Monday, June 28, 2010
Jesus fucking Christ, I honestly can't articulate my emotions regarding this trailer. I teared up at the very beginning scene in the forest and it still gives me goosebumps even after I've watched it four, five times? Excluding going through it frame-by-frame, haha.
All I know is that I am going to see both films, part 1 and part 2, at their midnight releases. The first one comes out in November so the midnight release will most likely be on a Thursday night/Friday morning and I'll have school the next day, but I seriously don't care. I will willingly forfeit sleep for this movie. THANKFULLY (and I truly mean that; I was so worried), I just looked at the Drama schedule for the fall shows next year and the play closes the week before the release date (November 19th). That would have been hell, to have school and then a dress rehearsal until 10pm or so and then a midnight showing; my homework would not get done at all. Thank goodness for small miracles!
Hopefully you guys aren't the purists who are holding out for the movie and refuse to watch any of the trailers. Props to those people for having the willpower to do so, but personally, I do not want to wait at all. I draw the line at watching shit illegally (for example, I will never ever ever even attempt to watch a leaked version of the film online, especially before it's release date), but my philosophy is basically, if Warner Brothers wants me to see, I will gladly watch it. I'm the type who re-reads and re-watches everything all the time anyway, so seeing something in a trailer will not in any way make me less excited for that scene in the actual movie. If anything, it makes me more psyched.
In case my intense sobbing throughout, like, 2/3 of Deathly Hallows: The Book*** didn't alert me to the fact, I am going to quite literally cry myself an albeit very tiny river during these two films, especially the last one. I know people are already crying because it's "the end," as in "the actual end of the Harry Potter franchise," but I personally am not. Don't get me wrong, I will be devastated when there are no more movies to look forward to, but I'm just going to cry because it's a fucking moving story, dammit. I am proud to admit that I almost cried during the trailer solely because it looks so damn good and so damn sad.
If you've seen it, what do you think? Also, are you going to see it in 3-D or no? According to David Heyman, they're pulling a Pixar and using 3-D as a sort of window to give the film more depth rather than a way to pull punches on the audience. That's reassuring, but all the same, I'm not a huge fan of 3-D. I saw Toy Story 3 in 3-D and it didn't detract from the experience, but all the same I'm not sure it made the film that much better. I suppose I've got five months to think it through and I'm positive it will be a fantastic film either way.
*Every time I say/write "shit man," I pronounce it with Natalie Tran's voice in my head. Australian accents are great.
** That said, I do have friends (mostly from Drama) who are equally as nerdy, but when you get right down to it, I don't see them as often and, as such, I'm not as good friends with them. I'm sorry! They're awesome! Let's change that in the future! <3
*** Haha, sorry, Jo Rowling. I'm not mocking the books, I swear.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
- The Clique by Lisi Harrison
You know, I could apologize for previously liking this, but I won't. In fact, I refuse. I am taking a definitive stand and proclaiming to all the internet: Yes, I was once a searching thirteen year old who believed that Hollister was the ultimate form of self-expression and The Clique was great literature. I will not hate on this poor former self who deserves better than sixteen year olds mocking her. Ultimately, you cannot justifiably hate middle schoolers; they may be somewhat annoying and seemingly shallow, but this is because they don't yet know who they are. So back the hell off and smile at the next one you see, even if they laugh at you for it. (Just don't invite them into your car for some candy because that is crossing all sorts of lines that should never be crossed.)
Basic synopsis: average unpopular seventh grader (Claire) moves in with rich popular seventh grader (Massie). Conflict ensues. Massie makes lame jokes with her rich, popular friends (Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen). Massie takes Claire under her wing; Claire becomes average popular-ish girl. Conflict ensues. Massie, whose parents inexplicably don't mind that she spends thousands of their dollars per week, buys a lot of clothes. Et cetera.
Here's a gem of an excerpt, taken from the first book in the series:
"'Heeeyyyyy,' Massie said, squeezing her friend.
Alicia took a long look at Massie.
'Ehmagod, you don't look like you were sick at all,' Alicia gushed. 'You look ah-mazing.'
'Just wait for tomorrow,' Massie said.
'Why?' Alicia asked with a sly grin.
'Because I get better looking every day!' they shouted in unison at the top of their lungs. They cracked up and high-fived each other."
You laugh now, but when I was in seventh grade, these were the bomb. So many instant messages (remember when AIM was cool?) simply read, "eh. ma. gawd. guess what???" or "omg!!!!! she is such an lbr!!!!!!" ("LBR" standing for "Loser Beyond Repair"). It got to the point where my friend and I actually made audition videos to be in the Clique movie (I never posted mine; she did). Those were the days.
- Georgia Nicolson by Louise Rennison
I think these are actually the funniest books I've ever read in my life. There's something so refreshing about reading a book that is unashamedly fun and doesn't try to force some Big Moral on you. They're a goodhearted laugh at the hilarity, frequent stupidity, and infrequent wisdom of teenage girls. I think the author explains it best: "The main character Georgia is really based on my experiences of when I was fourteen. I wrote the book to make myself laugh. I always wrote what I remembered making me laugh when I was that age. I didn't attempt to teach. I didn't attempt to do anything except I wanted Georgia to be a decent person. I wanted her to be someone who is a bit stupid and self-obsessed and difficult and funny and rude, and a bit jealous and all those other things. But I wanted her to have a good heart. " They're so British - partially real British teen culture and partially what I suspect is made up British slang - that it's hard to dislike them. They're easy to read and if you ever need something to cheer you up or make you laugh or just chase the boredom away, I highly recommend them.
- Pretty Little Liars by Sara Shepard
Recently made into a TV show that is surprisingly good. I didn't expect to like the show, but it's not your typical trash television. Alright, so maybe it caters to the teenage girl audience, but it's at least interesting and similar enough to the books that the mystery is still addictive and different enough that even having read the books it feels like a worthwhile show.
The books are also a pretty easy read, which I personally don't think is a bad thing. Not everything you read has to make groundbreaking observations about the world around you, right? Even though they have their fluffy "scandalous rich girl" bits, the mystery is gripping enough to keep you around for all eight books. I haven't read further than the fourth book, but after having taken a substantial hiatus from them, I think I'm going to have to finish the series this summer. I'm quite curious to know how they're going to end and who did what.
I'd tell you what they're about, but I don't feel like summarizing and if I tried, I'd probably spoil them. So Google it if you're interested. Just know that they're essentially mysteries (or rather one running mystery with tons of subplots) and are extremely addictive. And occasionally creepy.
As is typical for my life, I found the prettiest dress in the whole wide world which is of course sold out. I halfheartedly signed up for the build-hopes-up-and-tear-'em-down "Notify me on Restock" service, but given that Modcloth is a website compromised of independent designers, I'm not convinced the stock will ever be replenished. Luckily, there are a handful of other dresses that I would love to order, such as this one and this one and this one. Which one would you guys pick? I'm leaning towards the blue one as the second one looks like it may have a wonky fit and I'm not sure I like the embroidery on the last one. I may wait a couple more days before ordering, though, to make sure that there isn't another one I like better (they update fairly frequently and I really do like that sold out one the best) and I'm going to shopping tomorrow so I'll see if I can find one at the mall. (I'm not excited. I really hate the mall.)
As a sort of parting gift to you all, I leave you with this video, which made me smile somewhat manically for its duration. If you don't understand why the pretense is hilarious, I have no words for you. (Or just read the Youtube comments and all shall be revealed.)
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
It's funny, really, to watch people react to this physical characteristic. So many times, after I've contemplated aloud if my consumption of another food item will affect the likelihood of my stomach actually undergoing combustion, a friend will go, "Oh my god, Vita, shut up, you're so skinny." And I'm like, yeah, my metabolism likes me. Suck ittttt.
Except not really, because who gives a shit? My response is automatic: I-have-a-faster-metabolism-than-you. You-are-better-at-playing-sports-than-me. If-we-were-alpha-lions-cat-fighting-this-out-you-would-win. Why-are-you-jealous-of-me?
Fine, so I only respond with the first part. Regardless, the whole thing is true.
I'm not being facetious in saying that I would gladly trade my freakishly fast metabolism for a Polish-British-American sixteen year old girl version of Cristiano Ronaldo's freakishly fit body. (And yes, I mean "fit" in both the American way and the British slang way.) Perhaps I would tone down the huge-ass muscles a little bit, but the sentiment remains.
In a way, never having to worry about my weight is a long-term disadvantage. When you're skinny no matter what, it's easy to be lulled into a false sense of security. When everyone around you is whining about being a size six, it's easy to feel like you can eat whatever you want because you'll still be thinner than them. (Let's not even get into how idiotic it is that people convince themselves that being a size six is bad. Really? Really? Really? Do we have to delve into a conversation on how western society promotes a standard of "beauty" that no one can feasibly hope to attain?)
Allowing myself to be lazy because I have mastered the art of being skinny is terrible. Like, really legitimately prolonged suicide.
I don't want to put myself at risk for contracting Type 2 Diabetes due to poor eating habits. I don't want to morph into a thirty year old three hundred pound woman. I've joked to my Drama friends that the only reason I'm going to exercise when I'm older is because I refuse to become the stereotypical obese American. But it's more than that: when I'm an adult, I want to spend my time on a career I love, on writing, on spending time with my family, on maintaining friendships and making new ones, on taking adventurous vacations, on being in the Peace Corps, on being a volunteer EMT, on helping people, on contributing to politics, on art, on appreciating the funny side of life, on relaxing, on living. I know life throws curve balls. I know I could very well contract cancer and spend years fighting that. But I have control over some things, and I do not do not do not want to have all my dreams crushed because I couldn't find the energy to eat well and to exercise.
That's why this summer, I'm challenging myself to get healthy. If anyone who's reading this (even if I don't know you!) wants to do it with me, please do. Please write down a schedule for yourself. Please be specific. Please write out a contract and sign it. Please make note of foods that you won't eat or at least will eat less of. Please stick to it, whatever it takes. America (and Canada, and Mexico, and France, and the United Kingdom, and every other country out there) needs to get in shape.
It takes more than two months to maintain a healthy lifestyle. But it's two months of relative freedom. It's two months to start new habits. Think about it: during the summer, you have more time to be aware of what you do and what you eat. If you spend time now making sure you have healthy snacks in your house, by the time school rolls around, it'll almost be second nature. If you start exercising more frequently now, you'll see how good it feels and you'll want to squeeze it into your busy schedule.
Damn, with all this motivational speaking and flagrant italicizing, I should be writing articles for Seventeen magazine. Really though.
* Excluding that one time that I, you know, broke a bone.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
I am, without a doubt, somewhat unqualified to write a scathing review of The Hunger Games since I have not read Catching Fire; I cannot judge the book as a part of a larger whole. However, it does give me the ability to judge the book on its own without information from the other books clouding my objectiveness. I don’t write this to open your eyes to the literary horrors of The Hunger Games or to insult you, loyal THG devotee, nor do I write it to criticize Suzanne Collins. I simply want to explain why The Hunger Games left me feeling, to put it simply, underwhelmed.
My feelings are remarkably similar to those that I had the first time I read The Hunger Games: I liked - not loved, not adored, not obsessed over; simply liked - the majority of the book and was hugely, irrationally let down by the ending. This time, though, I wasn't only disappointed, I was pissed off as hell. Almost betrayed. As if Suzanne Collins crafted those infuriating words for the sole purpose of making me miserably annoyed.
Why, oh why, is a new conflict introduced at the last possible second? This is a novel! (Yes, I actually used the word "novel;" that is how annoyed I am.) It has to be able to work as a stand-alone book! I understand that you have two other books in which you can wrap up the story. I’m not saying that all the loose ends should be tied up in a nice shiny plot hole-free bow. That doesn't change the fact that a book that does not work by itself cannot be considered a masterpiece. Especially - especially! - because it's the first book in the series. If it was the second or third, I'd be more lenient; you're supposed to read the series in the correct order, obviously. But the fact that it’s the first book? There should be a beginning, middle, and end. Not a beginning, middle, and beginning. That’s just frustrating.
This reminds me of every single TV shows' season finales. Imagine the scene:
There you sit, in a claustrophobia-inducing dark room, your nose mere inches from the flickering screen. You observe in solitude, fearful of an uninitiated casual viewer speaking during the climax of the show. Crumpled cans of fizzy caffeine and remnants of chocolate covered coffee beans lay at your feet in homage to the Great TV Gods. A symbol of your utmost devotion, your willingness to sacrifice sleep for art. As if you needed any help in staying awake. As if you would fall asleep! You scoff at the thought. This is your moment. This is it. The All-Knowing Show Creators, bless them and their genius brains, are finally going to tell you what is up. The Answers to all Your Questions.
Something moves on screen. You shake your head, make your cheeks do the wakey wakey dance, appalled that you zoned out for one second. What’s going on? Look, look for him. And her. Okay. Okay, he’s got a… a gun? A gun! Of course, it’s one of those fancy laser jobs, the one he took from the safe. From the bad guy’s safe. God, you hate that bad guy. Speaking of… speaking of… holy crap! Is that him? Yes, yes! Yesyesyesohmigodwhatthehellyes. Yes he escaped from jail and now he’s got her and he’s holding something sharp and pointy to her head and ohmigodcrapcrapcrap it’s going into her head wait what what what it’s not supposed to end like this. Quick, look at him. Is he crying? Yes, yes, yes he’s crying. Crap. Crappity crap crap. He doesn’t cry, but he is, and goddamnit he’s handing over the pretty shiny killy laser gun stupid stupid stupid why are you doing that. Okay he’s making a deal, right? Okay okay. So he hands over the gun and she doesn’t die. Okay. Except… except… except Mr. Bad Guy has some kind of stupid little smirky smile on his face and he’s got one hand on the laser gun and one hand on her and why isn’t he handing her over? Crapcrapcrap what is going on? Oh my –
No the screen did not just go black. Nononononono. No those credits are not rolling why are there names why are they white why are they in a list formation. No no no they did not just end it like this, those dastardly Genius Creators, the stupid bastards!
Of course, it makes you tune in the next season. It makes you want to continue on this frustrating, addicting journey. It allows the show’s creators to make more money. It guarantees them some more viewers.
I really hope that is not what Suzanne Collins was after.
I like to think, perhaps foolishly, that the book publishing industry has a little more integrity than that. I like to think that while, yes, they are determined to make money, they also spend some time ensuring that they are producing quality work. I suppose that's naive of me (cast your minds to Twilight and especially to every single crappy vampire spin off that has been written since the former became wildly popular). It is the same feeling that makes me trust The Washington Post newspaper over most other news sources, even though realistically, they are all pretty damn similar.
Right, I sound like a pretentious buttmunch. Sure, I don't have any authority to talk about this industry I am not directly involved in, but I can speculate. I'm not saying that Ms. Collins wrote this book only because she wants heaps of gold-plated coins (in fact, I seriously doubt that was the case, given that most authors are not - how would one say it - monetarily endowed). But the end result is frustratingly similar to people who really do only do it for the money. (I'm sorry; that was unintelligible, wasn't it?) Suzanne Collins surely wrote this book thinking, “How can I make this story the best it can be?” rather than, “How can I become fabulously, disgustingly wealthy?” Because few sane people would answer the latter with, “Write a book!” They’d probably be more inclined to respond, “Become a porn star!” or, “Start a drug ring!” And sadly, these would be much better ways to make some fast cash! Yet I truly believe that each individual reader’s interpretation of the book is infinitely more important than the author’s intent of the book is. And if most people walked away from The Hunger Games with a sense of euphoria, I’m not going to take that away from them. I just… didn’t. I just felt that the end was a cop-out, a way to ensure that people stay interested. A good book (such as The Hunger Games) doesn’t need such obvious cliffhangers to attract an audience. To take such a complex topic and then reduce it to a will she/won’t she clichéd love story? That tastes of betrayal.
If I had to rate The Hunger Games, I guess I’d give it 3.5 out of 5 stars if that’s allowed. It’s at least half a point off for the ending and then perhaps one more star for not knocking my socks off, as they say. Again, it’s a good book – just not great, in my opinion. Granted, there are very, very few (if any) books that are the only written commentaries on a certain subject. It’s not a crime that the basic plot of The Hunger Games is similar to quite a few others; it’s the lack of redemption through spectacular characters or mind-blowing twists that leaves me underwhelmed.
It's difficult to sum up why you love something, but could you do me a favor and try? I'm clearly missing out on some huge connection to The Hunger Games that so many people seem to feel. Some of it's just instinctual - I could sit here and write multiple essays on why I love Harry Potter and still not quite convey the intense love I have for it - but some of it can be defined, and it'd be great if you could outline it. Is it the characters? The plot? The writing? Something less clear-cut?
As for myself, I'm going to suck it up and read Catching Fire sometime this summer. Unfortunately, going into it I hold it in the same regard as I do Avatar and The Notebook - I'm pretty damn sure I won't like it, but I try to refrain from passing judgment until I've actually read/seen it. Hopefully I'll report back deep-frying and scarfing down my words.
Monday, June 14, 2010
IGNORE THE FACT THAT I'M YELLING AT YOU RIGHT NOW.
I'M DONE WITH MY SOPHOMORE YEAR YES YES YES YES YES.
Also, I turned 16 today but that is FAR LESS exciting.
Points of Interest (not really):
1) Sixteen is truthfully not a milestone for me in any way other than that it has the stigma of being sixteen. Like, the only thing I can do right now that I couldn't do yesterday is get a job without getting my school to sign work release papers. Fun times. Sixteen no longer has any real influence on my driving capabilities. Regardless, I prefer being sixteen to being fifteen, simply because being sixteen makes me sound taller. I don't know please don't judge me okay thanks.
2) While I am generally a fan of the summer months, the end of school has always been like releasing a little part of my soul. When you dedicate ten straight months of your life to a single institution, it's bound to have some impact on you. I don't arrive at school singing for joy but, you know, there are some parts to it that I actually enjoy. Additionally, this is the actual there-is-no-going-back end of the little MYP bubble that I have been in since the sixth grade, and that's a little sad. I don't adore every single person in each of my classes and although it's not exactly an exclusive academic club, there is some sense of us all being in it together. Next year we're separating into our various on-level/honors/AP/IB classes and it makes me a tad bit nostalgic.
3) I got my ears pierced yesterday for the first time ever! It was surprisingly painless. I was going to get mine double pierced but the ear piercing people were all, "Well, if it gets infected then that's going to suck, so you should wait a couple weeks." Which I guess makes sense, so I'm probably going to get a second piercing in... July. Or August. (I don't care if this makes me a typical teenage sellout to the ways of the superficial. I like them. Deal with it.)
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Hi. So I'm supposed to be writing this piece for an anthology that is being put together for the writing class I've been going to the past couple of months. And I procrastinated and was busy and the deadline is tomorrow so I have two pieces that I would love for you to read and critique, if at all possible. After you read them I can give you my opinion but I don't want to bias you before so. I'm mostly decided on which I'm going to use but I need YOUR help.
Allow me to tell you a story. Once there was a group of kindred spirits on a road trip, out to discover adventure and excitement. They found themselves in Portland, Oregon after crossing a somewhat frightening bridge and working their way through the equally frightening city traffic. They went to a brewery/restaurant, were given an electronic device that would tell them when it was their turn to eat, and sat down on the bench after being told it would be a forty-five minute wait.
Outside of the Brewery/Restaurant Where Hope Dies, there was a boy. He had a sign that indicated that he was travelling, broke and hungry. Anything helps.
An hour passed and a brave spokesperson of the road-trippers ventured forth to ascertain a more realistic time frame. They told her five to ten minutes.
Twenty minutes passed.
The foursome went up together the next time, perhaps hoping to intimidate the restaurant host with the crazed, hungry look in their eyes. Apparently, the electronic device was broken. If you rely on technology, you will end up near tears and more than peckish.
Maybe it was because they were naturally generous people or maybe it was because they had recently encountered brief hunger themselves but regardless, upon leaving the restaurant, they gave the boy outside some money. He thanked them and they discovered he was from Vermont, approximately two thousand, nine hundred and fifteen miles away. He smiled and said he was loving every minute of his travels.
They didn’t know that they would meet again, quite spontaneously, seven days later, approximately one hundred and seventy four miles north of their original rendezvous, in Seattle, Washington. They didn’t know that they would find themselves in the Seattle Convention Center, each on an escalator that was escalating in opposite directions. The road-trippers couldn’t get over the shock of the serendipity and stared until they were too far down on their escalator and he was too far up on his.
They didn’t stop to think of how odd it was to see the same random boy in two different cities within a week. If they had stopped to think about it, would they have thought it odd, or completely normal? For who, really, if not travellers, are the most likely to run into each other?
I like you. But liking you is like driving on the highway in the rain. The windshield wipers are scraping back and forth so fast that if I were them, I would start planning mutiny. Even with their intense labour, I can hardly see in front of me but then I notice a sign telling me I’ll get there eventually and I feel an urge to press harder on the gas. I want to go faster.
But I don’t, because that is too freaking dangerous, not to mention terrifying. The speed limit is posted and the visibility conditions are bad. To be frank, I only just got my learners’ permit and my mom is in the passenger seat gripping the handle on the door while trying to appear calm, probably for my sake. The façade isn’t working but I try not to let her know that I can physically feel the tension radiating off of her. Why does she get to be the nervous one?
I cautiously inch along, because speed tickets are not underrated. So yes, it’s still going to be a couple of kilometres before I actually talk to you but my road skills are improving by the second. And I’m cautiously certain that when I see the correct exit sign I’ll be able to confidently steer into the off ramp and everything will be fine. Though honestly, the road manual can only tell you so much.
I'm leaning towards piece 2. I don't exactly know why but piece 1 feels raw and I don't feel like fixing it whereas piece 2 actually says something to me.
Please, please, please, advise. Tell me if you agree with me on piece 2. Tell me what you like. Tell me what you hate. Tell me what you think I should change. ----v (comments)
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
I've said that the only exams I'm planning on studying for are Chem and Algebra, which is mostly true (I need to study for those) but also a little bit of a lie as I have to brush up on my French (avant vendredi, j'aurai appris comment les pronoms français marchent. Aussi j'aurais appris si on peut utiliser "marcher" comme ça. Cette langue est déroutante. Laquelle? Celle-ci! Mon dieu, je ne sais rien*) and, er, learn how to use Inventor. Okay. I don't know if I should bother studying for Engineering; I haven't learned a single thing this year and my teacher is making everyone take the "college level" course. 1) It's not even an honors class, 2) I'm not taking Engineering in college so I don't need the college credit, 3) the only reason I'm taking Engineering is because I need a Tech credit and Introductions to Technology was full, 4) I'd rather not fail the exam of my only non-MYP class. Maybe that's a bit "high and mighty" of me, but really? I don't want to get a B for the semester just because I, er, haven't learned anything.
Please don't comment on my flawed logic. I'm trying not to break the I-am-doing-the-best-I-can façade that I have so delicately upheld this past year.
Allow me to comment on how my History textbook for next year is A HUNDRED FUCKING DOLLARS. Aiight so perhaps I haven't got the right to complain seeing as a) there is an option to borrow a school textbook (although this is not encouraged), b) you could theoretically get a used one for (relatively) cheap cheap cheap, and c) when ordered through the school, it's twenty dollars less than it otherwise would be. REGARDLESS, what the hell, are we in college or something? GAWSH DANG
Can I also say that I HATE HATE HATE when people use commas incorrectly? I mean I know I use them incorrectly on this blog all the goddamn time; HOWEVER, I normally use them correctly in essays (at least I try to!) and more importantly, I KNOW HOW TO LIST THINGS. OH MY GOD, if you have "a, b, and c," YOU NEED A COMMA AFTER B. Just saying just saying just saying.
Seriously though I need to take a composition class dedicated to comma usage. Important skill, that is.
PS, I have enjoyed our little cyber "poetry slam;" we should do this again EH EH? ;-)
* Out of curiosity, I put this into Google Translate and let me tell you, Google Translate is not up to date on its verbs. Since y'alls don't speak French (neither do I fluently, although I'm trying! I really am): "Before Friday [the day of my French exam], I will have learned how French pronouns work. Also I will have learned if one can use "marcher" like that [to mean "to work"]. This language is confusing. Which one? This one! My god, I don't know anything."
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
(Did I just use an obnoxious form of syntax to prove a point? Why yes I did! I'll go write an acrostic about it.)
'S been so long since I used you last
Y ou tempt me so; my grammatical other half
N ow I'm afraid I'll look like a fool
T hat's "idiot," mind you, not a burn log of yule
A t last, I've found my purpose in life:
X-celling in poetry with limited strife, WORD
I hope that was an acrostic poem. Heavan forbid that I forget all those thrird grade lessons in which we labored over poems shaped like raindrops, which at the time I thought were the Best Things Ever but that I know see as the result of a copy editor who had a little too much to drink. (For the record, my poem described the ways that writing was like water; how words quench the parched soul. I was a deep little eight year old.)
Do you want to read the poem I wrote in French today? It went something like:
le ciel, les autres choses
je sais pas
je ne me moque pas
pourquoi est-ce que c'est que tout ma poesie est merde?
Sorry if the articles are wrong. I can't look les mots up in a dictionaire right now; deal wiff it.