Up and Up and Up

"To live will be an awfully big adventure."

With the words of Peter Pan as my battle cry, I charged fearlessly into 2012. I'm proud to say I've learned a bit about adventuring.

In this lovely mixed-up world there are two sorts of adventures, and I am fortunate enough to have experienced both. The first kind found me in the first half of the year. I danced myself across the stage as Laurey Williams (...okay, so the dancing was a little shaky), and I glided across another stage in my "confident woman shoes" as a graduate. I took Disneyland by storm yet again with my favorite people in the world, my family. I celebrated my last year as a Kamper with one of the best weeks yet. These are the mountaintop adventures, the crowning moments that make you feel larger than life. 

Coming off this high, I entered college. As a certain Alice once learned, some adventures make you feel big. Others make you feel very, very small. 

It's terrible and beautiful, being out on your own. Stepping onto campus, I felt like the Darlings arriving in Neverland: awestruck, confused, excited, and incredibly young. With experienced and comfortable Peters flying around all over the place, I found myself flapping my arms frantically, trying to think happy thoughts.

After senior year, I assumed I had it all together, that I knew everything, that I was the best. I was supposed to be Peter. As Mr. Barrie himself put it, I was learning "the difference between an island of make-believe and the same island come true." It's quite a lovely island, though, with so many adventures crammed into one place. Arriving full of dreams, expectations, and myself, I was promptly emptied of all my pretenses and pride. Suddenly I realized the millions upon millions of facts I didn't know, books I hadn't read, plays I hadn't seen, people I hadn't met, experiences I'd never found. I felt smaller than I've ever felt in my life-- but oh, the room to grow! 

I've been late to classes, or slept through them completely. I've blown auditions. I got a B in a class  when I should have gotten an A. But I've also stood triumphant over a well-written English paper, an audition gone well, a line clearly delivered. Above all, I've met and befriended marvelous people, many of whom have become extraordinarily precious to me. These are my happy thoughts. 

I lied to you at the beginning of this post. There's not two types of adventures. The hundreds of thousands of adventures in the world remain as unique as their adventurers, but they all have two things in common: they begin, and they end. In this year of our Lord 2012, with the appropriate pomp, circumstance, and triumph, I completed the adventure known to most as high school, beaming all the way. With the appropriate timidity, perspective, and excitement, I began the one called college. 

What's coming in 2013? No earthly clue. 

But just watch me fly.

Alvin. Alvin? ALVIN!

     Like this post,  this originated as a journal entry for my Communications class. We were asked to choose and defend our absolute favorite Christmas song. This is what I came up with.

It was about two in the morning when I wrote this. Don't judge.

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     Music has been throughout the ages an outpouring of joy, a wellspring of happiness, a way to express the inexpressible. It comes as no surprise, then, that the most joyful holiday of all has garnered an entire genre of music for itself, leaving the paltry offerings of Halloween and even Thanksgiving behind. Given this incredible range of carols, I am now faced with a Herculean feat: choosing the best Christmas song of all time. Should we rate based on music or lyrics? Poignancy, or entertainment factor? However impossible the task may seem, I aim to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that “Christmas Song,” made famous by Alvin and the Chipmunks, richly deserves this coveted title.

 First, “Christmas Song,” otherwise known as “Christmas Don’t Be Late,” has proved to be wildly popular. Debuting in 1958, the single won no less than three Grammies. Merely garnering such prestigious awards deserves respect; the feat becomes even more impressive when you consider that every other artist gunning for these awards was beaten out by a boy band of anthropomorphic chipmunks. (Talk about a bummer). Furthermore, the song has maintained absurd popularity in the last half-century as a seasonal favorite on radio stations across the country. 

 Furthermore, the Chipmunks in this single perfectly convey the childlike innocence typified by the Christmas season. The song naively personifies Christmas; the mellifluent rodents beg, “Please, Christmas, don’t be late,” as though time could somehow actually stop a few days before the holiday. Unlike most Christmas songs, it is also honest in its portrayal of the shallowness of children. All three Chipmunks affirm, “We’ve been good, but we can’t last,” confirming the fact that they are only being good in expectations of presents. And who could forget Theodore’s undying longing for that hula hoop? Somehow, Alvin and his bushy-tailed brethren manage to sweetly charm their audience with the childlike innocence and make them overlook their deviousness, an impressive accomplishment. 

 I am an artist at heart, and I can appreciate Bing Crosby’s dulcet tones or the jingling of bells just as much as the next girl. However, when I think Christmas, I always return to Dave Seville’s firm admonishments of Alvin and the squeaky wistfulness of Simon’s wish for a toy airplane. Whether you value the affirmation of the masses or the wide-eyed, greedy child within yourself, you cannot deny the Chipmunks their collective throne as the kings of Christmas music.

You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown

If you've talked to me for any length of time, you've probably been exposed to my obsession with Peanuts. There's something just plain enchanting about finding wisdom where it's not expected, and the sweet old comic strip is such a great example. With its witty social commentary and pint-sized philosophers, it has captured the hearts of millions over the last sixty-two years-- especially mine. And especially Charlie Brown.

Watching A Charlie Brown Christmas tonight, I got to thinking. And in this thinking, I realized that Charlie Brown is pretty much my hero. And in light of this realization, I decided to blog.

So here you go: a few short reasons why everybody should be like that lovable round-headed kid.

He's an optimist. So Charlie Brown's a little gloom and doom sometimes. The bleakness of life gets to us all sometimes. But despite this pessimism act, the man tries to kick that stupid football of Lucy's every single year. How many times has he fallen flat on his back? All of them. All of the times. Does that stop him? NO! Fully aware of Lucy's devious tendencies, he always, always gives her the benefit of the doubt and always, always hopes for the best. 

He's persistent. In the same vein, Charlie Brown fails at pretty much everything, not just kicking that elusive football. He can't fly a kite, he can't win a baseball game, and he can't even spell the word "beagle." (And Snoopy is one, folks.) Such insurmountable failure would be enough to send even the best packing, but not our leading man. Even as he bemoans his own lack of skill, he goes right on trucking. Under that facade of self-deprecation there's enough confidence to keep him going for the last sixty-two years. 

He's true to himself. Despite his lack of Valentines, Christmas cards, and Halloween party invites, our hero never goes out of his way to try to fit in. He's one hundred percent himself all the time. When Lucy demands a shiny aluminum tree, he proudly comes back with his pathetically lovable little evergreen-- not for the sake of defying the norm, but because he thinks it's the right thing to do. That little tree needs him, and doggone it, he's going to take care of it! While he wants people to like him, he's only willing to gain everyone's approval for his real and honest self. If he's unpopular, it's only because he refuses to compromise. And that rocks.

What a man, what a man, what a mighty good man. Keep at it, Chuck. I'll be your Little Red-Haired Girl anytime.

Super Cute

"By the way, you're super cute." 

When he walked by, we were sitting in the Burger King at the Little Rock airport, waiting (rather impatiently) for our chicken nuggets. He looked Rachel straight in the eye and complimented her. Making no further attempt at conversation, he simply picked up his bag and walked away, leaving my "super cute" best friend and I laughing in awkward bewilderment. 

Now there's usually nothing blogworthy about a compliment, I know, particularly not one from a random stranger. The more I sit and think about it, though, the more I appreciate this seemingly awkward guy's kindness. He wasn't hitting on us or gunning for a phone number-- if he had been, he would have stuck around for it. Nope. He just saw a cute girl and thought, "Hey. She is cute. I wonder if she knows. I think I'll tell her." End of story. 

Is there anything so rare as a pure, selfless, honest compliment? I mean, really. This man risked embarrassment purely to raise someone else's self esteem, with absolutely no payoff for himself.

Thank you, Awkward Compliment Man, for making our day. The world needs more people like you. 

Dr. Seuss and Politics

This is it: the day the fate of our country will forever be determined. Today we either enter Utopian bliss or seal our own destruction. Today is our only shot at rescuing America from its sinful ways; if we choose wrong today, our once-great nation will pass under God's judgment and most likely fail.

All right, hold the phone. Are American standards of morality rapidly deteriorating? As a Christian, I believe so, yes. Is the right to elect our President a blessing, and one I think we should take advantage of? You bet. I voted for the first time this election season and I'm proud to have done so. Does God have the power to judge sinfulness at any time? Of course He does. Look at Sodom and Gomorrah.

I don't agree with President Obama's politics, but I don't believe the fact that babies are being brutally murdered is his fault. Have his policies made it easier to get an abortion? Sure. Did I vote for him? No. But it isn't his fault. It's not his fault that lots of people consider homosexuality an inherent quality rather than a sinful lifestyle choice. Do his policies facilitate it? Yes. Is it his fault? No.

It's my fault.

It's my fault because I don't say anything. I don't always defend God's Word when its principles are questioned. I don't like trying to tell someone who identifies as gay how God feels about that. Even when I stand up for these issues that have jumped the border between morality and politics, I am more than content to sit back in apathy when someone uses the Lord's name in vain, telling myself that's "not as big a deal." I don't ask other Christians why they watch television shows filled with profanity and sex jokes. I shy away from directly telling an immodest girl that she's causing brothers in Christ to stumble.

Even at a Christian college, I pass people every day who don't know Jesus, and I don't even bother to mention Him. I'm not welling over with the indescribable joy that comes with salvation. For the most part, I don't care enough about others to try to get them to Heaven.

Why is America going downhill? I can blame it on politics all I want, but the bottom-line is I'm doing nothing to stop it. But at least I voted!

Growing up I loved Dr. Seuss' book The Lorax. As Dr. Seuss so often is, it's deeper than it seems at first glance, and I've always liked this quote: "Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not." I can vote a certain way, talk a certain way, blog a certain way, but if I'm not actually out there trying to affect change, what on earth is the point?

Lucky for us, hearts, unlike the government, always have the capacity to change. There won't be another presidential election for four years, and whatever happens tonight, we're stuck with it for a time. However, you can go out tomorrow and change someone's life. And that will have a longer lasting impact anyway.

Bottom line, this country isn't going to start changing until I start changing. So I'm gonna start changing. What about you?

Cherry Tree Lane

The weathervane next to your chimney turns

Again, and since the gray skies now grow bright

With colors dancing on the wings of kites, 

My time is spent, and though my warm heart yearns

To bring you with me in my travel case

Crammed in next to my coatrack and my books--

Your impish smiles folded into nooks

So I can take them out on rainy days.

Or better yet, to scorn ungrateful hearts

Who needed to be told your love was rare--

But no. The rooftops call through ashen air, 

Proclaiming there are stories yet to start.

Your happy ever after now begins, 

So I will barter passage with the wind.

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Hey peeps. I wrote this a couple of days ago. 

I was thinking deep collegiate thoughts the other day about how life changes and people come and go in each other's lives.  As a dear friend of mine would say, "The curtain goes up, and the curtain goes down," and that applies to people too. Sometimes people need your friendship desperately, but sometimes those same people stop needing you, even though you really want them to need you. While that's a serious bummer, you have to have a good gauge of when you've played your part in their life, and it's time to let them do their own thing. The great thing about it, though, is that it's not necessarily a bad thing. There are wonderful people and adventures still out there that need you. 

...And then, I thought, "That's just like Mary Poppins." 

And this poem was born. 

I kinda wanted the Poppins references to be sort of subtle-- the chimney and rooftops, and the never-ending travel case, and traveling by wind (like with the umbrella). Cherry Tree Lane is also the street the Bankses live on. Hopefully the references are obvious enough that maybe it made you think of Mary Poppins, but you didn't realize I did it on purpose. That's kind of what I was going for. 

Hope you enjoyed it! Critique welcome! (I don't always say that, but please. Critique if you wish.)

"Practically perfect people never allow sentiment to muddle their thinking." -Mary Poppins

Times vs. Helvetica: The Showdown

For my communications class, we journal once a week (ish) in our "versus journals." It's been Destiny vs. Free Will, Paycheck vs. Creative Fulfillment, etc. This week it was Times vs. Helvetica. This is what I came up with.

       Since the very invention of the typeface, mankind has faced a struggle of priorities. We have wrestled with that age old question, that battle of all battles-- Times? Or Helvetica? The only proper way to settle this debate rests in humanity’s staple problem-solving technique: hand-to-hand combat. Because of its extra appendages and superior agility, Times would undoubtedly conquer Helvetica in a fist fight, settling this epic rivalry once and for all. 

First of all, Helvetica’s lack of serifs gives Times the upper hand. Naturally, we would assume a man with eight limbs would utterly destroy the traditional four-limbed man in a cage match. Times, therefore, gaining many extra appendages in the form of its serifs, would by default annihilate Helvetica. Furthermore, these serifs generally make the Times font much sharper than Helvetica. Just as a lion, with its sharp claws, would in seconds slaughter a man armed only with trimmed fingernails, so Times, with its serif-claws, would destroy Helvetica and its dull edges.

Secondly, Times’ small agility makes it a fore-runner in this battle for the edges. A look at the two typefaces magnified will help to clarify this point. Below I have shown a lowercase letter T in both fonts:

t t

Note first the striking difference in size between Helvetica (left) and Times (right). Though both are pictured in 48 point font, Helvetica towers over its smaller opponent. At first this may seem like an advantage, but let us consider the fact that larger competitors provide a larger target and tend to move more slowly than smaller, more agile competitors. A look at the two fonts in italics will further prove this point:

t  t

Close examiners will note that Times seems to have a higher range of motion than Helvetica, italicizing at a wider angle. Of course, the ability to duck and move more quickly will prove to be a great advantage in a fist fight, sending yet another round to Times’ side of the scoreboard.

In every great battle, two stereotypic warriors emerge: the bumbling slab of muscle aiming to conquer by pure force, and the stealthy trickster who conquers by sharpness both of wit and of sword. While blunt force may seem impressive, it cannot hope to compete with the quick-moving, two-edged powerhouse that is Times. It is no wonder, then, that throughout the ages Times has conveyed our deepest thoughts between the covers of books, leaving the less serious Helvetica for the plodding pace of social networking and the like. After all, if the pen is mightier than the sword, your typeface might as well be just as sharp. 

Peter Pan Character Sketch

So in case you hadn't noticed... I've been on a Peter Pan kick lately. And by "lately," I mean the last eighteen years of my life. If my life was a book, Peter Pan would be a motif.

I must remember that when I write my memoir.

ANYWAYS.

I wrote this a while back and thought some of you out there in the Bloggerverse might find it entertaining. In Creative Writing last year we got outlines for writing character sketches, and one night I just felt like filling one out for Peter. Some of it is J.M. Barrie canon material and some of it is purely my imagination. I think it's kind of witty in places, if I do say so myself, so here it is.

Name: Peter Pan

Birthplace: London, England

Gender: Male

Appearance: Red-gold hair, green eyes, about 5’1”, skinny, still has all baby teeth, clothes made out of leaves, thin lips, freckles, barefoot, usually semi-dirty

Self image: Simply the greatest thing ever to grace the universe

Age: At least one year older than the oldest child present. (But for real, nearly thirteen. He doesn’t know that though.)

Health: Pristine

Addictions: Adventure and general mischief

Siblings: A nameless little brother, for whom he feels only contempt and a twinge of jealousy (although he’d never admit to that part)

Close Relationships: Tinker Bell, whom he often takes for granted, but actually cares for quite deeply; the Lost Boys, whom he sees as his disciples, of a sort; Hook—he values their rivalry and probably wouldn’t know what to do with himself without him.

Memory of father: Talking about what he was to be when he became a man.

Memory of mother: Lullabies

First love: Tinker Bell. He’s half in love with her but he’ll never know it, being twelve. He would answer that girls don’t have as much fun as boys. Too clean.

Current Home: The Neverland—second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning. Specifically, his hideout under a hollow tree (with the Lost Boys… but naturally it’s really all his). His own quarters w/in the hideout are enclosed by a red curtain and contain a hammock, a variety of stolen pirate swords and treasures, a niche in the wall for Tinker Bell, and several other treasures. 

Ideal home: Why, his current one, of course. If it weren’t, he’d move to his ideal one.

First job: Jobs are for grown-ups.

First memory: His first laugh as an infant (or so he claims. But it’s Peter, so who really knows?)

Worst memory: When Tink died.

Most haunting memory: Nothing haunts Peter Pan. He’s far too forgetful for that.

Favorite music: His pipes.

Least favorite music: Anything that’s not his pipes (unless, of course, he’s playing the instrument, in which place it is again his favorite).

Favorite/least favorite books: Books are for grownups.

Favorite activity: Flying, fighting Hook, taunting Hook, narrowly escaping Hook…

Least favorite activity: Anything boring or grownupish

Recurring dream/nightmare: Who knows? You’ll never get him to admit he even sleeps, much less dreams.

Areas of expertise: In his mind, everything there ever was ever. But honestly, he can fly. And for a kid he’s a sword-fighting prodigy. He would also like me to mention that he’s never lost at hide-and-go-seek.

Knowledge wished: Absolutely nothing. He thinks he knows everything.

Deepest fulfilled desire: Neverland. It’s his island, after all. 

Deepest unfulfilled desire: Honestly, he’s very static. The doesn’t want anything, and there’s nothing he would change. A little boy’s “deep” desires change so randomly day to day that there’s no way to pin one down for Peter.

Prized possession: Neverland. It’s his island, after all. 

Jealous of: No one. Or everyone. Depends on his mood.

Proud of: Himself. His cleverness. His many abilities. His extraordinariness. His ability to fight pirates at age twelve. His shadow. Need I go on?

Most adventurous travel: When you live in Neverland, travel no longer seems very adventurous. Quite the opposite, really. 

Biggest current disappointment: Disappointment is for grownups.

Reason for living: It’s an awfully big adventure.

Possible reason for dying: It’s an awfully big adventure.

The Island Come True

"Thus sharply did the terrified three learn the difference between an island of make-believe and the same island come true." -J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Well, gentle reader, I went to college. Sorry I haven't blogged in nearly two months. I shall try to do better. 

I'm not entirely sure what I expected of college, but it's safe to say it's not this. Not that it's bad. I feel like I've had nearly a lifetime in this past month since I got here. I've gone through every emotion from confusion to ecstasy to heartbreak to homesickness, and I don't see this thrill ride of feelings stopping anytime soon. However, God has become my rock more than ever-- He is always here, He always will be here, and He never changes. And that is certainly a comforting thought.

My basic habits themselves have reversed. The first week or so I, a self-proclaimed night owl, reveled in the thought of staying up absolutely as late as I wanted. I didn't go to bed til one at all that week. The next week, all I wanted was to be in bed by ten. Worse, after being disorganized all my life, I have taken to writing to-do lists and cleaning my room everyday. WHO AM I?!?!?!?

I was blessed with a fantastic roommate, Amy, and two wonderful suitemates, Kelsey and Sarah. I didn't fully realize how wonderful they were until one of our first nights here, when the bathroom door on our side of the suite refused to open. With two of us on each side, we proceeded to try and break the door down. After many failed attempts, Kelsey tried to turn the knob again, and it just opened. We must have scared the door into submission. We cheered raucously in our victory... at least until the RA reminded us via intercom that it was quiet hour. J.K. Rowling says in the first Harry Potter book that there are some things you can't do together without becoming friends afterwards, and knocking out a mountain troll is one of them. Well, so is opening a stubborn bathroom door.

As to classes there have been relatively few mishaps. I say relatively because one Friday Amy and I slept until 11:30. Our first class is at 8. If you're gonna go, go all the way. 

In our defense, it only happens every once in a blue moon. No, seriously. That Friday was a blue moon. :)

Last weekend, I had the marvelous opportunity to speak at the God's Girls Rally in Ada, Oklahoma. I got to talk about the book of Esther and it was just wonderful. My mommy flew out to drive Amy and I down, so I got to spend the weekend with her, which was much needed. This whole being away from home thing is fun for a while, but sometimes you just need a hug from Mom.

:'(

Anyways.

I have figured out why people gain the freshman fifteen! It's because nothing in the cafeteria is particularly good except for the ice cream. (That's not entirely true, though. I've had an omelet almost every day since I've been here. I figured out about a week in that if you ask for real eggs, they give them to you. But you have to ask, or else they'll give you the egg from a carton. I felt smart figuring this out so fast.)

I have had two auditions since I've been here: one for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and another for a couple of one-acts. I am not in the musical, but I am in a one-act called The Snow Show. It's all very Charlie Brownish and adorable. I get a great monologue about whether or not I should stick my tongue to a telephone pole. 

One important fact you should know about Harding is that there are squirrels. Everywhere. They are crazy psycho awesome squirrels. They'll run right up to you. You remember the squirrels in The Sword and the Stone when Merlin turns Wart and himself into squirrels and the lady squirrel falls in love with Wart and then he turns back into a human and she cries? That's what the squirrels remind me of.

I'm really wrestling with what I want to do with my life. Obviously, I want to write, but there's not really any money in that, and I have to eat somehow. Teaching seems the logical choice for an English major, but I don't want to do something I don't really love just because I feel like I have no other options. I have no idea what's going to happen in the next four years, and it's a little bit intimidating. I'm glad God knows what's going on, because I have no clue.

Among other things, I have colored four pictures for my wall, four more to send to friends (as soon as I buy envelopes), gotten some of my Christmas shopping out of the way (I'm an overachiever), memorized Mark 1:1-15, read two books, painted my nails multiple times, won second prize at a club mixer for my awesome costume (I was Peter Pan), won a free t-shirt for my correct spelling of "camaraderie," converted Amy and Rachel to watching That Girl, eaten entirely too much Ben and Jerry's (Half Baked, if you wanted to know), drunk (drank?) Mexican coke (aka Coke with REAL SUGAR, in a GLASS BOTTLE), eaten multiple Chick-fil-a Chicken Biscuits, played in the Lily Pond, bought a new Beatles shirt, and caught the Gene Wilder Willy Wonka on television from the beginning. I have not walked under the Bell Tower (alone or accompanied) or touched the pregnant tree.

I think that minus the classes, Peter Pan would have rather liked college. 

To live will be an awfully big adventure.

Light in the Darkness

On Saturday I came back to a scary world.

I came back to a world in which twelve people are now dead, the victims of a brutal shooting at a midnight movie premiere at a Century 16 in Aurora. Fifty-eight more were seriously injured, and most are still in hospital beds hoping for a full recovery.

I'm not old enough to remember Columbine, and I have very little recollection even of 9/11. This mix of surreality, fear, and tragedy hitting me square in the chest is new. I think it's hitting me so hard mainly because it's so close to home. One of my best friends lives in Aurora, and probably would have gone to the premiere had her brother not been at Kamp. Another friend was in the theatre and came out without a scratch. Looking through my saved movie tickets I discovered that a year and a half ago I saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in the now tragedy-marked Theatre 9.

All of us have questions, even those of us who aren't directly affected, who haven't lost loved ones, who aren't on the front lines of the tragedy. Why do things like this happen? What possesses someone to brutally murder innocent people? Why twice so close to home? It's enough to scare anyone.

I told you I came back... but I didn't tell you where I came back from.

I came back from a place where God is honored in all things, where people love Him deeply and try to serve Him with their lives. I came back from in-depth Bible discussions. I came back from honesty, friendship, chivalry, and love. I came back from laughter and tears, joy and compassion. I came back from... well, a river in the desert.

I don't know why twelve people met eternity Friday morning. I don't know why it's so close to home. But if there's anything I do know, it's that there is hope, and the world is going to see the need for it a little more today than it did a week ago.

And maybe, just maybe, I'm in the perfect position to show someone that hope.

"Behold, I will do something new, 
Now it will spring forth; 
Will you not be aware of it?
I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, 
Rivers in the desert." -Isaiah 43:19

If This Isn't Nice...

Those of you who know me well know that I'm a little bit of a quote fiend. I actually have a literal list of my favorites, and it's about a mile long. Being a writer, I guess I'm always searching for the right words, and quotes are proof that it's possible to find them, that someone was able to write or say something breathtaking and inspiring that lived beyond themselves.


I came across this one the other day, and it's been on my mind ever since:


"I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.'" -Kurt Vonnegut


Even though I like quotes, they don't usually stick in my head for as long as this one has, but I'm thankful this one has stayed. In the last week I have more deeply appreciated several small joys that I wouldn't normally have thought too much about: hugs from my best friends after being gone a long time, conversations that require no effort to keep going, lying in bed and realizing I don't have to get up yet, having time to read a good book. And as it turns out, happiness that's acknowledged becomes even better.


I guess all I'm trying to say is if you revel in your happiness when it comes, your life feels so much happier, even though it's probably about the same as it's always been. Enjoy your life, because if this isn't nice, I don't know what is.

Eight Birthday Beatles a Week

So as not to mess up the mood of the next post, I am doing two posts in one day to accommodate Eight Days a Week. I know I'm behind, but it's Ringo's birthday! So have a Ringo song.

Happy birthday, Mr. Starr.

The Happiest Place on Earth

Hello, gentle reader! I apologize for not blogging direct from California, but we were at the park from opening to closing every day, and there just wasn't time. So, I shall now give you the highlights of our Disneyland adventure in a format similar to this post from last year (which is also a fun post, if you care to go look at it.)

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We met Mickey Mouse first thing Day One, which I thought was rather fitting. His autograph looked the same as last year, which entertained me (though I don't know why... it's not like he would randomly change his signature... hehe.) 

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FLYNN RIDER GAVE ME THE SMOLDER.

"You're so dashing!"
"Girl, he's MINE." 

Yeah. It happened. I mean, he was actually trying to teach Matthew how to do it properly, but I was the guinea pig. I'll take it.
Also, why isn't Rapunzel a short-haired brunette now? I mean, that's what happens in the movie...

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A conversation I had with Ariel:
Ariel: "So where did you come to Disneyland from?"
Me: "Colorado."
Ariel: "So did you swim here?"
Me: "No... it's a land-locked state."
Ariel: "Oh good. People always say yes and I always wonder how."

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We waited in line for TWO AND A HALF HOURS for the new Cars ride. And it was almost worth it.

It's called Radiator Springs Racers, and it was pretty dandy. You get in a car that seats six people and drive around Radiator Springs (did I mention they built the Cadillac-fin-rocks like from the movie? They're HUGE. Whenever Dad posts pictures on Facebook I'll steal them and put them here.) At one point you go past the huge waterfall like in the movie, and it was truly breathtaking. And the animatronics are ridiculous, man. I have never seen ride robots so lifelike. Or big.

So yeah, if you go, ride Radiator Springs Racers.

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When addressing Disney royalty such as the Queen of Hearts or Snow White's Evil Queen, one must use the utmost respect. Otherwise they'll unleash their wrath on you.
For example, the girl who requested an audience with the Queen of Hearts directly before me talked to Her Majesty as if she were a common peasant. The Queen responded by throwing the girl's autograph pen on the ground and shooing her away. Getting the message, I bowed to the Queen called her Your Highness, and politely begged the privilege of an autograph.
.... I still got shooed away afterward, but at least she didn't throw my pen on the ground.

You think she's full of herself, you should see the Evil Queen (straight out of Snow White). Being as vain as she is, she responded far more favorably to my veneration. After I called her "Your Highness," she said, "Finally, someone who knows how to address me! Your Highness! Correct!" After we took our picture she said, "Print out that picture. Frame it. Hang it on your wall. Study it every day and just trrrryyyy to look like this."

It was great. I loved her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where was Peter, you may ask? Well, THE Peter... um... flew back to Neverland a while ago, so if you see a Peter in Disneyland, it's clearly one of his Lost Boys he's sent in his place. The whole "show up when they tell me to" thing obviously wasn't working out for him. The new "Peters" naturally aren't as good, because Peter made especial effort to make sure they wouldn't be. He's so vain, you know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you're celebrating something, you can go to City Hall on Main Street and they'll give you special buttons. Since Mom and Dad were celebrating their anniversary, they got buttons, and EVERYONE wished them a happy anniversary. I mean, EVERYONE. The Jungle Cruise skippers, the people sweeping trash, Pooh Bear and Minnie Mouse, all the princesses, every Cast member we saw. Just another reason Disney is so awesome.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As a die-hard fan of corny jokes, I love the World-Famous Jungle Cruise, and this trip we had THE BEST skipper I have ever had, ever. Usually I'm inwardly chuckling at the jokes. On Patrick's cruise, I laughed so hard I cried.
Some favorite jokes:
--"Those spiders can grow up to eight feet.... and... legs..."
--"MAN-EATING PIRANHAS! Quick! Women and children, protect the men!"
--"There's a boa constrictor. Sitting in a tree. H-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes... asphyxiation."
--"That limestone over there? Most people take it for granite." *I laugh* "My sediments exactly."
--"That over there is Trader Sam. You know, I went over to his house the other night and I said, 'Man, your wife makes good stew,' and he said, 'I know. I'm gonna miss her.'"
--"You know, Sam was the first one in his family to go to college. He got kicked out for buttering up his professor."
I laughed SO HARD, guys. SO FUNNY.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I came away with a lanyard full of pins, a messenger bag for college, and a Tinkerbell necklace, but my favorite souvenir of all was a drawing of Tinker Bell from my sweet brother and Dad.
They have Disney artists in a few of the shops, and you can sit and watch them draw. It's really incredible watching how easily it seems to come to them. You can order pictures, and given my connection with Tink, we thought it was fitting.

Lovely artist Carrie drawing my beautiful Tinker Bell

It says "Find the joy in the child that you are," which is a line from the fireworks song, which is enough to make me tear up just thinking about it. It's perfect. :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Why do I love Disneyland so much? The nostalgia. The magic. The technical incredibility. The emanating joy. It is, quite simply, the happiest place on earth.

“To all who come to this happy place; welcome. Disneyland is your land. Here age relives fond memories of the past...and here youth may savor the challenge and promise of the future. Disneyland is dedicated to the ideals, the dreams and the hard facts that have created America...with the hope that it will be a source of joy and inspiration to all the world.”


Mission accomplished, Mr. Disney.

Smorgasbord

Isn't that a great word? Smorgasbord. I'm pretty sure the goose in the old cartoon Charlotte's Web sang a song about a smorgasbord. This post is going to be an informational smorgasbord, a word which here means, "Melissa is going to tell you a bunch of random things about her life the last month she hasn't blogged."


Well, I graduated from high school. You would think that would be a blogworthy thing, but no matter how long I sat here thinking of something to say, I couldn't come up with anything profound to say. It was all very simple: I wore the robe and cap, I walked across the stage, I took my diploma, I turned my tassel. In the course of a mere two hours, the world changed its 18-year-deep opinion of me and decided to consider me an adult. No revelations about the rest of my life, no nothing. It just happened. My world expanded, but I remained exactly the same. I don't really know what else to say about it. Maybe the full significance will hit me later.


The last day of school seemed far more significant than graduation itself. Where graduation is stiff and formal, the last day contained a full spectrum of maturity, from farewell tears to a shaving cream fight. I've already given my sap to the people who needed to hear it, so I'll just say this: D'Evelyn did so much in making me who I am, and I'll forever be grateful for God's awesome plan in getting me there.


Alright, enough deep sappy stuff. Back to my usual overly peppy banter.


Guys, guys, guys. I started watching Doctor Who.
I'm not going to lie, I came in biased. Way too many people had told me how much I would love it before I started watching it, so I figured I would. They were happily correct. I've only finished season one, because I have to get them from the library, because I'm the last person on the planet without Netflix, but yeah. I started watching Doctor Who. And Christopher Eccleston's Doctor is fantastic, by the way.


And they sell sonic screwdrivers at Tradesmart and I want one.


Hey, it's raining! I like rain.


Have I mentioned Disneyland here? Somehow I don't think I have. Blogging has been so spotty. I'm going to Disneyland again soon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


So excited. I'm sure I'll blog again. I'm planning on keeping a video diary of the entire trip, but I also said that last year and it didn't happen, so we'll see. I'm beyond excited. Cross your fingers that it's not too crowded for us!


I despise and loathe the weirdness of the spacing, by the way. Blogger has done weird things with my layout and I can't stand it. Facebook changes enough, Blogger!!! Why must you change too?? Harrumph. 

But anyway, I reread Peter Pan this week. I hadn't read it since I was a little kid, and while I've always loved the story,  I didn't realize what a masterpiece of literature it is. There's Biblical allusions and satire and deep symbolism and yeah. I geeked out just a bit. Also, did you know that J. M. Barrie started writing it shortly after the Wright brothers flew their plane? What a time to write about a kid who can fly...


I'm speaking at a girl's rally in September and I found out not too long ago that my topic is ESTHER! It's one of my favorite books of the Bible, so I'm super excited. Did you know that Mordecai is mentioned more times in Esther than Esther is? I find that fascinating. The book ends with Mordecai too-- the last three verses are telling you what happened to him in the end. I'm honestly beginning to think the inspired focus of the book was Mordecai, and then someone just called it Esther.


And finally, in commemoration of the first time the Beatles recorded at Abbey Road Studios fifty years ago today, Eight Days a Week.

(This is one of the songs they recorded.)

So, dear Readers, there's your random update on my life. I'm leaving out everything from the comedic pangs of young love to the Avengers, but there simply isn't time or will power for all that at the moment. You're excellently patient Readers. Return to your normal activities.

Defying Gravity

(This will most likely be one of those horridly inarticulate posts where I am far too excited to write well. You've been warned.)

 Last night, I went to see Wicked. *scream*

 For those of you who don't know, Wicked is a musical prequel to The Wizard of Oz. You get to see the entire story from the perspective of the Wicked Witch of the West, who finally gets a name, Elphaba. An outcast all her life due to her green skin, Elphaba is a very sympathetic character, and you can't help but cheer her on. The whole show plays with the ideas of "goodness" and "wickedness"-- neither Glinda the Good nor the so-called Wicked Witch are as black-and-white... I mean, pink-and-green... as they appear.

 Nerd confession: I've owned the soundtrack for a while never having seen the show. The music kept coming up on my Pandora and I just loved it, so I bought it. It was awesome to get to hear the music in context and figure out how essential it was to the plot. Elphaba (played by Mamie Parris) was just INCREDIBLE. That woman has PIPES, man. "Defying Gravity" (the main song-- look it up on YouTube if you care to) was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen/heard. My feeble words really aren't doing it justice, but seriously. It was awesome. Exceptional. Stunning. Fantastic.

 Glinda, played by Alli Mauzey, was nothing short of hilarious. She perfectly captured the ditzy, popular girl character, charming and obnoxious all at once. The whole show was hilarious-- so many witty one-liners. At one point Glinda insulted Elphaba's broom, to which Elphie replied, "Well we can't all come and go by bubble!" There were several jokes referencing the Judy Garland movie as well, which I enjoyed.

 Some of you might remember my beefs with The Wizard of Oz-- so many of them were totally resolved by this show! The script and story are truly brilliant-- figuring out how everything ties together is so fun. There were so many ironic hints with wordplay and the suchlike as to how things were going to turn out, but there were definitely a few curveballs.

 I'm adding Elphaba to my list of roles to play before I die... "I think I'll try defying gravity..."

 :)

Misslissalaneous

Hey there party people. I'm blogging. Are you shocked?
I'm just trying to get my creative juices flowing again... so have ten random facts about me that no one cares about. Yaaaay.
(Also, the title of this post maybe one of my favorite puns I've ever come up with. Ever. Including Academia Nut.)

1. I obviously like the Beatles, but have I mentioned that I mostly like-1964 Beatles? After Sergeant Pepper's they just get a smidgen weird for me. The early stuff is so polished and Chuck Berry-ish. I dig it.

2. I am FINALLY on Pottermore (if you don't know what that is, you're not as big a nerd as I am), and have been sorted into Hufflepuff. I was sure I was a Ravenclaw, but alas, no. My wand is hornbeam and phoenix feather, 10 and three quarters inches, slightly springy. :)

3. Since my early childhood I have had objections to certain numbers simply because I think they're "mean numbers." I never thought six was very nice. Why? No clue.

4. In one of my notebooks I have a list of every book I've read in a year since 2006. The steady decline the older I get makes me sad. (Again, why do I have a list? I don't know.)

5. At this very moment my fingernails are orange and my toes are alternating shades of blue.

6. So the other day I was at the (very hilarious) school Improv show and they played this game in which a bachelor has to guess the bizarre personalities of three bachelorettes. One girl was Superwoman and made a pun about Marvel. I was internally bothered because Superman and his compatriots are most definitely DC.
And then I felt super nerdy.

7. I collect Disney pins. My collection currently consists of a Little Mermaid California Adventure pin, a key from the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror, a glow in the dark Haunted Mansion pin, a Pirates of the Caribbean wheel (it opens and there's a skeleton pirate inside), Peter Pan, a Fantasmic dragon, Tinkerbell flying over the castle, a mechanical-looking Mickey Mouse, and a Grape Soda pin (like from Up). I like my pins.

8. I'm seriously considering chopping my hair off above my shoulders after graduation.

9. In creative writing last semester I wrote a short story about a kid who stops time when he sneezes. I don't think I'll post it here, 'cause that would scream, "Free short story! Take me!" but if you know me personally and want to read it I will show it to you. It's a cute story.

10. I realized the other day that I'm a conglomerate nerd. I'm hardcore nerdy about a few things (see 2 above), but for the most part I dabble in nerddom. I like Star Wars, but I can't tell you the names of all the ships, and I like Lord of the Rings, but I can't speak Elvish, etc. etc.

Congratulations. You wasted ten minutes reading this. Return to your normal routine.

Eight Na-Na-Na's a Week

This is just a lovely song. And it's a live video! Yaaay! Although by this point they had started to look strange. Except Paul McCartney. Who was always adorable.



"Take a sad song and make it better..."

Eight College Visit Days a Week

How long has it even been since I did Eight Days a Week? I don't even know. Far too long. I'm getting myself back on track.

So this last weekend I visiting Harding University, and I kinda fell in love with it. They have a good English department, a good theatre department, they're sound (with the exception of a few avoidable Bible teachers), the campus is gorgeous... need I go on? However, Harding is in Arkansas, so guess what I did ALL DAY Monday?



HAHAHAHA.

But seriously. Sixteen hours. LOTS of car time.

Late Night College Essay Party

Hey guys.

I will spare you the details, but between being exhausted from losing an hour of sleep this weekend, being stood up by a cadaver lab instructor, and figuring out that the honors college application due Friday was FAR more extensive than I previously thought, Monday wasn't the best of all days.

However, as a result of the aforementioned realization about the college application, I cranked out a college essay in the last hour or so that turned out pretty well and I thought it was blogworthy. The prompt was to write about the importance of academic excellence in 300 to 500 words, and this is what I came up with. (It's 500 words exactly. I was proud.)

Academia Nut

I failed my first AP Calculus test.

The red score at the top of the page might as well have been a stab in the heart as I, the hardcore intellectual, the straight-A student, the never-less-than-a-B-in-the-class academic, stared in bewilderment at the tear-jerking failure in front of me. My specialty had always been English, but I normally excelled at everything, whether it be poetry or trigonometry. But there it was at the top of the page, a blazing twenty-three out of fifty, a sobering reminder of my inevitable fall from perfection.

Test corrections were available, and I managed to bring my grade up to a C— small comfort for a girl accustomed to acing exams. Nevertheless, I maintained a positive attitude and a B in the class. Everyone has bad days, I thought. Mine had to come eventually. It won’t happen again. Blessed with a wonderful memory, I had never had to study for tests, particularly not math tests, but in fear that the devil grade had been a result of my neglect, I practiced several problems prior to the next test. I would not have my near-perfect grade point average ruined by something so petty as an inability to integrate differential equations.

I got a D.

One sub-C grade in a person’s lifetime is permissible, even if that grade does happen to be less than a fifty percent. However, two scores on the wrong side of the Bell curve is enough to threaten your status as a nerd for life.

The next assessment arrived shortly after in the form of a low point-value quiz. While I managed to scrape a B, the elusive A, the mark I truly craved, evaded me still, despite much practice and study. Test corrections and routine homework assignments kept my grade in the class tottering on the edge of a B and a C, but I might as well have been tottering on the edge of a cliff overlooking a pool full of piranhas. I was ashamed of the few B’s I had received in my high school career, and one C would surely jeopardize my chances of ever gaining admittance to the college of my choice. In my distress, I did what every tough go-getter does— I talked to Mom.

She said she wasn’t worried about it.

I eyed her with disbelief. This woman who got A’s all her life, the valedictorian of her graduating class, doesn’t care that I might have a C in the class?!?

“Are you doing your best?” she asked.

I nodded.

“That’s good enough for me.”

I was awestruck. Never in my life had my best been anything less than an A, but maybe, just maybe, this time it was all right.

What is academic excellence, anyway? Is it getting A’s, or is it throwing yourself wholeheartedly into your work, learning everything you can, and accepting whatever grade comes with your effort?

I still haven’t gotten an A on a calculus test.

Somehow I’ll go on.

Oh, What A Beautiful Mornin'

I've been trying to blog this for ages, and it just hasn't been working out. I can't leave my thoughts on musical unspoken, but there's simply no way to explain it to you.

If you've never been on a stage, you can't possibly comprehend the feeling that wells up inside you in the seconds before you go on. A reverential hush settles over the murmuring audience. The lights go up. You step out into the glorious warmth of the spots. That's what you can see-- but how to explain the rush of joy, the adrenaline, the heart-beating-out-of-your-chest feeling as you take that first step? It can't be done. There isn't a metaphor to do it justice. What about the swell of pride that erupts in your heart as you take that final bow? If it's never happened to you, you can't possibly understand. And if you've been on stage, there's no need for me to explain it to you. You know exactly what I'm talking about.

I don't know how to explain the bond I formed with a person who doesn't even exist. I feel bad for people who don't do theatre-- they only ever get to live one life. Theatre nerds get to slip into someone else's life over and over again, experience things they would never get the chance to otherwise. However, when you spend the majority of your free time in someone else's skin, it takes effort to peal away and become yourself full time again. I swear I'm not schizo, but I can't bring myself to say goodbye to Laurey Williams. As disgustingly cliche as the words are coming out, she's a part of me now, and I'll be keeping her strength, her determination, and her "come hither" looks in reserve for whenever I should need them.

Perhaps the most inexplicable thing is the profound connection you make with inanimate objects. A ribbon in your hair. The "Elixir of Egypt" that's actually a bottle of candy from the dollar store. The set. Oh goodness, the set. They tore down Aunt Eller's house last week and I cried. I feel crazy for caring so much about a few pieces of wood and a ribbon, but I do. That ribbon was as much Laurey as I was, and that house had become so much more than a set.

I'm not gonna lie, I'm still coping with the confusion produced by sudden copious amounts of free time. I have frequent withdrawals that only listening to the Oklahoma! soundtrack on repeat can resolve. (Haha.) But I can't tell you how thankful I am for the incredible experience. There are moments that will remain in my mind forever, for whatever reason.

There are firsts: the first time we saw the lights on the finished set, the first time we sung with the orchestra, the first time I hit that note in "Out of My Dreams," the first time I nailed the hand jive in "Oklahoma!"

There are in-betweens: dance parties in the wings during "Scandal/Outrage," green room Adele sessions at intermission, goofing off on stage between school and rehearsal, fireside chats at Ms. Murphy's house.

There are lasts: The last time Murphy called places, crying on stage for real on closing night, the last "Yeow!", the last curtain call.

To those of you uninvolved, these mean nothing. They're words strung together. But to me, and anyone else reading this who knows what I'm talking, about, they're everything.

About halfway through, I received a pair of leather character shoes. They're black, scuffed, and vastly uncomfortable, but I wouldn't trade them for anything. Remember how at the end of the ball Cinderella got to keep her slippers? Yeah. That's how I feel. :)

Thanks for the adventure. I love you all. :)

Eight Days a Week on Stage

This weekend marks the closing of Oklahoma! , and I don't know what I'm going to do when it's over. Rest assured there will be blog posts.

In the meantime, have a song. Late. Again.



Clever, huh? :)

Nine Days a Week

... Why do I even bother to call it Eight Days a Week anymore?? Late again. My apologies.



Haha. Get it? Because I keep missing! And you wonder where I went! Haha. I'm funny.

Eight Not at All Bitter Days A Week

I MISSED LAST WEEK AGAIN. Boo. I promise once musical is over I'll have time to blog again. For now, you get this.



Hahaha. I'm so funny.
(It's not really that funny.)

Eight Debates a Week

I'm watching the South Carolina debate... and they're talking about taxes... So this is what you get. (Yeah, I did miss last week. My bad.)

Here There Be Dragons

I have known those who lock up their love
In ventricular vaults, watch it glisten and gleam
Against blood-covered walls in their four chambered hearts.
They become dragons,
Clutching their gems in shivering claws
While lusting after love,
Still more love,
More jewels to fester blindly
In the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I originally intended for this poem to be about why it's worth it to invest in people even though there's a risk factor. If you don't, all the love you have isn't worth a thing in the world. Now I think it can mean several things, though, so feel free to form your own opinion!

Misadventures in Choreography

Some people are endowed with incredible grace. They radiate elegance. They're effortlessly beautiful. They float instead of walk.

Today was my first real day of choreography. My dancing generally consists of cabbage-patching and head bobs and other such awkward movements. Alone. In my room. Where no one can see me.

Needless to say, I am not one of "those people."

This is my first and only year of being in musical, and as such I have never done choreography before in my life. Sometimes it's kinda cool to be the rookie who got the lead. Other times... it's not! (Haha.) I don't imagine it would be that bad if I was somewhere in the back, but when you have very little rhythm, next to no coordination, and zero experience, the front is not the place to be. Surrounded by twirling angels in oh-so-professional-looking jazz shoes who can plie and chinae and sashay, I'm struggling to even pivot on one foot in my trusty grey Cons. (Or spell those words, for that matter.)

I'M OUT OF MY LEAGUE, MAN.

It turns out that I don't know the first thing about being graceful. Apparently it's incredibly feminine to keep your feet together whenever possible. There is a massive difference between pointing your foot and pointing your toes. Swaying with the balls of your feet is far more elegant than swaying with your hips. Who knew? Not me.

All my life I've been blessed (or maybe burdened?) with being naturally good at stuff. I've never had to work very hard at academics to make the grade. I memorize things easily. Writing has always come somewhat naturally to me. As a general rule I don't have to work exceptionally hard at much of anything. At the risk of sounding incredibly vain, I'm a pretty talented person.

I'm entering a whole new world here. I'm gonna have to work really hard to accomplish something this time. It's kind of awesome. It's gonna take energy and sweat and coming home with muscle aches. It's gonna take practice and practice and more practice. But by the end, I think it'll go down as one of my greatest accomplishments. At least in my head.

I kept apologizing to Linda (our marvelous choreographer) today for messing up constantly. She wouldn't hear it. "Don't you even worry about it. You're gonna get it. You're gonna look fabulous."

Feet together. Point your toes. Smile.