Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Play Review of the School Musical

Look, I have to do this for my AP English class. Don't be too mad at me for letting your hopes down. I'm also fully aware of the extreme indents at the beginning of each paragraph. That's what happens when you copy and paste from a Google Doc.
Last year, Taylorsville High School’s musical was Once on This Island.  While impressively put on and talently performed, it could really be described in one word: depressing.  So this year, upon preparing to see this year’s production of Kiss Me, Kate (written by Samuel and Bella Spewack with lyrics and music by Cole Porter), I unconsciously prepared myself for another downer, albeit a well-performed one.  Imagine my surprise when I actually laughed for quite a bit of the show.
The acting was really impressive.  The two leads were especially good at some of the quick or extreme moods their characters (or even their characters’ characters) were feeling.  They also played very well off each other, fitting perfectly into their roles.  The other leads were obviously having a lot of fun with their parts and exhibited that well through their spot-on acting.  They weren’t over-the-top but weren’t too subtle either, seamlessly becoming their characters.  The ensemble wasn’t silly (as many ensembles tend to be) and filled their parts with the quiet acting needed for such a role (for it truly is a role).
The sets were colorful (again a contrast to last year) and helped bring the audience into the story instead of the other way around.  However, there were a couple that were on the border of being distracting.  It was nothing too serious, but there were a few that were just a little much.  They seemed very well put-together and obviously had effort put into them.
The music was by far my favorite part.  The songs were either fun and catchy or emotionally stirring, and either was pleasing.  All of the actors had wonderful voices and there were hardly any times when one person would stick out.  The orchestra did an excellent job.  Live music is difficult, especially when you’ve only been practicing together for a few of the rehearsals--but you wouldn’t have guessed that just by listening.  One complaint about the music is that some of the songs were way long, which in and of itself wouldn’t bother me, but it was the slightly annoying songs that didn’t have anything to do with the story that were dragged on.  There were multiple songs that would “end,” the audience would applaud, and then it would start up again and play for just as long as before.  Besides that, the music was great.  Of course, if you had asked me what the lyrics were, I would only be able to respond with a blank look.
The microphones were awful.  When they weren’t cutting out, they sounded extremely muffled or even had that horrible screechy feedback (although the latter was considerably more scarce).  It was very hard to understand what was being said, especially during the songs.  The dialogue was a little bit better, but only because you could hear every one in three words instead of every one in five.
If you’re one of those people that’s sitting on the edge of your seat, pleading with me to talk about the lights, you are about to be severely disappointed because I do not pay attention to lights whatsoever.  I could see the actors.  There were spotlights sometimes and it went dark sometimes.  That’s all I can tell you.  I’m fully aware that lighting is important, but I don’t care enough to take notes.
The costumes were...realistic?  I don’t know what you expect me to say.  The actors were fully clothed (hey, some characters last year were only half so).  Their outfits seemed to fit well with the time periods being portrayed.  The end.
Now, the basic storyline of Kiss Me, Kate.  Two actors, Fred Graham and Lilli Vanessi, were once married (and now no longer are) but are performing Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew.  Lilli is engaged to some general, but she and Fred kind of start falling for each other again until Fred sends the--What’s a good word?--tramp of the story, Lois Lane, a tender note of affection and Lilli’s wedding bouquet, both of which Lilli thinks are hers until she reads the note.  They eventually realize that the play is a lot like their current life.  At least, that’s the important storyline.  (Remember the microphone issue?)  Then there were gangsters showing up for some reason (don’t worry, they were my favorites), the tramp looks like she’s going to play a big part and then doesn’t, her boyfriend wants to marry despite knowing she’s a tramp, and Lilli’s general boyfriend comes out of nowhere and does absolutely nothing.  As far as I can tell, that is all that happened.
So, what makes a good theater production?  According to me, at least, a good theater production needs good talent but also good attitudes.  There ought to be minimal technical difficulties, memorization problems, and otherwise other bloopers.  The time and effort put in should be impressive, not distracting.  It should be fun (notice I didn’t say funny) and interesting to watch.  It shouldn’t be too overly dramatic.  Really, I just want everyone involved to look like they’re enjoying it.  All of the above applied to Kiss Me, Kate, even with the annoying sound problems.  I would give it at least four stars.  It was definitely worth seeing.
Well, I hope that was informative.
I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Friday, December 2, 2016

A Note to My Readers

     Hello, everyone--you know what, can I just say how annoying it is that I can't greet you by time of day?  I can't say "Morning, everybody," or "Afternoon, my friends," or "Evening, good people."  None of that!
     And you know why?
     Because you could possibly read this at a different time of day than I'm writing, and if the first thing you read on my blog is "Evening, good people," but it's 9:00am for you, that will send a subliminal message that I care more about my time than yours, not to mention send another subliminal message that if you're not reading this in the evening, you do not fall under the category of "good people."  So, I have to pander to you--you, who has a far too sensitive mind that can make up intentions of other people based on the words they use.  What a mess.
     Don't get me wrong: I think you're great.  But there are certain words and phrases that I like to use, and when I can't use them because it won't work with someone, it's annoying.  But hey, at least I can use words like "chill" and "dang it."  Because if those were scratched off my list, I'd be a very boring and angry person.
     I mean, it's especially frustrating because I don't even know some of the people who read my blog.  I have to bend down to the perceptive minds of people I probably will never meet.  (Seriously, the amount of pageviews I get from France is astonishing.)
     That's my biggest problem with a blog.  It's public, so I have to keep that in mind as I'm writing.  I would never write down anything even remotely private about myself on here.  And that's annoying because I need to put my thoughts where I can see them.  Don't get me wrong: I write down my private thoughts.  But quite honestly, I feel that this blog is more for me than anyone else.  It doesn't make much sense, I know: Why would I want to write my private thoughts on a blog, regardless of privacy?  How is it different from writing it anywhere else?
     I guess it has more to do with my philosophy that a blog is a place where you can do more than just write out your thoughts; you can put them on display with glowing lights and draped with curtains.  A blog, let's face it, is a little more open to creativity than a Word document, no matter what borders and ClipArt you use.
     So, if there was a way for me to publish my blog but not really publish it, it would be ideal.  If there was absolutely no way that anyone could ever read my blog, I'd jump for the opportunity.  I don't like feeling vulnerable.  (Note to my AP English teacher who I am sure is reading this: I understand that that is your point, but I certainly don't like it.)
     But, my blog is not private.  I am not assigned to post weekly to myself.  I have to put myself (and my blog) out there to be published.  I need my name to become something more official than just the words that mean me.  And how do I do that?
     You.
     You, who I've actually kind of done a lot of complaining about, I just realized.  Ouch.  Feel free to take it personally.
     You, who may not even know who I am.  You, who could be a psycho--whether it be in serial killer form or chocolate-hater form.  You, who might not even understand a word I write (I know I'm crazy and that my writing is sporadic as heck--I have come to terms with my spastic writing nature).
     Thanks.
     I know, that was terribly touching and you've been moved to tears.  Stop it.  That's not a good reason to have water leaking out of your face.
     Anyway...I think this is a lot of fun.  I like having a blog.  I like being able to write random stuff in a place where random writings are expected.  I like that I can write out my sarcastic things instead of just letting them stew inside my mind (or popping out at bad moments).  I like that I can sit comfortably and type out my thoughts (not the private ones) and throw them onto a blank white sheet like an organized mess of paint splatters.  (See, that doesn't make any sense.  I'm telling you I'm insane.)
     Heavens.  Look at me.  I'm actually trying to convince you that my mental state is far more removed than a normal human being's.  There's something wrong with me.
     But you know, I'm cool with that.  I have no problem with being seen as weird or crazy.  In fact, I take it as a high compliment indeed.  Because if I'm being so different that people actually take notice, then I'm doing something right.  Because life isn't about how well you can hide.  Hide-and-seek is only fun because you have a seeker.
     Flying under the radar isn't a problem until there is nothing else you focus on.  If you're so obsessed with going with the flow that thinking of breaking out is immense stress, you are doing something wrong.  I'm an introvert (and proud of it), but even I can recognize the importance of stepping out of the comfort zone for an evening stroll once in a while.
     After all, if I decided to never let my introvert nature drop, I wouldn't be writing this blog.  I wouldn't be able to grace your--gosh flippin' dang it, I can't use time again.  Fine...I wouldn't be able to grace any generic time of your day with my words of wisdom and fun personality.  (Come on, you know full well that it's true.)
     Well, fun as this was, I think it's gone on long enough.  I think it's about time you returned to more immediate and pressing matters, correct?  Do your homework, eat something, use the bathroom, call a friend, take a walk, hang out with your family--because as much as I think both of us would like to deny it, we do have lives outside of this blog, and they're a little less permanent.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Friday, November 25, 2016

The Day of Giving Thanks

     It has begun: I have heard one radio station playing Christmas music.  And I love it.  Christmas is my very favorite holiday, so I naturally want to start Christmas celebratory things fairly early on.  But, I also believe in Thanksgiving.
     I mean, most people do.  I've met people who hate/don't celebrate Christmas and Easter, who hate/don't celebrate Halloween, who hate/don't celebrate Valentine's Day (and not for religious purposes), but I have never, ever, ever met a single person who hates Thanksgiving.
     Of course, it's not as if it's everyone's absolute favorite.  It's just that you can't hate it.  And let's be real here: for most of us, it is not the "thanks" part we like.  It is the food.
     Turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, rolls, sweets beyond sweets--surely there is something in that list that appeals attractively to you.  And that's just the generic list of our Thanksgiving meal.  There is always so more.
     I mean, don't get me wrong: I know that we celebrate the giving of thanks--or, at least, most of us do.  Of course, we're usually guilt-tripped into being grateful for at least something, but hey, maybe guilt speeds up metabolism.
     Thanksgiving is usually pretty looked-over.  You have those hissing vehemently when anyone so much as says "Christmas" or "Jingle Bells" or "snow" while simultaneously having those setting up their Christmas tree at midnight on November 1 and fervently praying--really praying--for snowing.
     While I wouldn't necessarily say that there's anything wrong with either of those (disagree all you'd like), it's definitely something that should be handled gently, and where words like "moderation," "happy medium," and "delicate balance" should be considered.
     And now, in honor of this gracious day, I present to you a list of the top 100 most random things to be grateful for.  Disagree all you like, but as I've said, I'm writing this, not you, so chill.
     The Top 100 Most Random Things to Be Grateful For...not necessarily in order

1. Dry-erase markers
2. The ability to control volume
3. Fire is warm and bright
4. Soft blankets
5. The feel of smooth, wet glass
6. Ice (cubed, crushed, and pebbled)
7. Ice cools water
8. The color red
9. Keyboard shortcuts
10. Butter melts
11. Sugar can be colored
12. Frosting
13. Windows
14. Doorknobs/handles
15. Locks and keys
16. Microphones
17. Christmas lights
18. Snow is white (when it falls, at least)
19. Smelly markers
20. Ballpoint pens
21. Mechanical pencils
22. Wheelbarrows
23. Not everyone is the same height
24. Walking eventually becomes a very easy thing
25. Most jobs don’t require a specific mile time
26. Calcium
27. Different fonts/typefaces
28. Picture frames
29. Harps
30. Dementors aren’t real...probably
31. Not every song sounds the same
32. Heart shapes are different from the shape of a heart
33. People who are allergic to/hate chocolate (more for us who are able to eat it/aren’t heathens)
34. Clean humor still exists
35. Zodiac signs aren’t that important
36. Plants are green
37. We are the perfect distance from the sun
38. Mirrors
39. People don’t actually slip on banana peels...usually
40. Stickers
41. Staplers
42. Salt and pepper shakers
43. Math class is temporary
44. Soft animals
45. Little animal sounds
46. Otters hold hands
47. We don’t have to worry about T-rex
48. Magnifying glasses
49. Fingerprints
50. We are able to comprehend words
51. Ice cream is cold
52. Dentists
53. Sheet music
54. Music stands
55. Blogs (especially mine...you know it)
56. Animals aren’t all the same color
57. Birds can fly
58. Seatbelts
59. Gingerbread
60. Christmas ornaments
61. Circles
62. Socks are meant to come in pairs
63. Denim
64. Comfortable fabrics
65. Robots have not yet taken over the world
66. There are more colors than just the ones in the rainbow
67. Birthdays
68. Squishy things
69. Handsoap
70. Lotion
71. Towels
72. Water can be different temperatures
73. Speed limits
74. Sparkly stuff
75. Curtains/blinds
76. Natural light
77. Fruit snacks
78. Training wheels
79. Five senses
80. Dancing
81. Singing
82. Talking
83. Nail polish
84. Nail polish remover
85. Nail clippers
86. Hotels/motels
87. Grape medicine does not taste like real grapes
88. Cookies ‘n’ cream anything
89. Emojis
90. Manually alphabetizing stuff
91. There are twenty-six letters in the alphabet
92. Glasses
93. Sarcasm
94. Binders
95. Backpacks/bookbags
96. Suitcases/briefcases
97. Punctuation
98. Proper grammar and spelling
99. Top 100 lists
100. The ability to share fun(ny) things with other people

Well, there you go. I'm sure grateful for all my followers (but even more grateful for the people who actually read). I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Friday, November 18, 2016

Dating

     Quit squirming uncomfortably or giggling uncontrollably (whichever applies to you).  I don't think I need to remind you who is writing this blog.  Do you really think that I, of all people, will be writing about the joys and magic of dating?
     As a matter of fact, I couldn't write about it even if I wanted to, because I've never been on one.  Ofttimes, when others hear about this, they become extraordinarily shocked and tell me that it's the best part of high school, but chill--I don't care.  However, that does not mean that I don't have opinions on dating.
    And before you decide that this blog post is going to be too serious for your taste, chill.  This is not a rant.  You'll like my opinions, especially if we have similar personalities.
     First off, there's nothing wrong with courtesy.  I know plenty of girls that are genuinely offended when their male date holds a door open for them or whatnot.  "I can open doors by myself!" is the disgusted outcry.  Well, of course you can.  Your date is probably fully aware of the fact that females are perfectly capable of opening doors, and especially you because he likes and respects you, which is probably at least part of the reason you were asked out in the first place.  (I'll patiently wait for your jaw drops to finish.)  This is also why he'll hold open a door for you.  It's not a negative mark; it's very positive.  It's a little something called "being polite."  Believe it or not, it's not a relatively new concept.  (I'll patiently wait for you to finish being sore.)
     Another thing about dates is they'd better be fun, or at least enjoyable, for both parties involved.  I would not invite you to sit and listen to music while alphabetizing or staring at lists of names (unless you liked that sort of thing), so you'd better not be asking me out to go play sports or go shopping.  I'm not saying you have to pander to the other person, but at least be mindful of things they may not be comfortable doing, or even things they absolutely hate doing.  Again, there's that whole respect thing.
     Finally, my biggest pet peeve when it comes to dating advice is "Don't you dare take a girl out to a movie for a date because you won't be able to talk or get to know each other!"  I severely disagree.  If a guy is willing to spend money to take me to a movie we both want to see, I'll get to know him plenty (especially if he also gets popcorn).  I know that having a picnic in the grassy field of a park while watching the sun set and then talking underneath the star-sprinkled night sky is more romantic, but let's be real here: I'd rather watch Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (which I highly recommend, just so you know).  And if you're so concerned about getting to know each other, go to dinner beforehand and/or ice cream afterwards.  Chill.
     Well, that's that.  I hope I haven't offended too many of you...but I can't say I'd feel too badly if I did.  This world is too darn sensitive for me to feel bad about it anymore.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Monday, October 31, 2016

Fear vs. Fun

Well, today is Halloween.  Halloween.  What a weird holiday.
    No, I’m serious!  People walk around in costumes that may or may not be frightening, knock on strangers’ doors, and ask for candy, which basically goes against everything we were ever taught as children.
    What’s more, scary things suddenly experience a major skyrocket.  People will pay to have the living daylights scared out of them.  Whether in the form of haunted houses or scary movies, people want to be scared.
    Why on earth would you want to be scared?  Isn’t the adrenaline rush you get from being scared supposed to instill a “fight or flight” reaction?  Because that is not what happens most of the time.  Instead, you usually experience a “jump and/or scream and then giggle nervously” reaction.  You don’t try to hit or kick whatever scared you, and it’s very rare that you run away or do anything to get yourself away from the situation.
    Right?  That’s what I thought.
    Don’t get me wrong: I like Halloween.  I’ve never been to a haunted house (real or otherwise).  I like scary movies to an extent.  I like suspenseful-scary, not horror-scary.  Ghosts or aliens or monsters are fine, but when you get into serial killers and creepos, I get distinctly more squeamish.
    I just don’t understand why we like being scared in that way.  I mean, if someone is afraid of a spider, they don’t usually go out of their way to find spiders and interact with them.  If you’re afraid of something and go out of your way to experience that thing, you probably fall underneath the aforementioned category of creepos.
    But for some reason, it’s what we do.  In fact, it’s a main part of society.  Haunted houses and scary movies are extremely popular, and increasingly so.  And the thing is, it’s not just spooky things that we like scaring us.  Let’s be real here: you are more afraid of rollercoasters than they are of you.
Just some food for thought.
I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

How I Write

     As previously mentioned, I rarely know what I want to write.  The simple fact of the matter is, I want to write so much that it's hard to pick just a few things that I want to put elsewhere.  My mind is filled with all sorts of unfinished thoughts, chasing each other around my head, jumping on top of more pressing matters.
     And it still feels the same way when I do write.  I start with something, and then when I run out of things to say, I've ended up with something else.  I mean, it usually stays within the general vicinity for most of it, but I've come to realize that I usually accidentally write a preface, and then the real stuff.
     I mean, it's almost a cycle.  I start by writing absolute nonsense.  I just write.  Plain and simple, that's how it starts.  I write the sentence that keeps popping into my head (usually something along the lines of "I have no idea what I'm doing").  Then, I elaborate on that, almost like a reassurance that I really do know what I'm doing; I just don't know how to do it.
     Then, the more I write, the more the words just kind of appear.  It becomes easier and easier to just type my thoughts.  I don't have to think and think anymore.  I don't have to look back at each sentence to make sure it's decent.  They just suddenly...work.
     And right there is when I reach my happy place.
     That is the perfect state--when I can just write and write and write, with minimal thought and effort, because my fingers and mind just suddenly connect.  They bypass all of their obstacles and different physical barriers that are placed in their way.  They hurl over those obstacles with flying colors and connect in a swirling display of my thoughts physically appearing.
     I don't know how it happens.  All I know is, once I'm warmed up, there are those several precious minutes where I just sit there, writing incessantly, feeling the joy grow greater and greater as the thoughts come easier and easier and the words continue flowing so smoothly and effortlessly, and it becomes harder and harder to pay attention to what's going on around me and easier to start separating all the madness inside of me.
     Backspace still exists, but I almost don't even notice when I use it because everything is just going so efficiently that I don't need to focus on where the backspace key is.  I just know it's there, and my fingers find it where it always is.  I don't need to focus on anything but the words.
     And the words are beautiful, or at least, I think so.  They just fit so well together, like puzzle pieces that have especially smooth edges.  They just fall into place, seemingly without effort.  They're just...there.  And even though I repeat the same words a lot, it doesn't matter because they fit.  They just fit.  They work where they are.  When I'm in this stage of writing, I rarely have difficulties finding the right words to use.
     It's something that stirs within me as I write, some sort of movement I can almost feel.  It doesn't really have a rhythm, but it's definite, rather like writing.  Constant, but not consistent, if that makes any sense.
     That's another thing.  The stuff I write while in this zone is so deep and complex in my mind, and as I put it into writing, I'm just astounded that such complex thoughts can be so simply expressed in language.  It seems almost embarrassingly simple, and I sometimes ask myself, "If that was so easy to say, why didn't I say it earlier?"
     Not that it means the same thing to anyone else.  That's another beautiful part of writing.  It doesn't have to be uniform.  The writer thinks one thing while the reader thinks another, and there's no problem with it.  There doesn't need to be an argument or a debate, although there often is.  Writers just have a way of putting the exceedingly complex into extraordinarily simple.  Readers sometimes ask (myself included), "That person wrote it so simply; I should have come to that conclusion earlier."
     But that's okay.  We don't have to come to the same conclusion at the same time.  Some people see it before the others, kind of like solving a mystery.  Some people figure it out before others.  And while some may need some gentle prodding and nudging, or maybe even some flat-out hints, everyone who participates will get it eventually.  Even if it's not necessarily the conclusion you were looking for, you find the conclusion you need.
     Then comes the ending.  I feel almost like I'm slowly floating back down to Earth after hanging out with Orion and Andromeda for a couple minutes.  During that time, though, I can still write what needs to be written, just a little slower and perhaps less fervor, but no less passion.  I never write with half passion.  It doesn't exist.
     I finish up.  The deep, intense thoughts slowly start to melt together again, getting all mixed up and jumbled, but not so much that I lose that clear golden stream of light that's pooled in the middle.  The clarity and beauty of that golden ribbon are just as clear and beautiful as before, but I don't feel the same urgency to drink up every last bit.  I have to save some for later, after all.
     See?  Utter and complete nonsense.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Friday, October 14, 2016

Essay Sarcasm 101

     I've always been fully aware of my rather sarcastic nature, especially since starting junior high.  It's just the way my sense of humor works, in speaking, writing, and thoughts.  It's just what I do.  Which is probably part of the reason I can't stand writing certain essays.  How on earth do you sound sarcastic in an essay you can't use first or second person in?  Well, be prepared to learn.
     First thing to remember is that sarcasm is like a liquid: it takes the shape of whatever container it's in.  Also like a liquid, if it freezes, it can break things.  DON'T BE COLD.  Someone's feelings are much more important than whatever you think is funny.  Finally, sarcasm can leak into things...like a liquid.
     How does all that apply to boring school essays?  First, let's start off with the shape of sarcasm.  As I mentioned, it takes the shape of whatever container it's in.  Sometimes, we get drawn into this idea that there is only one type of sarcasm: the bullying kind.  While this is certainly prevalent, it is not exclusive.  If you're plotting along, writing your essay, and have that urge to say something sarcastic?  It won't look like this: As we can see from Salinger's rhetoric strategies, sensory details help to achieve the effect of the story.  Wow, Salinger really must've been an amazing person.  His sense of fashion must have been with the times.
     If that's how you plan on infusing sarcasm into your essays, you're going to get an F on your essay and an F on your sarcasm.  Nice try.
     Instead, you'd probably do something like this: As we can see from Salinger's rhetoric strategies, sensory details help to achieve the effect of the story, because rhetoric strategies are the most important part of writing a story, obviously.
     See?  You infuse your sarcastic opinion into your essay while still maintaining your smooth writing flow.  Nothing is interrupted, nothing feels forced or awkwardly placed, and you can make your statement without referring to yourself.
     As previously mentioned, sarcasm can be used destructively and rudely.  Whatever you do, don't use your sarcasm to viciously attack another human being.  With the example above, I simply made a statement on rhetoric strategies and their use in literature, not on the author himself.  If you have a bone to pick with someone, don't do it sarcastically, and don't do it in an essay, or you're going to get an F on your essay and an F on your sarcasm.  Thanks for playing.
     Finally, there are some times when sarcasm might not be extremely appropriate.  For example, there's a difference between writing an essay for your English class and writing an essay for your end-of-year exams.  You can't exactly start bashing on writing strategies or stories while doing your exam.  I mean, you could, but it's not entirely wise.  Just let the sarcasm leak through.  Unlike speaking, sarcasm isn't inherently obvious in writing.  Compare and contrast the following exam essay examples:
     Fitzgerald makes clear social statements in his writing, which is so fascinating because it's definitely not done in a way that's annoying, and he absolutely comes right out when he says stuff and doesn't leave you hanging around, waiting for him to flat out say that freaking Gatsby died.
     Fitzgerald makes clear social statements in his writing, such as when he uses his vacuous characters to fill the blank spaces in the story and allows for the characters' actions to be implicit rather than explicit, adding a tenterhook feeling to an already emotionally-demanding story.
     In the first example, it's extremely obvious that I don't like the story of The Great Gatsby, which may not get me on good terms with whoever grades it.  In the second one, however, I'm essentially saying the exact same thing without sounding angry.  The reader probably won't understand my negative feelings unless they're looking really deeply at my essay.
     You write really well, no one gets mad at you, you pass the class.  Thumbs up.
     Well, I hope that was illuminating for you all.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

Poetry-Lovers Beware

     Do I love writing?  Yes, 100 percent.  But I don't like every single type of writing there is out there.  I especially hate poetry.  Ooh, poetry.  Reading it?  Don't like it.  Listening to it?  Whatever.  Writing it?  I'd rather be stabbed in the ankles repeatedly.  With a fork.
     See, the thing is, I don't like being restricted when I'm writing.  I love grammar and spelling, but I don't like rules of how to write.  Like in poetry.  You have rhyming, rhythm, stanzas, and all that other garbage you have to focus on.  No thank you.  I'm also really, really bad at coming up with clever rhymes.  Like, I can write "I see my crazy, psychotic cat, who's puking her guts out like that."  But so can a first-grader.  Do you know how long it would take me to come up with a clever rhyme like "surely that is something at my window lattice/Let me see, then, what thereat is".  Trick question: I wouldn't.
     I'm also really bad at being all deep and thoughtful and metaphorical and all that other nonsense (for example, my cat poem from above).  I mean, there is no way I could write anything (on purpose, anyway), that would be revered by generations of poetry-lovers who recite my words with far-off looks and misty eyes, voices trembling with the sheer astonishment of the soul-stirring words poured from my deranged or depressed mind.
     I didn't used to mind poetry.  In fact, I used to kind of like it.  But then sixth grade happened, where we did an entire poetry unit.  And as I studied all sorts of different types of poems, I realized that poetry was way more complicated than "Roses are red, violets are blue," and I came to realize that poetry sometimes (emphasis on sometimes) doesn't sound particularly intelligent.
     Going into junior high, I realized I really, really, really did not like poetry.  In seventh grade, we read a novel that was written more like poetry than prose, but not exactly poetry.  It was more the rhythm than the rhyme, and the deep, metaphorical thinking was definitely prevalent.  I wanted to toss the book across the room every time we read it.  Eighth grade was the last straw, where I realized that I absolutely hate writing poetry.
     My biggest thing with poetry is, if you want to say something, just say it.  It's so easy to do!  My point of this blog post is coming across fairly bluntly, isn't it?  Imagine if I wrote this in poetry form.
The words that flow from my fingers
Will never stay, never linger.
They simply fly away from me
In thoughts of deepest poetry.

But why, I ask, why poetry?
Why can't my thoughts work naturally?
Why must my words be held in rhyme?
Why must my lines stick to their time?

I cannot bear to read such words.
My writing talent's for the birds.
I do not feel the stirring flame
When each stanza looks quite the same.

There's nothing more for me to say.
The weight feels heavy every day
Of all the lies my pencils write
In poetry, deep in the night.

     See?  You only understand what I'm saying because you've been reading the first part!  Don't believe me?  Let's say I was a famous poet, and this was my most famous poem, memorized with "The Raven" and "The Road Not Taken".  Your English teacher, during your poetry unit, would have everyone read this, then say something like, "Now, poetry is very rarely literal.  Because of this, we can't just assume that Odessa feels despair when writing poetry.  I want you all to look at each stanza of this poem and write your interpretation of each one and what you think Odessa's trying to say."  Yeah, that's what I thought.

     I am very, very much a prose person.  Give me a novel any day (but not one that's written like poetry, jerk).  I'd rather write an essay than write poetry, and I'd certainly rather read one.  You can say things outright in an essay, or at least put it bluntly enough that you don't have to stare into space and question the universe to find the meaning of your essay.

     And the worst type of poetry is diamante.  Diamante poems are possibly the most stupid writing idea I've ever had the misfortune of beholding and being forced to write.  "Here, take random words and arrange them in an aesthetically pleasing way."

salt
                                                         white                             crystal-like
             falls                                                            flavors                                          enhances
shaker                                 rock                                                        grinder                                      spray
             sneezes                                                      spices                                           crushes
                                                         black                             fiery
                                                                               pepper

     Look.  Look at it.  What can you possibly find impressive about that?  What is so great about it?  WHY DOES ANYONE CARE IF YOU CAN WRITE A POEM IN THE SHAPE OF A DIAMOND?!?!?!
     Haikus are another random one.  Who the heck created those?  And more importantly, why?  (And I don't need any smart-alecky comments, thank you very much!)
     Okay, rant over.  Thanks for your patience.  Sorry if I offended anyone...not really.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

The Computer Cursor

     Look, it's really quite simple: I don't know what to write about.  I really never do.  I fake it really well.  And you know, there are some days where I get the urge to work on a particular piece or to write about a certain topic on my mind, but that urge usually only lasts for a little bit.  For the most part, I just there, staring at the blank white rectangle, sometimes seeing that cursor pulsing patiently.
     That poor cursor.  We don't talk about it very much.  We talk about the letters that appear suddenly in its wake, and the words that the letters form.  But that cursor has seen a lot.  It never forces you to hurry.  It never tells you a better way to write whatever it is.  Above all else, it always lets you go back and erase what you've done.  That cursor is the most forgiving, underappreciated thing in the entire world.
     I mean, there are people who can't do that much.  People who can't forgive, people who never dare look back, people who will constantly tell you different ways of doing something.  The cursor never does that.  It simply goes where you want it to go, usually forward.  It'll go backward when you need it, but sometimes, when it does go backward, you don't need it to erase every single footstep it's taken.  It understands that.  It won't erase your whole sentence when you're trying to get back to the first word.  The cursor understands.  It's patient and willing to do what you ask.  And if you make a mistake, it doesn't care.  It won't correct it until you tell it to.
     That doesn't mean that the cursor is perfect.  It's a little sensitive sometimes.  You'll be typing in one area, but then the slightest touch of your skin cells against a touchpad mouse and you're suddenly back three paragraphs.  The cursor doesn't know better.  It's trained to do what you ask it to do, and it can't tell the difference between deliberate movement and an accidental brush.  But it's still frustrating, especially if you don't notice.  But that cursor has seen some of the most beautiful pieces of writing in the world.  And it couldn't tell you about them even if it tried.  But you can tell the cursor anything you want.  You can write out the most simple or the most complex descriptions, and the cursor will listen.  It will faithfully plot along, leaving its footprints behind in the form of your beautiful thoughts put into words.
     Look at me.  I just wasted ten minutes of my life typing about the computer cursor.  But I suppose there's not much wrong with that.  I could be writing about much worse stuff.  And it's not as if I'm a very expressive human being.  That's just not who I am.  I'm the type of person that sits in an armchair, typing about the deep emotional expanse of a computer cursor.  No wonder I'm so low on friends.
     But I've come to terms with it.  After all, someone has to type about the computer cursor.  Why not me?
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Thursday, September 22, 2016

A Tribute to My Brother

     Right, let's get one thing straight: I am not known as an overly emotional person.  In fact, I daresay I'm usually known as a very unemotional person.  I'm either graver than gravy or laughing nonstop.  It's not super common for there to be an in-between.
     That being said, I do have emotions.  I just don't usually like to express them, especially if I'm sad or embarrassed or frustrated.  And I definitely do NOT cry in front of people, unless I'm at my wit's end.
     I also love my family a whole lot.  And when emotions and family combine, well...you get an emotional blog post.
     My little brother is turning twelve tomorrow.  He's my only brother, and he's stuck right in the middle: two older sisters, two younger sisters.  It's rough for him, but he manages to put up with it pretty well.
     He and I like the same kind of things, so we can have pretty interesting, intelligent conversations.  However, there is a four-year age difference, so figuring out how to put these interests to practical use is usually a bit of a mess.  He likes acting out, I like writing down.  Over the years, we've eventually developed a pretty effective system: I narrate what he's supposed to be doing (which usually has something to do with a book or movie we both like) and he acts it out.  Meanwhile, I take notes and write down a really, really basic storyline so we don't have to restart every time.
     My brother is an amazing artist and storyteller.  He's really attentive when it comes to detail, especially when drawing.  He's also been taking karate for six or seven years, and he's pretty good (he has a blue belt, at least, and I don't think that's something to sneeze at).  He's played the piano for a couple years as well, but his former teacher moved, and he only started them up again quite recently.
     He's also very much a boy.  He makes and laughs at gross jokes, he always talks about his "dislike" for girls, and he gets all wide-eyed when he sees a sword fight.  At the same time, he's really quite mature and extremely smart.  He cares about his family and is very protective of his sisters, especially the younger ones.  He always tries his best to do what's right and to keep everyone happy.
     I remember when he was born.  I was four years old and had a nasty cough.  I remember my parents telling me that I wouldn't be able to hold him for a while because of that, unless I wore a surgical mask.  I don't really remember what happened that day until going to the hospital and seeing him.  He looked different than I thought he would.  And it was a weird experience because my sister was born almost two months before I turned two, so I remember absolutely nothing about her birth.  But my brother was different.  It was the first time I could really appreciate having a new sibling.
     For almost four years, it was just the three of us.  And quite honestly, I think we all thought that would be the end.  Just the three of us.  That obviously didn't happen, but we're glad it didn't.
     Happy birthday, bud.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Monday, September 19, 2016

Martin Luther and the Enlightenment

     Fine, fine, FINE.  For pity's sake, what more do you want from me?!  The extremely prevalent AP English teacher told us that we need to do a blog post about my name and ancestors.  This is what I get for trying to advance my education.
     As I'm sure you're sick of hearing, my name is Odessa Taylor.  You remember where I got my name?  If you don't, I'm not reminding you.  Odessa is a Latin name that means "wandering; quest" and a Greek name meaning "wrathful."  Taylor is an English surname meaning "cut."  So, my name is particularly violent.
     And then my ancestors.  I have a great-great-great-great grandmother from Norway.  Most came from England, some from Scotland.  But for a few generations now, it's just been Americans.
     How have I come here?  Good question.  My ancestors from England wanted to come to America for some reason (probably freedom), and they steadily moseyed on over to the West, and then decided they kind of liked it, and they stayed where they were, had kids, and eventually ended up in Utah.
     Sorry if that's not as detailed as you were expecting it to be, but let's face it: I'd rather write about something else.
     So.  Hello, everyone.  How are we all today?  Excellent.  I have a story to tell you.
     Last year, I took an AP World History class, which I really only took for college credit.  I know it sounds horrible, but I don't exactly care about history.  There are aspects that are really interesting, but history in general is just not my favorite, especially when I have to take notes on it.
     Being me, I decided to brighten up my notes, but I wasn't sure how until about halfway through the year.  Then, the light bulb of inspiration flashed with such brilliance that I was mentally blinded by the sheer wonder of it.  What was this utterly fantastic stroke?  I thought to myself, "Why not write it like a movie script?"
     Now, let it be known that I did not write it exactly like a movie script.  That would have been more effort than it was worth.  Really how it went was I'd take what the textbook said, write it in a more descriptive way with added effects, add dialogue here and there, make a title, write when musical numbers are needed, and make little director's notes (such as "Still need to find an actor for him" or "That lighting is going to be difficult").
     It was so much fun.  I did it here and there over the last half of the school year, and it was amazing.  One of my friends thought it was the greatest thing she'd ever seen in her life.  But the absolute best one was the first one I did.  The original.  My masterpiece.  I called it Martin Luther and the Enlightenment.  Here is the introduction (just so you're aware, it talks about religion, so proceed carefully):
     "Our tale begins in the early sixteenth century, with the Protestant Reformation shattering the unity of Roman Catholic Christianity...Two different beliefs, clashing in a spectacle of Martin Luther and Wittenberg in 1517, a story truly not worthy of this mechanical pencil.  Martin Luther, the protagonist of the Protestants and the catharsis of the Catholics, protested in a perfectly theological way.  A troubled man turned hero and villain, and anxious about his relationship with God, Luther...made a bold, life-changing move by coming to a realization that would change the course of Europe and alter the world's history...
     "It was a dark and stormy night, or so we assume, once upon a time (for it only happened once) and Martin Luther became aware of his suddenly precarious relationship with God.  He eventually came to recognize that the Catholic church was not teaching the correct way to get salvation.  [cue lightning and thunder]  Standing firmly wherever he was, he abruptly understood that neither the yellow value of the sinner nor the sacraments of the Church had any bearing on the destiny of eternity of the soul...Pacing excitedly, Luther's thoughts continued: the source of these beliefs, and of religious authority in general...was not the teaching of the Church, but the Bible alone, interpreted according to the individual's conscience.  [at this point, Luther picks up the Bible and sings a song reminiscent of Les Misérables]...
     "Reformation thinking diffused quickly both within and beyond Germany, thanks in large measure to the recent invention of the printing press.  [cue montage]  Luther's many pamphlets and his translation of the New Testament in German were soon widely available.  [cue upbeat music; Reformation leader speaks with it]  'God has appointed the [printing] Press to preach, whose voice the pope is never able to stop.'
     "Now, to France.  [zoom out of a map and zoom into France on peasants singing a song reminiscent of Les Misérables]...On August 24, 1572, Catholic mobs in Paris [cue intense musical score] massacred some 3,000 Huguenots, and thousands more perished in provincial towns in the weeks that followed.  Finally, a war-weary monarch, Henry IV [still need to cast him], issued the Edict of Nantes in 1598...[cut to King Henry IV looking sadly out his window]"
     You get the idea.
     Throughout the rest of the year, I would even reference back to this with some sort of remark about the five-star sensation, Martin Luther and the Enlightenment.
     Now, it's a new year.  I'm now in AP U.S. History, which actually is a little more interesting to me.  Last week, there I was, minding my own business as I was doing the reading from the textbook when all of a sudden...Martin Luther was mentioned.
     After a moment of giddy flashbacks, I wrote in parentheses "see the feature film by acclaimed director and writer Odessa Taylor".  Look, nobody said I was humble.
     So, that's my story for today.  I just had fun looking back on my awesome movie scripts.  They were all pretty good, but this one was by far the best.  Besides, it was the first.  I couldn't ask for anything more.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

A Belated Introduction

     We were informed today that our first blog post should be an introduction to ourselves.  Just pretend that this one came first.
     Well, my name is Odessa Taylor.  It's a fairly easy name, but it gets over-complicated all the time.  First off, the spelling is not that hard.  Spell it like it sounds: O-dess-a.  However, people don't get that.  The most common mistake is Oddessa, which has been used so much I don't even care anymore, and Odesa is manageable.  However, I do not like Oddesa, Odyssa, or Bodesa (yes, these have all been used before).  It's also interesting how many people mispronounce it.  Say it like it looks: O-dess-a.  I can't tell you how many teachers and substitutes have looked at the name, furrowed their eyebrows, and pronounced it really hesitantly, but getting it right.  Only a couple times has it been butchered.  Odeesa is usually the most common mispronunciation, but it's quite rare.
     People often say, "Oh, like Odessa, Texas!"  Yes.  In fact, those are my initials.  But, surprise, I was not named after Odessa, Texas.  When I was born, my uncle was in Odessa, Ukraine, plus my mom had had a friend named Odessa in junior high, and my parents really liked the name, and voila--Odessa Taylor.
     I am sixteen years old (as I've previously mentioned), and my birthday is January 27.  I'm the oldest of five (I have three younger sisters and a younger brother).  We also have a cat.
     I am very fond of reading, writing, singing, and listening to music, but don't ask me to sing in front of you.  You have to be an extremely good friend, my choir teacher, or paying me if you want to hear me sing all alone.  And yes, I am in choir (concert choir, in fact).
     I can be really, really sarcastic sometimes.  Not mean sarcastic, but funny sarcastic, if you get my meaning.  I like cracking jokes and making puns and such as well.
     I also have a really good memory.  And I'm not saying that to brag, I'm just making a statement.  I remember very weird, random details about the smallest things.  Like, really weird, random incidents that had absolutely no lasting effect on my life.
     Let's see, what else...my favorite color is red, my favorite animals are birds (all sorts), and my favorite food is boxed macaroni and cheese (emphasis on boxed).
     I am very much into following the rules and keeping things in line.  I've had friends, neighbors, and coworkers inform me I'm like a second mother, which I suppose is a backhanded compliment of a sort.
     Well, I don't know what else to write about the wonderful human being that is me (oh, that's right, I'm really humble).  I suppose if you have any questions, you can ask.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Tina the Balloon

     So, remember how I said that I started this blog so I wouldn't feel guilty when my AP English teacher brought it up?  Well, it's now mandatory for us to write for at least fifteen minutes every day.  Good thing I got started on this early.
     Well, I guess today we'll experiment with storytelling.  I understand that things I find extremely amusing aren't necessarily what you find funny, but I'm writing this, not you, and nobody (as far as I know) is forcing you to read this.  If you don't find something I say funny, chill.  I don't care.
     All right, in my Spanish 2 class, my teacher (whom we will refer to as Señor Herrero) has us draw a personified object, and then he picks one that will fit his idea for a story the best.  The artist of the winning drawing has the option of being the "actor" (they don't really do a whole lot).  He also chooses a couple people to be the artists of the story as it progresses and a couple secretaries to write down words or phrases they find interesting (after all, the story is mostly told in Spanish).
     Today, the drawing of a balloon was the winner.  Acting was passed to someone else and the artists and secretaries were chosen.  We decided on a name: Tina.  Señor Herrero cut a balloon shape out of a red piece of paper and handed it to the actress.  He then handed other colored pieces of paper to other students and had them cut out balloon shapes.  I had the honor of being the yellow "balloon."  Usually how the stories go is Señor Herrero will go through the basic plot while we come up with different details and appropriate reactions.  He informed us at the beginning that the balloon would end up in jail at the end.
     Tina was a red balloon living in a party store with her other balloon friends: Verde, Anaranjado, Amarilla, and Blanca.  Tina and Verde liked each other--a lot.  Amarilla and Blanca were jealous, Amarilla especially.  So, one night, she took an ugly hat to where Tina was sleeping and put it on her.  Amarilla made fun of her.  When Blanca and Anaranjado saw Tina wearing the ugly hat, they joined in.  The question was, would Verde make fun of Tina?
     The answer was absolutely.  This went on for three days, with Tina's former friends making fun of the ugly hat and Tina.
     At this point, we were all kind of chuckling.  I mean, how else can you react to a story about balloon drama?  Señor Herrero then retrieved the scissors that the actress of Blanca was still holding...then handed them to the actress of Tina.
     The mood of the class changed dramatically.  The actors of Anaranjado and Verde started panicking a bit.  The rest were murmuring uncomfortably and starting to look a little apprehensive, but still giggling a bit.  Señor Herrero then said, "Well, didn't we say that Tina ends up in jail at the end?"
     Verde really started throwing a fit.  There were several exclamations from the class.  Señor Herrero shrugged.  "No one said that these stories were G-rated."  More panic, but quite a bit of laughter now too.
     First, Tina went to Anaranjado (despite the protests from the actor that Amarilla was the one who started it).  Tina stabbed him, and he was gone with a pop.  She then went to Blanca and cut off the very tip so that she blew all around the story.  Then...she went to Verde.
     Verde begged and pleaded, trying to remind her of their friendship.  Tina mercilessly cut his string so he soared up into the atmosphere, screaming all the way.  Finally, she arrived at Amarilla, who also begged and pleaded.  She offered frantic apologies and excuses.  Then, quite suddenly, she popped from fear.
     Tina's work finished, she floated out the door to Hawaii.  Unfortunately for her, the sleepy security guard saw her fly away, and the police caught her in a matter of minutes.  She then went to jail, and the story was done.  We then looked at the artists' depictions.  Anaranjado's death was especially violent.
     While I'd like to say that all the stories in Spanish 2 are like this, they're not.  I don't think I've ever witnessed one quite as violent, but they're all very strange and involve lots of random objects and plot twists and such.  I have to say, though, this one was by far my favorite.
     I don't know about the rest of you, but I enjoyed the story immensely.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Monday, September 12, 2016

High School is Weird (and Not That Bad)

     Ah-ha!  I knew that title would interest you!
     High school is weird.  There's no way around it.  I mean, I'm a complete advocate for school--love it.  And you hear all the time how much fun high school is.  Of course, I think that's just because of the time of life we're in because high school, at its core, is NOT fun.
     Sure, there are aspects that are a lot of fun, especially if you play your cards right and pick classes you like.  But is high school in and of itself really all that fun?  I mean, the classes that we're required to take aren't exactly thrilling.  It's interesting, sure, and there are certain things you do that are fun.  But showing up to a class, sitting in a hard chair, not allowed to talk, and listening to some adult tell you how to get x all by itself?  Yep, I'm sure that sounds like the perfect list for a good time.
     Like I said, there are things you do that are fun.  Discussions can be fun, as long as no one acts like the fate of the world depends on their opinion being revered by all.  And of course, there are days when the teachers are as bored and tired as we are and are a little more lenient towards chatting and laughing.
     But back to the point: High school is weird.  Education isn't weird; I'm not saying that at all.  I'm saying that high school is weird, and junior high is a little strange too.  I mean, there we are, a bunch of hormone-loony teenagers, walking around a building where adults voluntarily donate their time and effort to spit information at them (sometimes literally) while the students hope that the said information will help them get into college.  See the point?
     Really, though, we over-complicate education sometimes.  You see things all over social media about people making some sort of comment about how awful education is in America.  Every time I read one of those, I think to myself, "Maybe if you showed up to school every once in a while, you'd realize it's not that bad."
     I know, I know, that sounds super insensitive.  But it's true.  We go somewhere for a whole seven hours a day, five days a week, nine months of the year to sit there and listen to a teacher give us rather vital information.  What the heck are you finding to complain about?
     "School causes me too much stress."  School is definitely a stressful part of life.  I will not deny that.  There are assignments that need to be finished as perfectly as you can, essays to be written with the proper grammar and spelling, tests to be taken quickly and efficiently, and projects to be completed to polish off your grade, not to mention homework, reading, extracurricular activities, after-school jobs, family obligations, goals to fulfill, and free time.  Sound overwhelming?  The thing is, it doesn't have to be.  If school is causing you so much stress that you feel as though your life is spinning out of control?  That is not school's fault; it's your own.
     Did your principal walk up to your house, politely knock on the door, and inform you that if you didn't beat that video game you bought yesterday you wouldn't get anywhere in life?  Did your school counselor text you during the summer to tell you that if you didn't finish that TV series by the end of the week you wouldn't get a well-paying job?  Did your school itself give you a call and tell you to stop working so hard and take a three-week break?
     Look, there's this little thing called time management.  Many people haven't heard of it, but it really works.  The basics of time management is that if you do what's most important first, everything else will fall into place, and everything that turns out to not be important will magically disappear.  I know, it sounds shocking and unbelievable.  I promise, though, it works.
     I also find it interesting that people who complain about school sucking out every minute of their life are the same people posting things all over social media about the six hours they spend watching TV a night and all the time they waste perusing the Internet for things they don't actually care about and that spend more time on video games than in the real world.  Hmmm...
     Again, I'm not saying that school isn't stressful.  It's plenty stressful.  And I'm also not saying that if you're complaining about school you're an ungrateful sod who doesn't know anything about life, nor am I saying you have to love school with every fiber of your being.  I'm just saying that you shouldn't complain about something you're not willing to do anything about.
    School is hard.  Life is hard.  In the real world, you can't keep track of how many lives you've lost because you've only got one.  In the real world, you don't curl up in bed and watch somebody else's life pass before you from a glass screen.  You have to work to get through this, and I think that's one of the biggest things that school teaches us.
     Well, I hope I haven't driven any of you to tears.  Just remember, school really isn't that bad, and honestly, you might miss it when you're all done.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Friday, September 9, 2016

Plot Point One

    Well, hello.  I would like to make it very clear that I have never done this sort of thing before, at least for the public view.  I write all the time, but it's not very often that it's something realistic and thought-provoking, and it's even more rare that it's for anyone else to read.  Just bear with me.
     I also have a bit of a habit of needing to be spoon-fed every little thing I need to know about a subject before I actually start, hence the reason I looked up what people blog about.  What I discovered was that there's a general consensus about the nature of a blog, and you really only have two options.  One is to entertain yourself, and the second is to gain readers.
     Which led me to realize that I am the third type of blogger: a teacher pestering your AP English Language class to start blogs so that you can become better writers.  Please tell me that I'm not the only person in that category.
     I mean, don't get me wrong: I love writing.  I always planned on starting a blog--just not at the ripe old age of sixteen.  Even when the aforementioned English teacher began his "start a blog" campaign for our class on the first B-day of school, I just sort of brushed it off.  "He's only making a suggestion," I reasoned.  After a couple weeks, however, I realized that I wouldn't feel guilty every time he brought it up if I just started one.
     So here I am.
     Many of you (if you're out there) are probably wondering what this sixteen year old girl is going to be writing about.  Good question.  I guess we'll find out together.
     Of course, I have a general idea.  As I was reading what people usually blog about, I discovered that unless you're writing to entertain yourself, you're completely pandering to the readers you may never meet in real life.  I found a list of what readers of blogs usually want to read, and it was pretty heavy stuff, like "Readers want their fears relieved" and "Readers want solutions to their problems."  No thank you.  That is way too much pressure for me to handle.
     Since I'm here, starting a blog, I may as well make the most of it.  My goals are to make this a rather entertaining blog, completely devoted to amusing others and relieving my sarcastic quips.  I like making others laugh (or at least smile) in real life, so why not do the same thing on a blog where a whole plethora of people can enjoy the wealth of humor I hold?
     Now, how I execute this plan is still unknown.  Will I tell the astonishingly funny tales of my days in high school or working at the local fitness center?  Will I write down all my musings and thoughts?  Will it simply be me making fun of something?  Maybe it'll be a mix.
     Well anyway, there you go.  I started the blog.  I have embarked on an adventure.  My plot point one is right now.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.