This is a public service announcement. Sorta.

Read the following in a highly serious and dramatic tone:

Have you ever known someone who has been affected by a Chapstick addiction? Have you or a loved one fallen victim to this terrible affliction? If you find yourself constantly craving Chapstick due to dry, burning, or chapped lips, then YOU too may have this addiction. In fact, recent studies* have shown that the number of Chapstick addicts has risen by over 892% since 1720**. But there is hope! Call 867-5309 to receive information about your nearest Chapstick intervention and rehabilitation centers, or join your local Chapstick focus group. Remember, you can take action to save the lives - and lips - of your loved ones. Spread awareness today! This Public Service Announcement has been brought to you by HBATOT.

*"Recent studies" meaning I thought of it and did not scientifically verify it. It counts, right?
**COUGHitotallymadethatupCOUGH

Note: I dedicate this post to some certain person for their concern regarding worldwide Chapstick addiction. You know who you are.

The day I was eaten by a puffer fish

I loathe college essays. I loathe them so much that I've become completely unable to be funny. Not that I'm sure I had much of an ability to be funny to begin with, but whatever sense of humor I ever had has been eaten by the venomous puffer fish otherwise known as a college essay. Yes, I called it a venomous puffer fish. This is because it doesn't look like too much of a threat at first, but then you mess with it and it inflates and turns out to be covered in spikes. And if it pokes you (or if you're stupid enough to eat it), you die. From the venom, you know. Puffer fish venom.

I just googled puffer fish and it turns out that they actually are highly poisonous. Also, they have four large teeth which they use to eat crustaceans.

In case you aren't quite sick of puffer fish metaphors yet (which I'm sure you aren't - how could you ever even think about getting sick of puffer fish metaphors?): if my college essays are puffer fish, then I'm the crustacean. Yes, I'm the nearly-brainless-shrimp-crab-type-thing that gets eaten by a fish that resembles a spiky balloon. Yay.

Stupid college essays. Turning me into an unfunny, brainless crustacean. Good times.

Lions and tigers and bears and dreams and stuff

I had a weird dream last night. In my dream, I was at the zoo and I was trying to take a picture of a lion. I distinctly remember my dream-self saying the words, "I will take a picture of this lion because he looks very lion-like right now." My dream-self is a flipping genius. Apparently the person who built the lion's cage was also a genius, because the only thing keeping the lion away from the general public was a thin, loosely strung little rope. So as I was trying to take a picture of this stunningly lion-like lion, it awoke from its slumber and proceeded to slip underneath the rope. At that point, there was nothing to separate me from this giant, hungry looking cat except for air. Which, believe it or not, is not the most effective means of defense. I turned around and walked away, hoping that the lion wouldn't notice. I guess I thought it was a very stupid lion. Maybe it was, because instead of just biting my head off or something, the lion just trudged along behind me, theoretically giving me plenty of time to escape. In fact, I came up with an escape plan, which was to jump up to the top of a thirty-foot tree by the side of the path in one giant bound. As I already pointed out, my dream-self is all sorts of brilliant. But, alas, before I could take a superhuman leap to the top of the very tall tree, the lion ate me and I woke up.

Of course, once I was awake, I sat in bed in the dark and had all of these sleepy delusions about how there were probably lions in the backyard and outside my bedroom door. And grizzly bears. Heck if I know where that one came from.

Then, without being eaten by lions that weren't there, I went back to sleep and dreamt something about giant pink pieces of styrofoam.

Disney Princess Face-Off

Disney princesses. Little girls want to be them, little boys think they're gross, and adults roll their eyes at them. People admire them, parody them, criticize them. But no one's asked that all-important question: what would happen if you were to put them in a room together and leave them to their own devices? (And yes, this is an all-important question. Don't contradict me. I don't want to hear it.)

Well, luckily for you, I know the answer. And I'm quite prepared to describe the entire scenario for you. For a fee of only one million dollars and fifty cents, plus my full college tuition.

...Okay, okay. Fine. I won't charge you so much. You can leave out the fifty cents.

Anyways. Allow me to present to you... What Would Happen If Various Disney Princesses Were Put In The Same Room And Left To Their Own Devices!

Princesses: Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, the Little Mermaid

The Scene Unravels Thus: Almost immediately, a catfight begins because each princess claims to be the most beautiful person present. Snow White says that it must be her because her stepmother's talking mirror says so. Plus, she has seven guys who follow her around at all times, and if she dies, the forest animals come to look at her in her glass coffin. Shocked, Sleeping Beauty argues that she's the beautiful one because, duh, she has the word "Beauty" in her name. Cinderella gasps and bursts into tears because she knows she's only named after some ashes, but between sobs chokes out the words "I'm m-more beautiful than... than all of you c-combined-d-d because... my fairy godmother - she'll m-m-make me more beautiful! With magic!" The Little Mermaid trys to make a snide remark but then realizes that she has no voice. So instead she flops around making obscure hand signals and trying to brush her hair with a fork. Unfortunately, Sleeping Beauty can't handle the high-stress environment and deals with the problem by - surprise, surprise - going to sleep. As she drifts off, she mutters something about how her prince will save her. In unison, the other three princesses say, "Me too!" There is a brief pause as they all wonder whether they're all after the same prince. Chaos ensues as Cinderella and Snow White attack each other with assorted cooking and cleaning utensils while the Little Mermaid pokes Sleeping Beauty with her fork. Sleeping Beauty wakes up and screeches, "Why, you little sea witch!" She pulls out an extremely sharp spindle, but before she can use it, an elephant appears out of nowhere and squishes them all. The elephant wins.

Things on my desk

I have two options right now: 1) do my calculus homework, since it's still slightly too early to go to bed and I'm not doing anything productive whatsoever, including writing the essays for the college apps that are due in two weeks, or 2) waste time, which seems nice right now but will cause me all sorts of unneccessary stress, hard work, and loss of sleep in the future. Being the smart and well-organized person that I am, I will opt for choice number two.

So, without further ado, here is a list of some of the items on my terminally messy desk, just because I feel like writing one:

-A comic book. In French. Which is, may I add, I language that I don't speak.

-Some flowers that I was given at my cross country senior night

-An eraser that has the words "Don't Panic" written all over it, designed for particularly troublesome tests

-Italian mints in a fancy Italian tin labeled "Casa Fondata Leone nel 1857." Another language I don't speak.

-Pre-wrap. Blue. Lifesaving in many athletic situations.

-A blue pencil case with multicolored sheep printed all over it

-My wallet, which contains $14, some old receipts, my license, a debit card, an ATM card, and several assorted gift cards (most of which are probably expired or void of money)

-A thick novel in Spanish. Aha! A language I speak! ...Sort of.

-An unlabeled CD

-Another unlabeled CD

-A ticket to Rumors at my high school's theater. It was fantastic, by the way.

-My dad's library card

-My friend's old (Product)red iPod, which has a picture of Holger Badstuber stuck to the back

-Paintbrushes in a glass jar

-An alarm clock, which has to be kept away from my bed so that I'm forced to get up when it rings

-A yellow insect-repelling "Super Band" that was given to me by the same friend who gave me the iPod and the French comic book. She wanted to know if it works and figured that I, being a mosquito magnet, would be the prime candidate to test it out. I've yet to do so.

-Stacks of books and papers threatening to tumble down onto my head. Duck.

Musical prodigy

No, I am not one.
But this kid is:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDPk5xKx3Yg
Seriously, this is insane. He's nine. NINE. Normally I'm not all that impressed by piano music, but this is borderline unbelievable. Did I say borderline? I meant completely. I mean, the kid has to put a box under his feet when he sits at the piano bench because he can't reach the ground, and yet he plays the piano like someone with a lifetime of practice. I believe he's playing Mozart in that video clip. Seems appropriate somehow.
Why oh why can't we all be this talented? Oh right. Because then it would just be normal. Did you hear that, crazy piano-playing prodigy child? If we were all so talented, you would be nothing special! Nothing at all!!! ...No, I'm not jealous in the least. Ahem.
No, only joking. I really do think that this is extremely impressive and noteworthy.

It's already October, sort of

I don't really have time to write at the moment, since it's a quarter past ten and I still have to get through a sizable mountain of AP Bio homework, but I just felt the need to point out that in less than two hours, it will be October.

Let's all take a moment to wave a fond farewell to September 2010, shall we?

According to the calendar on my wall, it's already October. This is because my friend made it for me a few weeks ago, and since it's kind of awesome, I put it up right away even though it was September and the first month in the calendar is October. So, in my room, it's been October for about two weeks already. For the record, that means that I beat the people at the international date line to the change in the month. Ha, you people out in the Pacific Ocean! Beat by the American Midwest! At this rate, I'll even beat you to the time change! Except not really, because no one else actually acknowledges that it's already October 13th (or something like that).

I'm really tired, so I'd better stop now before I say anything else really, really dumb that I'm going to regret typing when I reread this in a few days.

People-Watching at the Mall

Call me a creep if you will. I don't agree. What else are malls good for? Shopping? Psh. Well, if you've never deigned to observe passersby in your local mall, then here are some stock characters whom you're sure to see:

-The cluster of absurdly noisy middle-school aged girls dressed from head to toe in Abercrombie & Fitch. You hear the phrase "OMG" spoken out loud at least ninety-two times as they go by.

-The couple holding hands, giggling, and looking completely unaware of the world.

-The man lurking awkwardly outside of the Gap or Ann Taylor Loft as he waits for his wife to finish shopping. He may or may not be clutching a large pile of shopping bags.

-The stressed-looking college student drinking coffee and staring intently at a laptop at a table in the book store.

-The woman being trailed by about seventeen children of assorted ages. She probably looks extremely hassled and is saying something like "No, Sarah, you may not run down the up escalator," or "Joey! Stop pulling your sister's hair!"

-The teenagers who are clutching massive plastic cups full of some kind of sugary frozen beverage and meandering past the stores at about 0.03 miles per hour.

-The businesswoman in the intimidating suit. Her purposeful stride makes it clear that she has somewhere important to be. She's not afraid to bulldoze the teenagers, the middle-school girls, or the giggling couple in her determined march, since she's in too much of a hurry to walk in anything but a perfectly straight line.

7 Alternate Uses for an Empty Tissue Box

1. Boat - It's perfect for your rafting and sailing adventures. Just make sure you're small enough to fit inside of it. It works best if you are, say, a gerbil or a very small elephant. Also, you may want to waterproof your box boat before use.
2. Wallpaper - Have you ever wondered why tissue boxes come in so many amusing colors and patterns? It's so that, once all of the tissues have been used, you can cut apart the box and plaster it on your wall. Approved by interior designers everywhere.
3. Alternate Piggy Bank - This is great if you're sick of those absurdly cheerful little porcelain pigs. That slit in the top of the box that tissues are supposed to come out of is perfect for depositing coins. (Note: it being a cardboard box, security is not always guaranteed)
4. Stylish Hat - Perch one on your head and you're sure to turn heads everywhere. Trust me, it's because you're so trendy and not because people think it's weird that you have a tissue box on your head.
5. Telephone - True, no one will answer if you talk into a tissue box. But it's still entertaining.
6. Brick - There's no material sturdier for use in building a wall than an empty tissue box. Unless it rains. Or pressure is applied. Or... you get the idea.
7. Drum - Turn the box upside down and whack it rhythmically. Hours of surefire entertainment, guaranteed.

Musings of a Cotton-Stuffed Brain

The Google Health definition for the common cold: "The common cold generally involves a runny nose, nasal congestion, and sneezing. You may also have a sore throat, cough, headache, or other symptoms. Over 200 viruses can cause a cold."
My definition for the common cold: "All of the above, plus you will be unable to focus on your homework and will write lame blog posts instead, and your head will feel like it's stuffed full of cotton."
Just thought I'd throw that out there.
Hmm... I wonder if this means that I have over two hundred viruses (and don't point out that just because over two hundred viruses can cause a cold doesn't mean that I have them all - I don't want to hear your legalistic commentaries!). I picture an intense virus vs. white blood cell battle going on somewhere in my bloodstream. In my mind, I picture them all brandishing tiny swords and attacking each other cinematically while bystanding red blood cells duck for cover. All of the viruses are horrifically deformed and evil-looking, rather like the orcs from The Lord of the Rings, and the white blood cells are heroically outnumbered. I'm not sure if there is anything vaguely realistic about this mental image, because despite taking AP biology, I know woefully little about anything. So if you have a bio test on the immune system and decide to put down my explanation for how viruses are combatted, don't yell at me in the unlikely but possible event that I'm wrong.

And just to put out a vaguely related Forrest Gump reference: "Do you have a cough due to cold?"

Stress, and It's Only September

College search = stress.

AP classes = stress.

Sleep deficiency = stress.

Cross country meets = stress.

Lack of lunch period = stress.

September 2010 = STRESS.

Naptime.

...Oh wait, never mind. If I sleep, that entire tower of homework will fall on my head and probably kill me. Death by homework avalanche. Tragic, tragic.

Farewell, Dear Freedom!

I'd just like to write a quick post comemorating my last few hours of freedom before school starts at 7:25 tomorrow morning. In approximately eleven hours.

So... goodbye freedom! I will miss you! (Imagine me waving wistfully out the window as you read this.)

Remember how I started this blog at the beginning of the summer, going on about how ACTs and SATs and finals and whatever else were behind me? Well, guess what starts now? Yep, that's right. College apps.

uyhjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj

I'm sorry, that was just my head landing on my keyboard.

Gaaaahhhhhhh.

A Revelation About the Wicked Witch of the West

I have come to an important, earth-shattering conclusion that will most certainly change the way you look at life. Are you ready for this? I swear it's impressive. I don't know if you can handle it. Well, here goes: The Wicked Witch of the West was made of salt.

How did I figure this out? Well. I'm glad you asked.

It's nearly ninety degrees out (not Celcius, as that would be ridiculous and I would be dead), and as I was sitting here, considering the tedious text that I have to read for my economics class, I began to wonder whether I was melting. After some consideration, I decided that I am not, in fact melting. But, as we all know, the Wicked Witch of the West melted and it didn't look like she was in any ninety-degree weather. I am a human, and I have not melted. Therefore, it stands to reason that she was not human.

(Don't you just love my logic?)

So... what was she? Well, let's consider how she melted. A little girl came along, threw some water at her, and that was that. So she must have been water-soluble, meaning that she was made of sugar, coffee powder, or salt (don't point out to me that there are gazillions of other water-soluble substances - I don't want to hear it!). She can't have been made of sugar, because sugar is sweet and then all of her hungry flying monkeys would have eaten her. She wasn't made of coffee powder either, for similar reasons - it seems like the flying monkeys were awake 24 hours a day, every day, so much coffee must've been involved. A witch made of coffee powder would never have survived. But salt - you can't just eat salt (that would be disgusting, thanks), and it would entirely make sense for a person made of salt to fall into bits when a random little musically-inclined girl came along and threw water at her.

Which only leads me to wonder - if she was so evil and hated, why did no one else ever think to throw water at her? And did she never take showers? And did it never rain in Oz, or did she just stay indoors all day? And if it was so unclear that she would melt when she came into contact with water, then what in the world did Dorothy hope to achieve by dumping an entire bucket of it on her?

And They're Off!

The cross country (xc for us cool people) season started yesterday at 12:00 a.m. No, I am not joking. We strange but interesting people of the LFHS cross country team gathered at the athletic campus Sunday evening so that we could go for a nice little run at midnight. And then we had practice again at 8:00 a.m. We had practice again this morning. And tomorrow is a time trial, which can be translated as Two-Miles-Of-Death. Yes, only two miles - but two nasty miles. I loathe races and time trials with the passion of someone who deeply loathes something (unfortunately, my ability to come up with good metaphors has gone on a last-minute vacation, and won't return until an unspecified date).

And what have we learned during these first two days of my last-ever high school season of cross country? We have learned, basically, that there are evil little blood-thirsty mosquitoes absolutely everywhere, and that the current most effective incentive to run is to tell oneself repeatedly that running faster will result in less mosquito bites. Which is not to say that I don't come home from practice looking like a sheet of bubble wrap anyways, but whatever.

But other than that, it's pretty nice to be back. It looks like I'm really going to make it through four seasons of cross country, like I decided way back during freshman year (which reminds me, unrelately, that my little brother is a freshman this year. Muahahahaha...).

Johanna's Guide to Distracted Laziness!

Because I am the world's twenty-third most talented procrastinator (who should be doing her AP econ/AP Spanish/AP bio summer assignments instead of writing her second blog post in one day), and because I'm sure you're terribly jealous of my procrastinating abilities, I have kindly decided to write you a basic guide to putting off any and all important work so that you, too, may become an expert procrastinator. Next time you find yourself being strangely productive, just come back to this guide and remind yourself what you can do to keep yourself from your work.

So, without any further ado: Johanna's Guide to Distracted Laziness!

1. Stare blankly at work after having read two sentences.
2. Stare out window, if available. Watch a squirrel run in frantic circles around a tree.
3. Decide that you are hungry.
4. Get up and go on a search for food. Shuffle through the pantry/refrigerator before drawing the conclusion that there is nothing edible within a seven-mile radius of your workspace.
5. Go back to the computer. Reread the same two sentences from Step 1.
6. Check emails. Write unnecessarily long responses.
7. Text someone who is also likely to be bored.
8. Draw pictures of squirrels running around trees. Include speech or thought bubbles.
9. Draw pictures of squirrels with wings and beaver teeth.
10. Wander. Stop in front of the laundry machine and contemplate what would happen if you were to sit inside of it while it was running.
11. Decide that you are thirsty.
12. Find cold water and drink it overdramatically, as if you've spent days stranded in the desert.
13. Pause because Step 12 gave you a brain freeze.
14. Sing.
15. Surf distracting websites - YouTube, Facebook, whatever. You know the ones.
16. Sigh regretfully at the work that you have been ignoring for the last fifty-odd years.
17. Repeat the process.

You're welcome.

A Brief and Aimless Overview

Helloooooo world! Remember me? No? Gosh darn. Make my life complicated, would you? I guess I have to re-introduce myself then. Sigh. So - my name is Johanna, I am neither five nor eighty-two years old, I am wearing a plaid shirt, and I don't speak French, Urdu, or English. There. You know everything there is to know about me. Happy now?

I came back from Europe about a week ago, which is my lame excuse for not having written since the beginning of July. While I was there, I went to Greece (where it was hot and sunny) and Germany (where it was cold and rainy).

A quick overview of the last month and a half: Greek food is delicious; Greek roads/drivers are insane; people will give you funny looks if you go to a festival and then stand in the corner pantomiming different types of sports; there's nothing like soccer and trampoline-jumping in the rain; the S-Bahn is better then the Metra; and if you jump to try to touch the ceiling, then not only will you fail but you will also injure your toe.

Oh, and the airport in Charlotte is all kinds of evil. Or at least, the Lufthansa counter is.

A Shout-Out to Swimming Pools

I have decided that swimming pools are genius inventions. They're a bit weird (''Let's dig a hole, fill it with water, and then flounder about in it!''), but genius.

Think about it. You're walking home from school, work, or whatever, and it's so hot out that you can feel your toes slowly melting inside your shoes. When you get home, you can either a) jump in the pool, or b) lie around on the floor of your house, hoping that you might catch a slight breeze if you're closer to the ground. What do you do? You jump in the pool, of course! Healthier than ice cream, more effective than the floor-lying method.

Unless you're hydrophobic, of course, in which case I feel for ya.

And that is why the swimming pool is a genius invention. It's a source of excercise that allows you to stay in the summer sun without melting (that's assuming that the heating system hasn't gone insane and you're not swimming in fifty thousand degree water to cool off).

And if you really want to get the most use out of a swimming pool, you can let it freeze over in winter and use it to ice skate and/or as a storage space for your frozen foods. Although this is not, in my opinion, recommended.

Lots of tzpos, I mean, typos

Hello, once again.

I'm sitting at an aging computer in Germany with an evil keyboard that seems to be out to get me. You should see what my typing looks like without my deleting every second letter. If you'd like a description of the sheer confusion of this keyboard, let me inform you that the z and the y are switched, so if I don't pay attention, any word ending in ''y'' turns into a word ending in ''z.''

For instance, really turns into reallz and any turns into anz. And yellow turns into zellow. So zeah, umm, I mean yeah.

Also, there's a ö where there should be a semicolon, and the shift key is about a millimeter long. You have to press this miniature shift key in order to type an apostrophe, because if you don't then you get #. The enter key is also much smaller then it ought to be because there's a ä key in the way.

It took me about an eternity and a half to log in because I couldn't figure out how to type an @ symbol on this evil keyboard.

§ ß € ü ö ä µ and so on and so forth.

And no quotation marks to speak of.

Anzwaz, that#s about enough complaining for now, don#t zou thinkÄ

Tornado Alley, But Not Really

You know how the stereotypical awkward conversation goes, "Hi." "Hey." "How are you?" "Good." "...Interesting weather we're having." "Yep." "..."

Well, I'm going to be spectacularly lame and awkward and talk about the weather. Again.

Don't give me that look. The weather around here definitely merits discussion. Have you seen it? If you have, then you know that anyone brave enough to step outside is drenched within 3.25 seconds, due to the humidity. It's like you've had a tough workout, except without the tough workout. Gross, yes.

Also, there's the small issue with the summer storms, a.k.a Let's Have Another Tornado Warning Every Two Minutes Because It's Fun To Make People Drop Everything And Hide In The Basement. Thunder, lightning, pouring rain, ridiculous winds, and sirens. Fun stuff.

So far, though, no real tornadoes have come our way, which is a really good thing considering that our house is mournfully void of safe, windowless rooms.

Also, the lightning storms require me to turn off my computer, which is a bit of a problem because my computer is a stubborn little evil thing that refuses to turn back on after it's been shut down.

Enough weather reports for now...?

Caramel

Apparently we're all out of dulce de leche ice cream, which, in case you were wondering, is an extremely delicious sort of vanilla ice cream with caramel swirled into it. Having run out of it is deeply unfortunate.

Oh well. I'll survive until we go to the grocery store and buy some more of it. Hopefully. But in the mean time, I'll occupy myself by discussing caramel desserts.

First and foremost is creme brulee (which looks kind of lame without all of the fancy French accent marks, but what can you do?). I was lucky enough to try some on a trip to France, in what was quite possibly the best restaurant I've ever visited (so on a side note, if you ever happen to be in a small village in the Alsace called Saint Hippolyte - there's a bigger town with the same name, but I'm talking about the small village - please visit the restaurant that is also called Le Saint Hippolyte. It will be entirely worth your while). For dessert, I had the creme brulee. That's a picture of it over there. They served it on a slate serving platter, which was quite cute. Also, no one there spoke a word of English, which made it quite an interesting experience. But that's beside the point. Anyways, that creme brulee was possibly the best thing I've ever eaten. It was sooo good. Sigh.

Flan is my other caramel dessert of amazingness. Also known as creme caramel. My mother can make delicious flan, smooth and creamy and caramel-y and... sigh, again. There's also this little Mexican restaurant not far from here that serves amazing flan.

By the way, did you know that if you type "caramel" into Google, the first suggestion that comes up is "caramelized onions?" What the heck is a caramelized onion?

Foxes, Among Other Things

This is a picture of some baby foxes - last spring, seven of them moved in under our shed. They were adorable.

Unfortunately, it so happens that baby foxes apparently aren't the only creatures who seem to like us. A veritable army of ants has also decided to move in with us. They are everywhere, sneakily attempting to steal chocolate and marmalade. Actually, I suspect that they're spying and will shortly launch an intricate plot to take over the world.

Not to mention the mysterious thing that moved into the ducts behind the kitchen. It lived there for a few weeks. Emphasis on lived, past tense, because I'm pretty sure it's died. I no longer hear it scuffling around in there every time I go downstairs, and the kitchen smells like...

Oh, never mind. It's repulsive. I'd take the baby foxes any day.

Sandwiches

I was hungry, so I went on a mission to discover the perfect grilled cheese sandwich. After the use of much butter and various sorts of cheese, I seem to have been successful, although it required the consumption of not one but two enormous sandwiches. And by sandwiches I mean calories with bread.

I am now no longer hungry.

You know, it wasn't so much a grilled cheese sandwich as a fried bread sandwich. "Grilled cheese" implies that I went outside and plunked some cheese on the grill. This was not the case. Instead, I stayed inside and plunked some bread in a pan with butter. I would suggest renaming the sandwich in question a "fried bread with melted cheese sandwich," but, let's face it, grilled cheese sounds much better and takes about a millionth as long to say.

Yesterday I had a pretty interesting sandwich for lunch, too. It was a yogurt and tuna on cinammon bread sandwich, courtesy of a good friend of mine. Before you go throw up, let me reassure you that it was actually pretty good. And it attracted her cats.

Comment vas-tu? Pas mal. Et toi?

The World Cup started today! Eeeek! I spent three hours watching soccer today. There'll be three more games tomorrow, but I don't think I'll watch the first one because that would require me to get up at five thirty in the morning. But still! World Cup!
The games today were South Africa v. Mexico (1:1) and France v. Uruguay (0:0). Which reminds me - French. Is. So. Difficult. And by difficult, I mean impossible-to-pronounce-and-full-of-silent-letters. Learning rudimentary French has been my latest project, and it is dead complicated. For instance, let's translate the word rubber. It becomes le caoutchouc. Pronounce that for me, would you? Or how about the phrase, Today is June 11, 2010. It's Aujourd'hui, c'est le 11 juin 2010. Hopeless.
Although everything does look and sound prettier in French, doesn't it? I watched a French film with a friend yesterday, and they swore quite a lot, and my goodness, it sounded lovely. I'm almost a bit tempted to begin saying s**t in French because it just sounds so nice.
Je ne comprends pas.

Please Inform the Weather...

I love summer. This is largely because summer involves days that consist of 45% sleeping, 40% napping, and 15% doing nothing (I really hope that adds up to 100). But it's also because, in summer, it is no longer necessary to huddle three inches from the fireplace wearing so many layers that you resemble a human beach ball. In theory.

Let's take a look at the reality, shall we? I am sitting here in soccer shorts and a t-shirt and my toes are going to freeze off any second. Once I finish this post, I am going to go change. Outside, it's cloudy - wait, no, make that overcast - and I can only conclude that the sun's gone on its summer vacation without the rest of us. Because we're well into June and I still have to wear snowpants, apparently. What is wrong with this picture?
There's one thing I can't stand about summer, though. Mosquitoes. If you like mosquitoes, then there is something severely wrong with you. Unfortunately, the mosquitoes seem to have missed the memo that summer has decided not to show up, because they're here and they're hungry.

Well, someone go prod the clouds with a long pole and tell them to go away. And while you're at it, ask the sun to please please please come back from its vacation.

It Didn't Literally Fry My Brain

So the other day I was talking to someone who'd just taken the SAT, and I asked her how it went. She said, "Ugh, it was so long it literally fried my brain."
Not to be a word-usage witch, but...
Ahem. Wrong. Unless the SAT was some kind of stovetop and she took out her brain and plunked it into a frying pan with some grease, I seriously doubt that that the SAT fried much of anything. Now, if she'd said, "It was so long it fried my brain," I'd have been fine. But that's not what she said; she threw in literally for emphasis. Which implies that, well, her brain was literally fried. My deepest regrets and sympathies for this unfortunate development in her life.
I've also heard people say things like, "If he doesn't turn that paper in today, I am literally going to kill him," or, "That movie literally made my skin crawl." Person 1, I'm afraid, must be a murderer, and person 2 has the weirdest/creepiest skin I've ever seen.
So, lesson learned: literally isn't a word of emphasis. Don't use it.
Of course, there's always the possibility that these people were NOT misusing the word in question. In which case, I'm afraid.

Stop Your Analysis!

As I'm sure you know, English classes seem to exist to analyze the daylight out of all sorts of poor, unsuspecting books. Read... annotate... write essays... analyze. Fun, fun, fun. Not. I'm of the personal opinion that no one actually cares what the author meant or wanted, though. The analytic readers of the world simply attempt to pull symbolism out of books, even when there is none.
I recall that last year, a whole bunch of classes - mine not included - read Mark Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I've got a copy of it in front of me now, and I will quote from the very first page:

"NOTICE: Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. By order of the author per G. G., Chief of Ordnance."

Now, let me point something out: this notice has unquestionably been blatantly ignored by English teachers everywhere. Obviously, no one listens to the author, even if the author includes a very conspicuous note stating that those who analyze will be shot. Shot. Do you want to be shot? I didn't think so. So, should you be one of those people who likes to analyze, stop. Unless you happen to enjoy persecution from the U.S. Army Ordnance Corps. In which case I wish you much joy and happiness.

With regards to the book-writing business, so far so not good. No ideas, no inspiration, no nothing. Oh well. Wait and see, I guess.

Hi

Okay. So. It's June now (or so they say; it's pretty chilly out and I'm not completely convinced). Done with ACTs, SATs, AP tests, finals, and all of that other nonsense. Next order of business: to start a blog.
I should mention that I dislike the word blog. It's such a sloppy-sounding word, like an unfortunate cross between blah and glog. The latter probably isn't actually a word, but I imagine that that's what it sounds like when someone either a) throws up, or b) wades through a thick, morassy swamp while wearing a pair of oversized galoshes.
Which is, by the way, a very entertaining word. Galoshes, I mean.
But I guess I'd better get over it, if I intend to write a blog.
Ick.
Anyways. This blog will be subject to my commentaries on words, people, events, music, food, ceiling fans, dandelions, and whatever else catches my interest.
Oh, and one other thing that's probably important. I've been challenged to write a novel within the next year. Although I've written a plethora of stories in a variety of genres, I've never actually written a book. So this might be difficult, and it may or may not work out. Just in case, I'll be blogging my progress. I need an idea first, though.
Let's hope I'm hit by a train of thought. (In case you were wondering, this is a term that was originally coined by a friend of mine. It's a bit like getting hit by a train... but not.)