stones in glass houses (with his right hand)
Birthplace: Los Angeles, California
Birthday: December 26
CSZ Player since: 1991
Favorite CSZ game: Anything involving scenework and no musical styles Most likely to: Invoke class warfare as a plot point in a scene
Michael loves the Minnesota Gophers, hockey, and Minnesota Gopher hockey. People seem to find it odd that he has color-coordinated hangers and hangs up his dirty shirts, but Michael thinks they're just jealous of his organizational skills. When not indulging his theatrical hobby, Michael used to be a writer and is now a teacher. Soon he'll find another occupation that pays even less.
Calculus in under 20 minutes!!!
My calc teacher today showed us a pretty funny set of videos... that was also very useful for our test tomorrow of pretty much everything we've learned the whole year. Enjoy!
Part 1
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EX_is9LzFSY
Part 2
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9OkFTDG4fY&feature=related
Part 1
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EX_is9LzFSY
Part 2
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9OkFTDG4fY&feature=related
Saturday, May 2, 2009
The Secret Garden
Well, the Secret Garden is now officially over. And I feel absolutely nothing. Really, while everyone else cried, I just sat and watched. It's not that I wasn't sad or anything, I just didn't quite feel like it was totally over. I mean, I'd still be seeing all these people for a while, and I didn't really like being in this show anyway. Things just aren't the same now. I don't know. I'm writing a poem about it and hopefully that will make more sense than this ridiculously useless post.
I wish I could write about mundane things that happen to me and make them sound really pretty and interesting. But I really am at a loss for ideas nowadays. I feel like I'm writing just words and not actual thoughts and messages to the world. I don't want to change the world or anything, I just wish people could read my stuff and be able to think, "That is one intelligent individual." But right now all these letters I'm typing are like pointless. Ugh.
I wish I could write about mundane things that happen to me and make them sound really pretty and interesting. But I really am at a loss for ideas nowadays. I feel like I'm writing just words and not actual thoughts and messages to the world. I don't want to change the world or anything, I just wish people could read my stuff and be able to think, "That is one intelligent individual." But right now all these letters I'm typing are like pointless. Ugh.
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