It was late at night. We had just watched both Phantom of the Opera and Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones. We cranked this out in an hour and a half. But it sure was fun.
"Amidala" - To the tune of "Prima Donna" in Phantom of the Opera. Apologies to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Anakin
The Republic needs you!
I need you too!
Crowd
Amidala, first lady of a slave
Our Jedi liege is on his knees to implore you
Can you deny when he whispers your name?
Anakin
Think of how my soul adores you...
Amidala, enchant me once again
My heart abused, this kiss has bruised me forever
When you deny me, my soul is rent torn
Please love me, Amidala, once more
(I once thought you an angel)
Padme
Ani, Ani, this foolishness must end;
I've work to do,
(Anakin We'll make it through)
You must stay true to your Order
(Anakin Life without your voice leaves my soul in anguish)
Making this choice would rend our lives apart
Anakin
It doesn't have to!
We'll keep a secret!
Padme
Think of where this logic leads you
Anakin
Politicians are a trial...
Padme
Ani, Ani, could you live out a lie?
You'd be expelled
I'd be removed from my station.
Crowd
Anakin agrees
And tries her thus to please
But quickly comes undone
While saving Obi-Wan
Though now he does forget
When the Queen soon regrets
And pledges her love sure
He's bound to be with her
They soon do get away
The troopers save the day
The war is just begun
Before the day is done
Some Jedi fell before
Count Dooku's deadly horde
And Boba lost his father
Amidala and Ani soon are wed
The future waits
With now their fates thus decided
How do we find out what life has in store?
Watch Episode III once more!
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Friday, May 09, 2008
Teaser Chapter
This is the first chapter of a Star Wars fanfic I've been working on for quite a while. I guess I'll post this for feedback. Critique, compliments, whatever. Or ignore it. Your choice. Anyways, the fic is tentatively titled Legacy and it's an AU beginning at the end of Episode III.
Obi-Wan looked around with tears in his eyes. The Temple was in ruins, bodies of Jedi lying about, brutally murdered. He began to cry again every time he saw another youngling. He didn't dare enter the crèche for fear of what he might find. In any case, he had a job to do. The transmitter in the archives had to be recalibrated so no other Jedi would perish. He forced himself not to open the door and look as he passed the crèche.
As he entered the archives, he looked around in sadness. Nearly half of the great room was destroyed. As he looked closer, it was only the Padawan-level access areas that were ruined. He figured as much - Palpatine had no use for such basic skills. He would want only the Jedi's most closely guarded secrets.
That thought gave him an idea. Veering slightly off course, he went to one of the more advanced - hence, untouched - databanks. Pulling a datachip out of his belt, he quickly typed in his access code and downloaded the section’s data onto the chip. One task completed, he quickly typed in another command. The entire section was completely erased. The Jedi couldn't risk letting Palpatine gain access to the files on the Unknown Regions. Just to be sure that no information could be retrieved, he quickly ignited his lightsaber and plunged it deeply into the heart of the data sector.
His impromptu task completed, he clipped his lightsaber onto his belt as he ventured deeper into the archives. He input his access code once again, and silently tuned the beacon to the secret “Run and hide” signal.
He heard Master Yoda come up behind him. Turning toward the ancient Jedi Master, he began to report his actions when, suddenly, he felt a faint hint of a presence. He narrowed his eyes as he looked toward the entrance of the archive. "We must go, Master Yoda. I sense something."
“Also sense it, I do. In the crèche, the source is.”
Obi-Wan had started toward the door with his lightsaber at the ready, only to freeze at Yoda’s words. He whirled around, frowning. "The crèche? I passed the crèche earlier and not felt anything..." His voice trailed off as he felt another spark. This time he could isolate the disturbance.
He bolted toward the door. Sprinting through the maze of hallways that he had memorized over the years, he shuddered at the unfamiliar empty feel of the halls. Once he found his way to the crèche, he hesitated before opening the door. What if it was a dying child? He wouldn't be able to take such suffering. He knew he didn’t have a choice, however. Drawing a deep breath, he pressed the controls.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The door whispered open. He froze, looking at the scene before him. The walls, covered in scorch marks that only a lightsaber could make. The hovercribs, all overturned or destroyed. The meditation area, for the older younglings, was torn up.
There was only one thing worse – the younglings. Scattered around, like rags carelessly thrown, were the tiny bodies of the innocent children. Some looked like they were sleeping, while others stared blankly at nothing. He could see the burns where the lightsaber had sliced some, while others had their hands still resting loosely on their crushed necks. Obi-Wan turned away, though it was too late to stop the images from being burned into his mind.
His breath caught in his throat as he heard the weak, muffled wail of an infant.
He ran in the direction of the sound. As it grew louder, he gently Force-lifted broken hovercribs and shards of glass, searching for the baby. He finally found the source under an overturned hovercrib. Gently lifting the crib and then the blanket underneath, he saw a tiny baby girl.
Scooping her up and inspecting her, he saw with great relief that she was unharmed. Swaddling her in the blanket and holding her close, she calmed down immediately as he sent waves of reassurance to her. He was still puzzled that he could not detect a Force presence. Searching closer, he felt the same wisp that had caught his attention before, and just as weak. It seemed strange to him that the Jedi would have taken such a Force-insensitive child.
He hadn't been able to spend any time in the crèche within the past year, so the identity of the child was still a mystery to him. He smoothed down her red curls and unconsciously rocked back and forth. He turned toward a noise in the hallway. Seeing the silhouette of Master Yoda in the hallway he held out the now sleeping child in the direction of the ancient Jedi.
Yoda hobbled forward and peered at the tiny bundle. "Know this one I do. Has a natural shield she does. Her Force presence you could not sense, hmm? Saved her, that did. Mara Jade, her name is."
Obi-Wan nodded. He remembered hearing about her, now. It was told how incredible this new youngling was, and how lucky Master Ghen was to have found her on a mission.
Indeed, the same thing that had called Obi-Wan to Mara had happened to Master Ghen - he had felt a sliver of a presence for a moment at a time, and followed it to an orphanage. He had searched deeply to find the source, and had come across her. He could feel only a faint amount of the Force around her, but he tested her midichlorian count anyways. He was shocked to see that her count was over 19,000.
Obi-Wan was sure that her shielding was what had saved her. She must have been hidden under the hovercrib, and been silent enough that the evil being that had slaughtered the younglings had not noticed her. Thanking the Force for young Mara's life, he followed Yoda out of the crèche. He said a prayer for the younglings that had not been as fortunate as young Mara, and silently closed the door to the crèche one last time.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The aging Jedi Master hobbled down the hallway, halting only when he heard Obi-Wan's voice. "Wait, Master Yoda. I must know."
Yoda turned slowly. "If into the security recordings you go, only pain will you find."
"I must know," Obi-Wan repeated.
Yoda shook his head, but did not try to stop him again. He ambled after the younger Jedi into the security room. He saw as Obi-Wan watched the holo rewind, and then play again. He watched his face turn white as the new Emperor revealed himself, along with his new apprentice. The apprentice that was responsible for the destruction of the crèche. The apprentice that once was Anakin.
"I can't watch any more." Obi-Wan’s shaking fingers fumbled for the switch as Yoda looked on knowingly. Obi-Wan cradled the baby, more for his own comfort than hers. He looked at Master Yoda, too shaken to speak.
"Remove this new Emperor, we must. Have the galaxy ruled by Sith, we cannot. Go I must to fight this Emperor - find his apprentice, you shall."
Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "Let me fight the Emperor. I can't fight Anakin - he's like a brother to me."
"Too strong, this Sideous is. Gone, is Anakin. Twisted by the Dark Side, young Skywalker has become. Fight Darth Vader, you shall, not Anakin."
Obi-Wan, accepting his fate, sadly nodded. "But, Master Yoda, I don't know where he is. How will I find him?"
Yoda had the nerve to smile. "Search your feelings, Obi-Wan, and find him you will."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Obi-Wan sat down, trying to meditate, trying to find Anakin. He opened one eye to see how Mara was doing. Satisfied that she was still sound asleep, he resumed meditation. Where would Anakin have gone? The Force, as it often did, replied in the voice of Qui-Gon Jinn. You already know - where has he always gone? "To me," he answered aloud, but he knew it wasn't true. He got up, gently picked up Mara, and headed toward a lone speeder. He started up the speeder and headed toward 500 Republica.
Obi-Wan looked around with tears in his eyes. The Temple was in ruins, bodies of Jedi lying about, brutally murdered. He began to cry again every time he saw another youngling. He didn't dare enter the crèche for fear of what he might find. In any case, he had a job to do. The transmitter in the archives had to be recalibrated so no other Jedi would perish. He forced himself not to open the door and look as he passed the crèche.
As he entered the archives, he looked around in sadness. Nearly half of the great room was destroyed. As he looked closer, it was only the Padawan-level access areas that were ruined. He figured as much - Palpatine had no use for such basic skills. He would want only the Jedi's most closely guarded secrets.
That thought gave him an idea. Veering slightly off course, he went to one of the more advanced - hence, untouched - databanks. Pulling a datachip out of his belt, he quickly typed in his access code and downloaded the section’s data onto the chip. One task completed, he quickly typed in another command. The entire section was completely erased. The Jedi couldn't risk letting Palpatine gain access to the files on the Unknown Regions. Just to be sure that no information could be retrieved, he quickly ignited his lightsaber and plunged it deeply into the heart of the data sector.
His impromptu task completed, he clipped his lightsaber onto his belt as he ventured deeper into the archives. He input his access code once again, and silently tuned the beacon to the secret “Run and hide” signal.
He heard Master Yoda come up behind him. Turning toward the ancient Jedi Master, he began to report his actions when, suddenly, he felt a faint hint of a presence. He narrowed his eyes as he looked toward the entrance of the archive. "We must go, Master Yoda. I sense something."
“Also sense it, I do. In the crèche, the source is.”
Obi-Wan had started toward the door with his lightsaber at the ready, only to freeze at Yoda’s words. He whirled around, frowning. "The crèche? I passed the crèche earlier and not felt anything..." His voice trailed off as he felt another spark. This time he could isolate the disturbance.
He bolted toward the door. Sprinting through the maze of hallways that he had memorized over the years, he shuddered at the unfamiliar empty feel of the halls. Once he found his way to the crèche, he hesitated before opening the door. What if it was a dying child? He wouldn't be able to take such suffering. He knew he didn’t have a choice, however. Drawing a deep breath, he pressed the controls.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The door whispered open. He froze, looking at the scene before him. The walls, covered in scorch marks that only a lightsaber could make. The hovercribs, all overturned or destroyed. The meditation area, for the older younglings, was torn up.
There was only one thing worse – the younglings. Scattered around, like rags carelessly thrown, were the tiny bodies of the innocent children. Some looked like they were sleeping, while others stared blankly at nothing. He could see the burns where the lightsaber had sliced some, while others had their hands still resting loosely on their crushed necks. Obi-Wan turned away, though it was too late to stop the images from being burned into his mind.
His breath caught in his throat as he heard the weak, muffled wail of an infant.
He ran in the direction of the sound. As it grew louder, he gently Force-lifted broken hovercribs and shards of glass, searching for the baby. He finally found the source under an overturned hovercrib. Gently lifting the crib and then the blanket underneath, he saw a tiny baby girl.
Scooping her up and inspecting her, he saw with great relief that she was unharmed. Swaddling her in the blanket and holding her close, she calmed down immediately as he sent waves of reassurance to her. He was still puzzled that he could not detect a Force presence. Searching closer, he felt the same wisp that had caught his attention before, and just as weak. It seemed strange to him that the Jedi would have taken such a Force-insensitive child.
He hadn't been able to spend any time in the crèche within the past year, so the identity of the child was still a mystery to him. He smoothed down her red curls and unconsciously rocked back and forth. He turned toward a noise in the hallway. Seeing the silhouette of Master Yoda in the hallway he held out the now sleeping child in the direction of the ancient Jedi.
Yoda hobbled forward and peered at the tiny bundle. "Know this one I do. Has a natural shield she does. Her Force presence you could not sense, hmm? Saved her, that did. Mara Jade, her name is."
Obi-Wan nodded. He remembered hearing about her, now. It was told how incredible this new youngling was, and how lucky Master Ghen was to have found her on a mission.
Indeed, the same thing that had called Obi-Wan to Mara had happened to Master Ghen - he had felt a sliver of a presence for a moment at a time, and followed it to an orphanage. He had searched deeply to find the source, and had come across her. He could feel only a faint amount of the Force around her, but he tested her midichlorian count anyways. He was shocked to see that her count was over 19,000.
Obi-Wan was sure that her shielding was what had saved her. She must have been hidden under the hovercrib, and been silent enough that the evil being that had slaughtered the younglings had not noticed her. Thanking the Force for young Mara's life, he followed Yoda out of the crèche. He said a prayer for the younglings that had not been as fortunate as young Mara, and silently closed the door to the crèche one last time.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The aging Jedi Master hobbled down the hallway, halting only when he heard Obi-Wan's voice. "Wait, Master Yoda. I must know."
Yoda turned slowly. "If into the security recordings you go, only pain will you find."
"I must know," Obi-Wan repeated.
Yoda shook his head, but did not try to stop him again. He ambled after the younger Jedi into the security room. He saw as Obi-Wan watched the holo rewind, and then play again. He watched his face turn white as the new Emperor revealed himself, along with his new apprentice. The apprentice that was responsible for the destruction of the crèche. The apprentice that once was Anakin.
"I can't watch any more." Obi-Wan’s shaking fingers fumbled for the switch as Yoda looked on knowingly. Obi-Wan cradled the baby, more for his own comfort than hers. He looked at Master Yoda, too shaken to speak.
"Remove this new Emperor, we must. Have the galaxy ruled by Sith, we cannot. Go I must to fight this Emperor - find his apprentice, you shall."
Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "Let me fight the Emperor. I can't fight Anakin - he's like a brother to me."
"Too strong, this Sideous is. Gone, is Anakin. Twisted by the Dark Side, young Skywalker has become. Fight Darth Vader, you shall, not Anakin."
Obi-Wan, accepting his fate, sadly nodded. "But, Master Yoda, I don't know where he is. How will I find him?"
Yoda had the nerve to smile. "Search your feelings, Obi-Wan, and find him you will."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Obi-Wan sat down, trying to meditate, trying to find Anakin. He opened one eye to see how Mara was doing. Satisfied that she was still sound asleep, he resumed meditation. Where would Anakin have gone? The Force, as it often did, replied in the voice of Qui-Gon Jinn. You already know - where has he always gone? "To me," he answered aloud, but he knew it wasn't true. He got up, gently picked up Mara, and headed toward a lone speeder. He started up the speeder and headed toward 500 Republica.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Two and a half months in one paragraph
So, yeah, I know. I haven't updated in two and a half months. Instead of updating on everything that happened in that amount of time, I will sum it up: A hell of a lot happened, chaos ensued, and it's now back to relative normal. I don't want to say any more. Maybe I will later, but I don't want to.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Hey, Leonardo!
No reason for the title. Just the song I'm currently listening to. I love the 90's.
I just feel really, really great today. I have no homework, one of my classes is finished (and I think I did rather well on the final), and winter break is coming up within a week. I'm getting stuff done, and I'm getting control of my finances. For once, I'm not overwhelmed with stress.
I'm... happy.
Wow.
This is... weird. In a good way.
Plus, I've been accepted to camp! Yay!
This morning, I slept in until 8 or so, then got up, turned on music, and just danced like the nerd I am while getting dressed. Sometimes it feels good to do things for no reason.
Like this blog post. No reason.
I just feel really, really great today. I have no homework, one of my classes is finished (and I think I did rather well on the final), and winter break is coming up within a week. I'm getting stuff done, and I'm getting control of my finances. For once, I'm not overwhelmed with stress.
I'm... happy.
Wow.
This is... weird. In a good way.
Plus, I've been accepted to camp! Yay!
This morning, I slept in until 8 or so, then got up, turned on music, and just danced like the nerd I am while getting dressed. Sometimes it feels good to do things for no reason.
Like this blog post. No reason.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Song Fic: Get Out Alive by Three Days Grace
Sitting around a long-dead fire, three dirty persons looked into the blackness. The ashes were a lighter black in the dead of night, the sliver of moon barely throwing any light in the clearing. They were the last remnants of the rebellion. Three people, that's all. No one else.
No distinct features of any of their faces could be seen in the dark and no one moved to rekindle the fire. One man shifted his weight, and placed his rusted cup on the ground. He stood, the white of his skin glowing through holes in his ragged shirt. He looked up, and the other two looked up at him. “Don't put your life in someone's hands, they're bound to steal it away. Don't hide your mistakes, 'cause they'll find you, burn you.”
Then he said, “If you want to get out alive, run for your life.”
We sat for a few minutes, immeasurable time, in silence that was deafening. To his left, she stood up as well, and pulled her hood over her once beautiful face. Before the hood covers her face, I catch a glimpse of the long scar that runs from her scalp to her collarbone, across her cheek. She looked at me, her eyes the only light under the hood, sad yet still a glint of pride in them. “It's hard to imagine, but one day you'll end up like me.”
Then she said, “If you want to get out alive, run for your life.”
I stare at them silently. They watch me without expression. I slowly shake my head, and they turn around.
“No time for goodbye,” he said, as he faded away.
“This is my last time,” she said, as she faded away.
I sit there alone, staring at the ashes. I speak softly, to the night. “If I stay, it won't be long 'till I'm burning on the inside; if I go, I can only hope that I make it to the other side.”
I stand up and head in the opposite direction. I will fight until my last breath, though I know it won't be long until then.
As I walk, I whisper, “If you want to get out alive, run for your life.”
Disclaimer: This Songfic contains lyrics from the song "Get Out Alive" by Three Days Grace. I claim no credit for those words. No rebels were harmed in the making of this rather short songfic.
No distinct features of any of their faces could be seen in the dark and no one moved to rekindle the fire. One man shifted his weight, and placed his rusted cup on the ground. He stood, the white of his skin glowing through holes in his ragged shirt. He looked up, and the other two looked up at him. “Don't put your life in someone's hands, they're bound to steal it away. Don't hide your mistakes, 'cause they'll find you, burn you.”
Then he said, “If you want to get out alive, run for your life.”
We sat for a few minutes, immeasurable time, in silence that was deafening. To his left, she stood up as well, and pulled her hood over her once beautiful face. Before the hood covers her face, I catch a glimpse of the long scar that runs from her scalp to her collarbone, across her cheek. She looked at me, her eyes the only light under the hood, sad yet still a glint of pride in them. “It's hard to imagine, but one day you'll end up like me.”
Then she said, “If you want to get out alive, run for your life.”
I stare at them silently. They watch me without expression. I slowly shake my head, and they turn around.
“No time for goodbye,” he said, as he faded away.
“This is my last time,” she said, as she faded away.
I sit there alone, staring at the ashes. I speak softly, to the night. “If I stay, it won't be long 'till I'm burning on the inside; if I go, I can only hope that I make it to the other side.”
I stand up and head in the opposite direction. I will fight until my last breath, though I know it won't be long until then.
As I walk, I whisper, “If you want to get out alive, run for your life.”
Disclaimer: This Songfic contains lyrics from the song "Get Out Alive" by Three Days Grace. I claim no credit for those words. No rebels were harmed in the making of this rather short songfic.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Random thoughts 1.0
Mini_Indy gave me a birthday card. It says “Haqqy Birthday!” on the front, and on the inside he taped nineteen Great Job Tickets. He gets the tickets for doing his homeschooling well and with a good attitude, or for other things that mom feels like rewarding him for, like cleaning his room without being told. He uses them to do thing he wants; the most common one is that he gets to play Xbox for ½ hour, at a cost of five tickets. So he gave me nineteen. This is like giving me five hundred dollars when you make three hundred per paycheck. He's so sweet. Makes me feel guilty. I think I'll take him out for lunch soon.
“We Will Rock You” is a very, very distracting song.
Mom just invaded the cave. It's not The Cave in the sense from the Nerd Handbook (though she invades that all too often), just the cave. My room has a second room off of it, a kind of annex. It should be a study room, or a walk-in closet, or something. Instead, it's a storage space for half-empty boxes and stuff my mom doesn't want elsewhere. I've been sick of it, and I've WANTED her to invade for a while. Just. Not. Today. I was working on cleaning my room, thanks to the after-flu rebound energy burst, and I was nearly done. She comes in, surveys my clean room, then proceeds into the cave and starts flinging junk out. I haven't touched that place in months, and I refuse to do so until she gets her junk out of there. But she flings all this stuff out, and suddenly my room looks worse than it did before, and that was after a week of the flu. She then walks out, leaving ME to take care of the junk, just as I was going to settle down to homework. She sure as hell knows how to disrupt a well-planned and smooth schedule.
There are two parts of me. Each of those parts is made up of multiple smaller parts, but it all boils down to two parts. Or identities. The immature side, that likes stupid and/or dirty jokes, and that is terrified at the prospect of something new. And the mature side, the side that has a sophisticated, dry sense of humor, and comes out in situations where I'm comfortable. Anything throws me off balance, and the immature side gets larger and comes to the front. It's not necessarily the stupid side; the dependent, scared side, yes. The side that wants to go back to when I was twelve. Or younger. When I didn't have to worry. The side that wants everything to be everyone else's responsibility. But I want the mature side to come through. The side that will say, “Calm down, and let's figure out what needs to be done.” This side comes out not nearly often enough. And sometimes it comes out at the worst times. Like when I hang out with certain friends, I'll hold back my immature side, as though it makes up for letting it out during serious times. It pulls me away, and I can't have fun. I am simply an observer, and it makes my friends shy away, which is perfectly understandable. Does everyone have to struggle with this? Just wake up every morning, and put on a mask, to make it look as though you don't, because no one else seems to, even if all they're doing is exactly what you are. No one is mature, just some are better at hiding their immaturity from others?
I'll never really fit into any group. I like a little too much of this, or that. I don't fit any mold. Sometimes I love it that way, other times I feel like I just want to be a cookie-cutter person. I'm not a preppie; I don't care enough about fashion or being rude. I'm not a bottom-runger, at least not any more; I'm too confident. I'm not a goth; too cheery. I'm not a hippie; too dark. I'm not one of the guys; I'm too girly. I'm not one of the gals; I like too many boyish things, and I'm not girly enough. I'm not even any specific type of nerd; a jack of all trades, master of none. I dabble in hardware, software, web design, shiny gadgets. I don't belong to any music subculture; I like too many different types of music, and not enough of any particular genre. I'm a group of one. Which is kind of nice. But so, so lonely.
Sometimes – quite often, actually – the lyrics to a song say what I mean or what I feel far better than I could. I should speak only in lyrics. Or sing what I want to say. That's why I like so many types of music. There's no one genre that can cover all feelings or thoughts.
Dogs are funny things. Rub their stomach once, and they love you forever. Kick them out of the way, and they love you anyways.
I would like to take the Wright brothers to an airport. I would like to take George Washington to a session of the Senate. I would like to take Hitler to a showing of Schindler's List, and then strand him in Jerusalem.
Feminism is a bunch of crap. Equality doesn't mean that the standards for a police exam should be lowered so women can pass just like men can. Women and men aren't equal, in many ways. The only thing that needs to be equal is equal chance. If a woman wants to try out for the police, go ahead, although I still think it's crazy. But if you're not strong enough, don't whine, and don't make them lower the standards to your level; that's not equality, that's the OPPOSITE of equality. There's other jobs in the world. You'll live. But I'm female. I want the opportunity to get the same degree or same job as a guy. If some man is more qualified than me and gets the job, I'm not going to whine that it's because I'm discriminated against. I'll submit my resume again and get a different job. I'm capable. The only good thing about the feminist movement was the freedom to wear jeans. Everything else is crazy.
A list of genres in my music collection: Alternative Rock, Bluegrass, Celtic, Classical, Contemporary Bluegrass, Country, Country Rap, Country Rock, Dance, Electronic, Emo, Experimental Rock, Folk Rock, Geek Rock, Gospel, Goth Rock, Hard Rock, Indie Pop, Karaoke, New Age, Operatic Pop, Parody, Piano Pop, Piano Rock, Pop, Pop Rock, Progressive Rock, Punk Rock, Rock, Soft Rock, Soundtrack, Surf Rock, Techno, Trance, Vocal. My collection consists of 2727 songs from 378 artists. I think I am qualified to say that I have eclectic tastes.
Technologic. Technologic. Technologic.
If I believed the books I have to read for class, all Romans were homosexual, and all conservatives are evil. It's annoying to have ultra-liberal teachers.
I like thinking out loud. But not when I'm by myself, because I look crazy. And not around other people, because they think I'm talking to them. So I like thinking out loud, but I can't really do it. Life sucks.
“We Will Rock You” is a very, very distracting song.
Mom just invaded the cave. It's not The Cave in the sense from the Nerd Handbook (though she invades that all too often), just the cave. My room has a second room off of it, a kind of annex. It should be a study room, or a walk-in closet, or something. Instead, it's a storage space for half-empty boxes and stuff my mom doesn't want elsewhere. I've been sick of it, and I've WANTED her to invade for a while. Just. Not. Today. I was working on cleaning my room, thanks to the after-flu rebound energy burst, and I was nearly done. She comes in, surveys my clean room, then proceeds into the cave and starts flinging junk out. I haven't touched that place in months, and I refuse to do so until she gets her junk out of there. But she flings all this stuff out, and suddenly my room looks worse than it did before, and that was after a week of the flu. She then walks out, leaving ME to take care of the junk, just as I was going to settle down to homework. She sure as hell knows how to disrupt a well-planned and smooth schedule.
There are two parts of me. Each of those parts is made up of multiple smaller parts, but it all boils down to two parts. Or identities. The immature side, that likes stupid and/or dirty jokes, and that is terrified at the prospect of something new. And the mature side, the side that has a sophisticated, dry sense of humor, and comes out in situations where I'm comfortable. Anything throws me off balance, and the immature side gets larger and comes to the front. It's not necessarily the stupid side; the dependent, scared side, yes. The side that wants to go back to when I was twelve. Or younger. When I didn't have to worry. The side that wants everything to be everyone else's responsibility. But I want the mature side to come through. The side that will say, “Calm down, and let's figure out what needs to be done.” This side comes out not nearly often enough. And sometimes it comes out at the worst times. Like when I hang out with certain friends, I'll hold back my immature side, as though it makes up for letting it out during serious times. It pulls me away, and I can't have fun. I am simply an observer, and it makes my friends shy away, which is perfectly understandable. Does everyone have to struggle with this? Just wake up every morning, and put on a mask, to make it look as though you don't, because no one else seems to, even if all they're doing is exactly what you are. No one is mature, just some are better at hiding their immaturity from others?
I'll never really fit into any group. I like a little too much of this, or that. I don't fit any mold. Sometimes I love it that way, other times I feel like I just want to be a cookie-cutter person. I'm not a preppie; I don't care enough about fashion or being rude. I'm not a bottom-runger, at least not any more; I'm too confident. I'm not a goth; too cheery. I'm not a hippie; too dark. I'm not one of the guys; I'm too girly. I'm not one of the gals; I like too many boyish things, and I'm not girly enough. I'm not even any specific type of nerd; a jack of all trades, master of none. I dabble in hardware, software, web design, shiny gadgets. I don't belong to any music subculture; I like too many different types of music, and not enough of any particular genre. I'm a group of one. Which is kind of nice. But so, so lonely.
Sometimes – quite often, actually – the lyrics to a song say what I mean or what I feel far better than I could. I should speak only in lyrics. Or sing what I want to say. That's why I like so many types of music. There's no one genre that can cover all feelings or thoughts.
Dogs are funny things. Rub their stomach once, and they love you forever. Kick them out of the way, and they love you anyways.
I would like to take the Wright brothers to an airport. I would like to take George Washington to a session of the Senate. I would like to take Hitler to a showing of Schindler's List, and then strand him in Jerusalem.
Feminism is a bunch of crap. Equality doesn't mean that the standards for a police exam should be lowered so women can pass just like men can. Women and men aren't equal, in many ways. The only thing that needs to be equal is equal chance. If a woman wants to try out for the police, go ahead, although I still think it's crazy. But if you're not strong enough, don't whine, and don't make them lower the standards to your level; that's not equality, that's the OPPOSITE of equality. There's other jobs in the world. You'll live. But I'm female. I want the opportunity to get the same degree or same job as a guy. If some man is more qualified than me and gets the job, I'm not going to whine that it's because I'm discriminated against. I'll submit my resume again and get a different job. I'm capable. The only good thing about the feminist movement was the freedom to wear jeans. Everything else is crazy.
A list of genres in my music collection: Alternative Rock, Bluegrass, Celtic, Classical, Contemporary Bluegrass, Country, Country Rap, Country Rock, Dance, Electronic, Emo, Experimental Rock, Folk Rock, Geek Rock, Gospel, Goth Rock, Hard Rock, Indie Pop, Karaoke, New Age, Operatic Pop, Parody, Piano Pop, Piano Rock, Pop, Pop Rock, Progressive Rock, Punk Rock, Rock, Soft Rock, Soundtrack, Surf Rock, Techno, Trance, Vocal. My collection consists of 2727 songs from 378 artists. I think I am qualified to say that I have eclectic tastes.
Technologic. Technologic. Technologic.
If I believed the books I have to read for class, all Romans were homosexual, and all conservatives are evil. It's annoying to have ultra-liberal teachers.
I like thinking out loud. But not when I'm by myself, because I look crazy. And not around other people, because they think I'm talking to them. So I like thinking out loud, but I can't really do it. Life sucks.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
I'm there, the Phantom of the Opera
I find most of those online personality tests annoying, but thanks to a friend, I wondered which Phantom character I came out as.
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What Phantom of the Opera personality do you have? | ||||||||||||||||||||
You scored as Christine You are Christine. You are humble and almost anything can make you smile. You are friendly to everyone.
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