Fruity Goodness from Kiera's Brain

Vintage Hairstyles

2011-10-25T10:09:00.000-07:00

I love to do hair. Updos are a lot of fun for me, and I'm a big fan of pin curls, waves, and little embellishments. Here are some of the hairstyles I've tried out on myself and other people. :)

I did this in Celin'es hair for fun at a sleepover.

I did this for my little sister's homecoming look.

This is just me in my typical vintage style.

I created this for a British-style afternoon tea party.

More of an everyday kind of fun bun.

Pin curls!

Pottermore House Welcome Messages

2011-10-05T09:58:00.000-07:00

I recently was sorted into Ravenclaw on Pottermore, and I found the house welcome message very interesting. It made me curious as to what the other houses' messages said, so I collected them from friends who were sorted into the other three houses. Thanks CeCe, Laurel, and Kayla! :D Anyways, I thought I'd post them all here for anyone else who was interested in reading them all. I think Ravenclaw's and Hufflepuff's in particular offer some cool facts about the houses that we hear a lot less about in the books.

RAVENCLAW WELCOME MESSAGE

Congratulations! I’m Prefect Robert Hilliard, and I’m delighted to welcome you to RAVENCLAW HOUSE. Our emblem is the eagle, which soars where others cannot climb; our house colours are blue and bronze, and our common room is found at the top of Ravenclaw Tower, behind a door with an enchanted knocker. The arched windows set into the walls of our circular common room look down at the school grounds: the lake, the Forbidden Forest, the Quidditch pitch and the Herbology gardens. No other house in the school has such stunning views.

Without wishing to boast, this is the house where the cleverest witches and wizards live. Our founder, Rowena Ravenclaw, prized learning above all else – and so do we. Unlike the other houses, who all have concealed entrances to their common rooms, we don’t need one. The door to our common room lies at the top of a tall, winding staircase. It has no handle, but an enchanted bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle. When you rap on the door, this knocker will ask you a question, and if you can answer it correctly, you are allowed in. This simple barrier has kept out everyone but Ravenclaws for nearly a thousand years.

Some first-years are scared by having to answer the eagle’s questions, but don’t worry. Ravenclaws learn quickly, and you’ll soon enjoy the challenges the door sets. It’s not unusual to find twenty people standing outside the common room door, all trying to work out the answer to the day’s question together. This is a great way to meet fellow Ravenclaws from other years, and to learn from them – although it is a bit annoying if you’ve forgotten your Quidditch robes and need to get in and out in a hurry. In fact, I’d advise you to triple-check your bag for everything you need before leaving Ravenclaw Tower.

Another cool thing about Ravenclaw is that our people are the most individual – some might even call them eccentrics. But geniuses are often out of step with ordinary folk, and unlike some other houses we could mention, we think you’ve got the right to wear what you like, believe what you want, and say what you feel. We aren’t put off by people who march to a different tune; on the contrary, we value them!

Speaking of eccentrics, you’ll like our Head of house, Professor Filius Flitwick. People often underestimate him, because he’s really tiny (we think he’s part elf, but we’ve never been rude enough to ask) and he’s got a squeaky voice, but he’s the best and most knowledgeable Charms master alive in the world today. His office door is always open to any Ravenclaw with a problem, and if you’re in a real state he’ll get out these delicious little cupcakes he keeps in a tin in his desk drawer and make them do a little dance for you. In fact, it’s worth pretending you’re in a real state just to see them jive.

Ravenclaw house has an illustrious history. Most of the greatest wizarding inventors and innovators were in our house, including Perpetua Fancourt, the inventor of the lunascope, Laverne de Montmorency, a great pioneer of love potions, and Ignatia Wildsmith, the inventor of Floo powder. Famous Ravenclaw Ministers for Magic include Millicent Bagnold, who was in power on the night that Harry Potter survived the Dark Lord’s curse, and defended the wizarding celebrations all over Britain with the words, ‘I assert our inalienable right to party'. There was also Minister Lorcan McLaird, who was a quite brilliant wizard, but preferred to communicate by puffing smoke out of the end of his wand. Well, I did say we produce eccentrics. In fact, we are also the house that gave the wizarding world Uric the Oddball, who used a jellyfish for a hat. He’s the punch line of a lot of wizarding jokes.

As for our relationship with the other three houses: well, you’ve probably heard about the Slytherins. They’re not all bad, but you’d do well to be on your guard until you know them well. They’ve got a long house tradition of doing whatever it takes to win – so watch out, especially in Quidditch matches and exams.

The Gryffindors are OK. If I had a criticism, I’d say Gryffindors tend to be show-offs. They’re also much less tolerant than we are of people who are different; in fact, they’ve been known to make jokes about Ravenclaws who have developed an interest in levitation, or the possible magical uses of troll bogies, or ovomancy, which (as you probably know) is a method of divination using eggs. Gryffindors haven’t got our intellectual curiosity, whereas we’ve got no problem if you want to spend your days and nights cracking eggs in a corner of the common room and writing down your predictions according to the way the yolks fall. In fact, you’ll probably find a few people to help you.

As for the Hufflepuffs, well, nobody could say they’re not nice people. In fact, they’re some of the nicest people in the school. Let’s just say you needn’t worry too much about them when it comes to competition at exam time.

I think that’s nearly everything. Oh yes, our house ghost is the Grey Lady. The rest of the school thinks she never speaks, but she’ll talk to Ravenclaws. She’s particularly useful if you’re lost, or you’ve mislaid something.

I’m sure you’ll have a good night. Our dormitories are in turrets off the main tower; our four-poster beds are covered in sky blue silk eiderdowns and the sound of the wind whistling around the windows is very relaxing.

And once again: well done on becoming a member of the cleverest, quirkiest and most interesting house at Hogwarts.

SLYTHERIN WELCOME MESSAGE

Congratulations! I’m Prefect Gemma Farley, and I’m delighted to welcome you to SLYTHERIN HOUSE. Our emblem is the serpent, the wisest of creatures; our house colours are emerald green and silver, and our common room lies behind a concealed entrance down in the dungeons. As you’ll see, its windows look out into the depths of the Hogwarts lake. We often see the giant squid swooshing by – and sometimes more interesting creatures. We like to feel that our hangout has the aura of a mysterious, underwater shipwreck.

Now, there are a few things you should know about Slytherin – and a few you should forget.

Firstly, let’s dispel a few myths. You might have heard rumours about Slytherin house – that we’re all into the Dark Arts, and will only talk to you if your great-grandfather was a famous wizard, and rubbish like that. Well, you don’t want to believe everything you hear from competing houses. I’m not denying that we’ve produced our share of Dark wizards, but so have the other three houses – they just don’t like admitting it. And yes, we have traditionally tended to take students who come from long lines of witches and wizards, but nowadays you’ll find plenty of people in Slytherin house who have at least one Muggle parent.

Here’s a little-known fact that the other three houses don’t bring up much: Merlin was a Slytherin. Yes, Merlin himself, the most famous wizard in history! He learned all he knew in this very house! Do you want to follow in the footsteps of Merlin? Or would you rather sit at the old desk of that illustrious ex-Hufflepuff, Eglantine Puffett, inventor of the Self-Soaping Dishcloth?

I didn’t think so.

But that’s enough about what we’re not. Let’s talk about what we are, which is the coolest and edgiest house in this school. We play to win, because we care about the honour and traditions of Slytherin.

We also get respect from our fellow students. Yes, some of that respect might be tinged with fear, because of our Dark reputation, but you know what? It can be fun, having a reputation for walking on the wild side. Chuck out a few hints that you’ve got access to a whole library of curses, and see whether anyone feels like nicking your pencil case.

But we’re not bad people. We’re like our emblem, the snake: sleek, powerful, and frequently misunderstood.

For instance, we Slytherins look after our own – which is more than you can say for Ravenclaw. Apart from being the biggest bunch of swots you ever met, Ravenclaws are famous for clambering over each other to get good marks, whereas we Slytherins are brothers. The corridors of Hogwarts can throw up surprises for the unwary, and you’ll be glad you’ve got the Serpents on your side as you move around the school. As far as we’re concerned, once you’ve become a snake, you’re one of ours – one of the elite.

Because you know what Salazar Slytherin looked for in his chosen students? The seeds of greatness. You’ve been chosen by this house because you’ve got the potential to be great, in the true sense of the word. All right, you might see a couple of people hanging around the common room whom you might not think are destined for anything special. Well, keep that to yourself. If the Sorting Hat put them in here, there’s something great about them, and don’t you forget it.

And talking of people who aren’t destined for greatness, I haven’t mentioned the Gryffindors. Now, a lot of people say that Slytherins and Gryffindors represent two sides of the same coin. Personally, I think Gryffindors are nothing more than wannabe Slytherins. Mind you, some people say that Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor prized the same kinds of students, so perhaps we are more similar than we like to think. But that doesn’t mean that we cosy up with Gryffindors. They like beating us only slightly less than we like beating them.

A few more things you might need to know: our house ghost is the Bloody Baron. If you get on the right side of him he’ll sometimes agree to frighten people for you. Just don’t ask him how he got bloodstained; he doesn’t like it.

The password to the common room changes every fortnight. Keep an eye on the noticeboard. Never bring anyone from another house into our common room or tell them our password. No outsider has entered it for more than seven centuries.

Well, I think that’s all for now. I’m sure you’ll like our dormitories. We sleep in ancient four-posters with green silk hangings, and bedspreads embroidered with silver thread. Medieval tapestries depicting the adventures of famous Slytherins cover the walls, and silver lanterns hang from the ceilings. You’ll sleep well; it’s very soothing, listening to the lake water lapping against the windows at night.

GRYFFINDOR WELCOME MESSAGE

Congratulations! I’m Prefect Percy Weasley, and I’m delighted to welcome you to GRYFFINDOR HOUSE. Our emblem is the lion, the bravest of all creatures; our house colours are scarlet and gold, and our common room lies up in Gryffindor Tower.

This is, quite simply, the best house at Hogwarts. It’s where the bravest and boldest end up – for instance: Albus Dumbledore! Yes, Dumbledore himself, the greatest wizard of our time, was a Gryffindor! If that’s not enough for you, I don’t know what is.

I won’t keep you long, as all you need to do to find out more about your house is to follow Harry Potter and his friends as I lead them up to their dormitories. Enjoy your time at Hogwarts – but how could you fail to? You’ve become part of the best house in the school.

HUFFLEPUFF WELCOME MESSAGE

Congratulations! I’m Prefect Gabriel Truman, and I’m delighted to welcome you to HUFFLEPUFF HOUSE. Our emblem is the badger, an animal that is often underestimated, because it lives quietly until attacked, but which, when provoked, can fight off animals much larger than itself, including wolves. Our house colours are yellow and black, and our common room lies one floor below the ground, on the same corridor as the kitchens.

Now, there are a few things you should know about Hufflepuff house. First of all, let’s deal with a perennial myth about the place, which is that we’re the least clever house. WRONG. Hufflepuff is certainly the least boastful house, but we’ve produced just as many brilliant witches and wizards as any other. Want proof? Look up Grogan Stump, one of the most popular Ministers for Magic of all time. He was a Hufflepuff – as were the successful Ministers Artemesia Lufkin and Dugald McPhail. Then there’s the world authority on magical creatures, Newt Scamander; Bridget Wenlock, the famous thirteenth-century Arithmancer who first discovered the magical properties of the number seven, and Hengist of Woodcroft, who founded the all-wizarding village of Hogsmeade, which lies very near Hogwarts School. Hufflepuffs all.

So, as you can see, we’ve produced more than our fair share of powerful, brilliant and daring witches and wizards, but, just because we don’t shout about it, we don’t get the credit we deserve. Ravenclaws, in particular, assume that any outstanding achiever must have come from their house. I got into big trouble during my third year for duelling a Ravenclaw prefect who insisted that Bridget Wenlock had come from his house, not mine. I should have got a week of detentions, but Professor Sprout let me off with a warning and a box of coconut ice.

Hufflepuffs are trustworthy and loyal. We don’t shoot our mouths off, but cross us at your peril; like our emblem, the badger, we will protect ourselves, our friends and our families against all-comers. Nobody intimidates us.

However, it’s true that Hufflepuff is a bit lacking in one area. We’ve produced the fewest Dark wizards of any house in this school. Of course, you’d expect Slytherin to churn out evil-doers, seeing as they’ve never heard of fair play and prefer cheating over hard work any day, but even Gryffindor (the house we get on best with) has produced a few dodgy characters.

What else do you need to know? Oh yes, the entrance to the common room is concealed in a stack of large barrels in a nook on the right hand side of the kitchen corridor. Tap the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row, in the rhythm of ‘Helga Hufflepuff’, and the lid will swing open. We are the only house at Hogwarts that also has a repelling device for would-be intruders. If the wrong lid is tapped, or if the rhythm of the tapping is wrong, the illegal entrant is doused in vinegar.

You will hear other houses boast of their security arrangements, but it so happens that in more than a thousand years, the Hufflepuff common room and dormitories have never been seen by outsiders. Like badgers, we know exactly how to lie low – and how to defend ourselves.

Once you’ve opened the barrel, crawl inside and along the passageway behind it, and you will emerge into the cosiest common room of them all. It is round and earthy and low-ceilinged; it always feels sunny, and its circular windows have a view of rippling grass and dandelions.

There is a lot of burnished copper about the place, and many plants, which either hang from the ceiling or sit on the windowsills. Our Head of house, Professor Pomona Sprout, is Head of Herbology, and she brings the most interesting specimens (some of which dance and talk) to decorate our room – one reason why Hufflepuffs are often very good at Herbology. Our overstuffed sofas and chairs are upholstered in yellow and black, and our dormitories are reached through round doors in the walls of the common room. Copper lamps cast a warm light over our four-posters, all of which are covered in patchwork quilts, and copper bed warmers hang on the walls, should you have cold feet.

Our house ghost is the friendliest of them all: the Fat Friar. You’ll recognise him easily enough; he’s plump and wears monk’s robes, and he’s very helpful if you get lost or are in any kind of trouble.

I think that’s nearly everything. I must say, I hope some of you are good Quidditch players. Hufflepuff hasn’t done as well as I’d like in the Quidditch tournament lately.

You should sleep comfortably. We’re protected from storms and wind down in our dormitories; we never have the disturbed nights those in the towers sometimes experience.

And once again: congratulations on becoming a member of the friendliest, most decent and most tenacious house of them all.

Why I Love Old Films

2011-09-14T12:51:00.000-07:00

Yes, the acting style is outdated and the kissing is stiff and far too dramatic, but when it comes to class, old films certainly know how to deliver. The dance between the lighting and the grayscale images is choreographed beautifully; the gorgeous close ups of those FACES that lit up the silver screen suck me right in; the decadent wardrobes make me gasp at each entrance of the characters; the little throwaway lines that are absolutely, subtly brilliant delight me to the core.

When I'm watching an old film I feel like I'm home. Like I'm wrapped in a fleece blanket, drinking hot cocoa with extra marshmallows late at night during a thunderstorm. They're just so beautiful.

Old films offer an escape from reality--one that is more complete than contemporary films; in a contemporary film (even one set in a different time period) the picture quality, the color correction, and the editing styles are constant reminders of today's technology, trapping the audience in the present. Old films allow us to time travel. The grainy picture, the simple shots, the rough lighting--it's all a ticket to the past. We get to experience not only the story in the film, but the time in which it was released.

This week after watching a number of old Audrey Hepburn films (Breakfast at Tiffany's, Roman Holiday, and Sabrina), I am absolutely clamoring to invite a little more class into my life. I want to BE Audrey Hepburn . . . or rather, I want to be ME but . . . Audrey Hepburn-er. ;) (If that wasn't a classy statement, I don't know what is. Ha. Ha. Ha.)

I guess what I'm saying is, here's my "To Do" list:

Go to NYC, wear silk gloves, and eat a pastry in front of Tiffany's.
Learn "Moon River" on the guitar and sing it while sitting on a window ledge.
Spend a day strictly doing things I've never done before.
Have the time of my life in Rome.
Dance with a barber.
Fall in love with Gregory Peck. (DONE)
Re-invent myself in Paris.
Make a positively stunning entrance at an evening party.
Rock a fabulous look.
Never settle for the idiotic womanizer.

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UNDER-APPRECIATED VOCABULARY WORD OF THE DAY:

panache n. flamboyant confidence of style or manner.

QUEEN OF CLASS QUOTE FOR YOUR PERUSAL:

"People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone."--Audrey Hepburn

Nostalgic for School

2011-08-30T17:52:00.001-07:00

It's that time of year again: tuition, textbooks, school supplies, and girls who unfortunately wear leggings in lieu of pants. Summer's ending, and fall is just beginning to tiptoe into the scene.

Having just graduated in May, I haven't had much time to absorb the fact that I am done with school. It's just felt like every other summer... until recently. Now that I'm back from several awesome trips in July, it's finally hit me that I'm not going back to USU. Though my university did not come with moving staircases, secret passages, or school feasts, I feel a bit like Harry Potter missing Hogwarts in book seven when he knows he won't be returning for the school year. I long for the required reading I dreaded; I'm almost sad that I don't have to tow a three foot high stack of textbooks out to my car; I crave the class discussions about classic literature; I think longingly of how certain essays and certain professors were so awful that they caused friendships to be formed between the students subjected to them.

That's not to say I want to go back... NO, SIR. I'm still very happy to be finished, but I've reached a new appreciation for the parts of school that made it all worth it, even if I didn't see it at the time. I've come to the conclusion that blogging more often will partially fill the void left by written assignments, so expect me to be posting here fairly frequently for the next little while.

Are any of you in the same boat? Leave me a comment telling me how you're dealing with it!

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UNDER-APPRECIATED VOCABULARY WORD OF THE DAY:
sorghum: n. something cloyingly sentimental.

BOOK QUOTE FOR YOUR PERUSAL:
"Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia. [...] You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you'll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present."
--John Green, Looking for Alaska

To Cheese

2011-02-21T19:19:00.000-08:00

I’m not sure exactly what it is about you that makes you so irresistible, but I want you to know that it’s working. I am yours and yours alone, and you will have me for as long as you will stick around. I’m prepared to throw many other things aside for just a shot at you—I’ve driven miles to get you at your best, and I never want you to change. I like you for you and will never desert you for some “skinny” version of you, so please, never think for a single second that I want you to go down the path of low-fat-zero-calories-fat-free-whatever. As many songwriters have proclaimed, you’re beautiful just the way you are. You’re always there for me when I need you—I can’t even remember a time when you weren’t around; you’ve had a definite presence in my life since the time when I could barely chew. I love you and want to thank you for how good you’ve been to me in the past, no matter what color you are (white, yellow, some kind of… mixed race…) and no matter who else you’ve been with (Seniora Macaroni, Ms. Cracker, Mademoiselle de Salade, etc.). At the moment you are single, and I just wanted to make sure you knew I was interested.

Your adoring servant,

Kiera Jo

UNDER-APPRECIATED VOCABULARY WORD OF THE DAY:
imperium, n. 1. Absolute rule; supreme power. 2. A sphere of power or dominion; empire. (As in, “Cheese has attained quite the imperium in my stomach and heart.”)

COMMITTED-TO-MEMORY MOVIE QUOTE FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT:
“Do you like… cheese?” (She’s the Man)

Hourly Comic Day

2011-02-02T09:12:00.000-08:00

6:00am

7:00am

*Sparknotes

8:00am

9:00am

10:00am

11:00am

12:00pm

1:00pm

2:00pm

3:00pm

4:00pm

5:00pm

6:00pm

7:00pm

8:00pm

9:00pm

10:00pm

11:00pm

A Soliloquy

2010-09-27T21:34:00.000-07:00

As can be evidenced by my tweets the last twenty-four hours, I have been working on a soliloquy assignment for my Shakespeare class. It's pass/fail and we're supposed to compose a soliloquy of ten lines or more in iambic pentameter spoken by a character of our choice (we could make up our own, pick a celebrity, pick a book/movie/tv character, a person from history, whatever). I chose Severus Snape. Yep. If you have not read the Harry Potter series and do not want to be spoiled on important plot points in it, DO NOT GO ON. You've been warned. Without further ado. Ahem.

The Soliloquy of Severus Snape

This soliloquy would be expressed by J.K. Rowling’s enigmatic character, Professor Severus Snape, towards the climax of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the last book in her Harry Potter series. At this point Snape is looking back at the choices he’s made in his life just before he dies—looking into Harry’s eyes—and passes on his memories to Harry.

His dad was such a cocky jock; it’s true,

Yet I can see his mother in his eyes.

Her floral grace—it seems to beckon me

Within those spheres of green beneath the scar.

The scar and eyes cement me to this side

Of good, which forces trickery of me:

A deathly dance among the pure of blood

Who bear an evil mark to match my own.

I dread them delving far beneath my mark

To where I am a being much in love

With someone long past dead—all due to me.

In every taunting look her son shoots me,

An arrow penetrates my heart and leaves

A gaping hole of mis’ry and remorse

For what I’ve lost but never can get back.

Though I despise her son, he offers up

A chance for me to cure my past mistakes—

Redeem myself for all I did before,

So I will aid and help him find the way

To vanquish Voldemort—to be The One.

We, both of us, are marked by The Dark Lord:

He, by his scar, and I, my telling stain.

My life begins to fade far from my reach—

I’ll gaze one final time into his eyes—

Her eyes—those verdant eyes—and I’ll be gone.

The Sound of Silence

2010-08-30T22:44:00.000-07:00

I know it's only been a few days since my last post...but as I keep promising myself and twitter, I really do want to start blogging more often. And it's a lot easier for me to do now that I have a laptop in my room with me every night--when the blogging urge hits I can just start immediately before I lose motivation. And tonight, the urge is persistent. It's like this little kid tugging my sleeve and whining, "Kiera...Kiera...Kiera?! BLOG. Please blog. When can we blog? Are you going to blog? Huh? Huh, Kiera? Are you?! Kiera!!!" Obviously it's pretty annoying. And how do you expect me to sleep under those conditions?

I find myself quietly tucked away in my room this evening after my penultimate first day of school. It's been an unusually short summer, not as in it went quickly--though it did--but as in "it already freaking feels like fall even though it's still technically freaking AUGUST". My window's cracked open and letting in a cool, after-rain breeze, and the periodic sound of water slowly slipping off my roof to the ground pulls me in and out of my own thoughts. My room's a little chilly at the moment, but I like it that way since it gives me an excuse to pull out my (always comforting) lavender footie pajamas covered in penguins--these (the pajamas...not the penguins) have gone significantly unnoticed and unused since about March. I value times like these when I can just sit on my own and think to the noise of late-at-night-in-a-small-town.

Tonight I'm thinking about silences. Silence seems like something that's very straightforward: the absence of noise. But it's far more than that. There are many different types of silences. They each have a noise and a tone all their own within their soundlessness.

There are library silences and test-taking silences, where everyone is quiet because of an almost unwritten rule and social agreement that those are settings in which a low sound level should prevail. There are conversational silences--some natural and comfortable, some entirely awkward and nearly unbearable. There are shocked silences, and there are disappointed silences. There are silences that defy connection. But there are also silences in which communication and understanding are still taking place--in which words can become unnecessary. Tonight's silence is a relieved silence. I've made it through DAY 1 of the new semester and am perfectly happy to just sit inside while still experiencing the air from outside, knowing that everyone else in my house and most of the people on my block are sound asleep as I type these words.

I'm reminded of one of my favorite Simon & Garfunkel songs, which has a line in it about no one daring to disturb the sound of silence. But as those fabulous lyricists encourage, I do dare disturb the sound of silence--I add my own punctuating rhythm of clicking letters, making it my silence: a silence in which I express my muddled thoughts, but in many ways am still saying nothing at all.

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Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:

lacuna (lah-kyoon'-uh) n. a blank space or a missing part; gap.

Random Song Lyrics for Your Entertainment (and/or Enlightenment):

"The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls

And tenement halls
And whispered in the sound of silence"

--Simon & Garfunkel in "The Sound of Silence"

Emerging Enlightened

2010-08-25T23:53:00.000-07:00

As a college student, it’s pretty much my job to get really stressed out on occasion. School isn’t always exactly a cakewalk, and sometimes it’s best to just ignore my looming pictures of the future and focus only on things immediately at hand; the future is a scary thing to think about—I’m graduating soon. While I’m excited to be done with school, I’m not excited at the prospect of trying to find a job with my degree in English (emphasis: Literary Studies). I feel like my whole life has been leading up to this point where I get to go off and really show the world who I am—become a hardworking adult with not just a job but a CAREER: a life of my own choosing. It’s terrifying to think that any of the choices I’ve made could have been wrong.

But my thoughts continually return to my favorite class I’ve had to date—we’re not just talking my favorite college course; I really mean it is my favorite class EVER. I’ve had a lot of teachers I’ve loved and learned so much from, but this class has stuck in my mind the way no other ever has. The themes of it return to me all the time—it’s honestly changed many aspects of my perspective on life and experience. This class was my Literary Theory class last semester.

On the surface, it shouldn’t have been as life changing to me as it was; on the surface it just looks like any other university literature course—no, I take that back. On the surface it looks more pointless than your average university literature course. I confess as I read through the syllabus on the first day I couldn’t really remember why I’d signed up for the class beyond the fact that I’d heard the teacher was fabulous: the course description basically sounded like, “This class is going to be about spooky ghost stories in literature and the roles of the supernatural in our daily lives.” I was thinking it would be crazy and useless and asking myself why ON EARTH I was going to spend an entire semester reading and discussing the supernatural—that is really not my kind of thing at all. I don’t buy into ghost stories; I’d never become a “ghost-hunter”.

But for whatever reason (probably because the extremely clever and perhaps slightly eccentric professor intrigued me from day one) I stuck with the class. It’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

That class helped me come to a realization that I suppose I’ve known all along, but that I’d never given much thought to previous to taking the class. THE REALIZATION: We don’t have control over a lot of what surrounds us, only of how we react to those surroundings; the world is chuck full of chaos—chaos that’s nearly impossible to decipher. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, yet it’s our natural instinct and desire as mankind to make sense of the things we don’t understand. While in many cases this is fantastic—giving us new technologies or medicines or ways to accomplish things—sometimes we become so fixated on complete understanding and control that it tears us apart and impedes further progress in other areas. There comes a time when we just have to accept that we can’t control everything or know everything or understand everything—to accept the chaos for what it is—to willingly plunge ourselves into it at times and come away from it not fully comprehending it all, but feeling enlightened on some aspect of it…and knowing that that’s okay. “Willingly fling yourself down the rabbit hole and emerge enlightened instead of insane,” became the constant motto of the course.

And that was just the message I needed to hear. Now as I look to my not-entirely-certain future, I try to de-stress a little: it’s okay that I don’t know exactly what I’m doing after I graduate; it’s okay that school feels chaotic at times and that the real world is even more so. As long as I emerge from the rabbit hole feeling enlightened—as long as I come away from every chaotic experience having learned something—having improved myself—it was all worth it.

EMBRACE THE CHAOS!

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Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:

gallimaufry (gal-li-maw'-free) n. a hodgepodge, jumble; a mixture of diverse things

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:

“My journey took me somewhat further down the rabbit-hole than I'd initially intended and, though I dirtied my fluffy white tail, I've emerged… enlightened.”

—Sherlock Holmes in Sherlock Holmes (2009)

Self-Narrative

2010-04-24T20:46:00.000-07:00

Hey people. It's been quite some time. And I'm sorry this isn't a real blogpost, but a copy of my final paper for my Non-Fiction class. I'm supposed to write a short autobiographical piece of writing for part one of this assignment. Part two is for me to take a step back from it and analyze it for themes and such as if I were an unconnected third party. Here's where you come in: I would love you forever if you would read through this and give me your general impressions so I know what an outside third party is actually thinking as they read this. I've already written a rough draft of my critical analysis, but I could tweak it or even this original short story thing based on your thoughtful responses. Thanks in advance if you decide to help me out with this! And without further ado, I give you...

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SCHRODINGER'S CHIPMUNK

"Hmm..." mused Jarin, "I wonder if we could trap it with a marshmallow..." He bent over the pile of sticks and rocks we'd collected in the last twenty minutes, his young face scrunched up in concentration.

Wiping my dirt-covered hands on my worn-out overalls, I suggested that a s'more would probably be better in case it was picky and didn't like marshmallows plain; I knew I didn't. "If it's got chocolate and graham crackers and marshmallows, there's no way it won't want some," I added matter-of-factly.

We agreed that we'd sneak an extra s'more away with us from the campfire later that night and went to work assembling our trap.

It was an annual tradition in our extended family to go on one big camping trip together in the middle of the Summer. For the past several camp-outs my cousins and I had turned making chipmunk traps into something of a ritual, as well. In the back of our minds I think we always knew we wouldn't actually catch anything. Our traps were handmade, wholly unreliable, and not very stable. They had very little real logic behind them. We didn't care; it was just something we did to do something. It made us feel adventurous. Like we could go out and become Daniel Boone.

The color of our hands progressed to increasingly darkening shades of brown and gray as we strategically stacked stones on top of each other and used sticks to line the inside of our structure for support. After about an hour and much trial and error, we had what looked like a miniature stone hut, complete with a smooth rock roof concealed by dead leaves. The finishing touch was a tiny trapdoor at the front so we could slip the pilfered s'more inside as bait.

As we sat testing it out in our isolated corner of the campsite, Brooke meandered over to us. "Hey, Brooke!" we greeted her warmly, eager to show her how good our trap was this time and have her admire our handiwork.

Peering down at us, she crossed her arms and looked skeptical. "What are you guys doing?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

We glanced back up at her, slightly crestfallen and somewhat confused. "Brooke...you know what we're doing..." I said tentatively. Up until this year she'd always helped us with this project. As the oldest grandchild in our family, she had been the leader: the one who had started this whole trapping thing in the first place. Now at the wizened age of 10, she seemed to have lost interest in it altogether. Previous years, Jarin and I had always just followed her lead because we looked up to her. This year we were leading ourselves.

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she responded, "Of course I know what you're doing--but why?!" She sounded exasperated. Irritated.

"Maybe we'll catch something this ti--" Jarin began. But Brooke cut him off before he could finish.

"You're not going to catch anything. It never works." She walked away haughtily to do whatever it was that she thought was so much cooler than us or our project.

I tried not to look or feel disappointed as I watched her go. Turning to Jarin, I smiled wildly and exclaimed, "This time it will."

"Yeah," he said, returning my pre-braces, crooked grin. "This time we'll catch something."

After dinner, with s'more bait in place, we went to bed hardly able to wait until morning when we could check our trap. Undeterred by past experience, we were just as confident and hopeful as always that our trap would work and we'd have a pet chipmunk for the remainder of camp. As I tossed and turned in my sleeping bag, trying to fall asleep to the rhythmic sounds of my dad snoring and the rushing water of the creek near our tent, it felt like tomorrow would never come.

When it finally did, the kids--as usual--were up before the parents. Jarin and I found each other as quickly as we could so we could check our trap together. "Do you think--?" I half asked him with bare enthusiasm.

"I don't know--let's go find out!" he answered back hopefully. Both of our voices were dry and crackly from having just woken up, but unmistakably laced with excitement like on Christmas morning.

We raced each other to our little stone trap and were surprised to find Brooke already there, standing beside it. We stopped in our tracks, not sure what to make of it. We stared at her. She stared back, looking smug.

We nodded uncertainly at her, and Jarin spoke quickly to no one in particular, "C'mon! Let's see what's in there!" He started to move towards the trap but didn't quite make it before Brooke blew:

"This is so stupid," she said angrily. Her voice rose to a volume kind of shocking for that early in the morning. "There is not going to be anything in there!" On this last heightened note, she dramatically swung her foot back behind her and kicked over our primitive little construction, blasting it apart. It separated back into it's composite parts at an astonishing speed.

But amid the dead rocks and sticks and leaves and dirt, all three of us saw something small--something living--dart away and disappear into the trees behind us. We could read in each other's puzzled faces that yes, we had finally caught our chipmunk. And because of Brooke it had gotten away.

After the initial shock had worn off, Jarin and I glared at Brooke, unable to believe that we'd finally succeeded only to have her literally tear apart all of our hard work. We were left with the scattered remnants of the only trap that had ever worked and had to content ourselves with the guilt and bragging rights we could hold over Brooke's head for the remainder of the trip. We never did catch another chipmunk.

Half Cray-Cray, Half Philosophical

2010-02-05T18:10:00.000-08:00

SERIOUSLY?! The last post I made was IN OCTOBER?! That is absolutely unacceptable. UNACCEPTABLE, I SAY! I'll understand if none of you ever want to speak to me EVER AGAIN. Or...leave me comments or whatever...just sayin'. This blog has been so neglected.

But NO MORE. I am here to save the day and to attack you with useless information! Dun-dun-dun-dun! (That? Oh...that's just my hero music.)

Honestly, what is this blog without me writing in it? It's like...a play without a leading lady. Or a ship without a captain. Or a quidditch team with no seeker. Or...like a week that's only Mondays; only ice cream--never sundaes; like a circle with no center; like a door marked, "DO NOT ENTER." Darling, I'll be yours forever 'cause I never wanna be without lo-o-o-o-o-ve, so baby never set me free. Or something. (Clearly my lengthy absence hasn't addled with my propensity to random lyric quoting without warning. Good to know.)

So now that I'm here and you're here, you probably want me to actually write about something, huh?--Crap. I hadn't foreseen this...you know, earlier when I was consulting my crystal ball and reading tarot cards...How's about I rationalize why I seem so cray-cray?

REASONS WHY KIERA SEEMS CRAY-CRAY (FOR TODAY)

As you may or may not know, I have returned to The Institution of Cognitive Chaos. On the surface (and based on context clues) that may sound like I'm talking about a mental institution, which isn't too far from the truth: I am back at uni. (I know "uni" is a British/Australian term, but I don't care. I'm using it. TAKE THAT. It's cooler than "college" or "school", okay. Just admit it already.)
Being back in classes is messing with my brain. It has to work so much harder now than when I was just working. Seriously, my cognitive exercise routine is so rigorous that I'm actually burning TONS OF CALORIES thinking. I get ravenously hungry SO OFTEN lately because my brain needs more fuel just to keep going!
I just barely got back from work, finished two annotations on scholarly journal articles, AND filled out an intense psychology study guide, so I need to release my creative energy that I had to hold back all day in order to sound ultra-professional and straightforward and all that scholarly poop. (You see that? Poop. That is what work and homework-filled days reduce me to: joy at using immature words in leisurely writing. Yep. Really.)

So...such is life at the moment. And in all sincerity, I am actually enjoying being back in school. (It's really busy and FRYING my brain and making my social life dangerously approach the brink of extinction, but I love learning things everyday.) My classes--for the most part--are very interesting and full of insightful discussions that keep my brain occupied long after class ends. It also helps that we cover different aspects of related themes in each of my classes because I get perspectives and input from not only different classmates, but also different professors. It's kind of awesome.

One of the things that keeps coming back is different theories of self and how each person's actions, behavior, looks, etc. are really just a representation of their inner self. (Naturally what keeps running through my brain during these discussions is Paper Towns. Paper Towns. Paper Towns. Great Gatsby. Paper Towns.) We've hit upon this topic particularly in my Studies in Non-Fiction Prose class and my Literary and Cultural Theory class, and I keep making connections from that to the complex nature of the brain which we keep studying in my Cognitive Psychology class. This stuff is mind-boggling to me and constantly reminds me to take no one as just a surface--humanity is insanely complicated and intricate.

I don't want you to feel like you're reading an essay here, and I don't want to feel like I'm writing one, but I seriously find this concept fascinating and inarguably true. Which is a perfect segway into what I want you guys to do: leave me a comment that allows me to "imagine you more complexly." It doesn't have to be deep or life-changing or anything; just tell me something about you that I probably don't know yet. I'm really looking forward to your responses!

And with that, I depart!!! Dun-dun-dun-dun! (<--hero exit music)

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
repurple (v) to make purple again; to become purple again. (I KID YOU NOT, FAITHFUL BLOG READERS. THAT IS SERIOUSLY A REAL WORD IN THE OED. HILARIOUS. MUST BEGIN USING IN DAILY LIFE.)

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:
"Four for you, Glenn Coco! You go, Glenn Coco!"
--Damien dressed as Santa in Mean Girls

Do I really have to respect ALL my elders?!

2009-10-28T20:29:00.000-07:00

Hello loyal blog readers! It's been a disgustingly long time since I've blogged. I know when it's been too long since I've blogged by a few signs: 1. When my offline friends start reminding me persistently that I haven't posted anything new and are clamoring for another entry (special shout-out to Erica and Lisa who like to read my blog sometimes: Hey girls, sup yo?!), 2. When I haven't signed in to blogger for so long that I can't remember my username and password, and 3. When I feel super rusty EVEN AS I AM TYPING THIS.

Today's topic? Old people. (This is for you, Erica!)

In our society it is blatantly emphasized that we should revere old people and treat them with the utmost respect, seemingly just because they are, in fact, old. I guess this is because of the general assumption that their advanced years must have made them very wise and knowledgeable. Come to think of it, the only old people I've noticed who aren't given the automatic "Respect the Elderly Code of Conduct" treatment are those who are homeless drunks. Every other type of old person has free reign in the department of etiquette, decorum, and respect. What is not so often conceded is the fact that some of those old people, in their younger years, had to have been--quite frankly--complete idiots. My logic is as follows:

I see absolute morons around me somewhat frequently--in fact, I daresay on a daily basis. I'd be willing to bet that something like 30% of the people my age are idiots. And guess what: one day those idiots are going to be old, and some poor future generation is going to be forced to treat them as wise sages of infinite knowledge and ability, despite their continued immaturity and stupidity.

That's right--that idiot that just cut you off in traffic is going to be treated as if he were Confucius in a mere fifty years or so. And that teenager who just keyed someone's car in the parking lot for fun? Yep. The children of the future are going to be expected to look up to him as they would Atticus Finch or Mr. Miyagi, were they non-fictional. And that girl that just fervently prayed during her history test that she was right--that Benjamin Franklin was indeed the first president of the United States?! Well, she'll be seen as a regular Grandmother Willow as soon as she crosses over into senior citizen land.

I've known plenty of peers in my day who I simply can't imagine being revered by a later generation. Take for example the case of Dummy McIdiotpants* who attended high school with me: Dummy McIdiotpants thought he was all that and a bag of potato chips. Dummy McIdiotpants rarely, if ever, attended classes--and when he did, he was a massive disruption to everyone around him. Dummy McIdiotpants was evidently operating under the delusion that every time he said a swear word, made an inappropriate comment, refused to participate in class, talked back to the teacher, told a fart joke, or was sent to the principal's office/in-school suspension, he would be rewarded with a one hundred dollar bill. I say this because Dummy McIdiotpants did these things and more with so much fervor and persistence that it was almost as if he were being bribed to act out. And yet, someday I just know some child's parent is going to say, "Billy, you need to show respect to Mr. McIdiotpants. He's a very wise old man and has experienced many things in his life. You could learn a lot from him." Yeah. Like how to make meth in the comfort of your very own garage without getting caught!

Now, I'm not saying that all old people are idiots who don't deserve our respect. I'm not saying that AT ALL. I'm just saying we shouldn't completely rule out the possibility that someone much older than ourselves could be every bit as much of a screwball as Dummy McIdiotpants...or Dingbat Stupidsen, your delinquent next door neighbor. Likewise, lots of really great teenagers get short changed; they don't get nearly as much trust or credit as they deserve merely because they belong to a category of individuals seen as being out-of-hand and destructive. I've come to the conclusion that we should take each person we come into contact with as being exactly that: a person; a person who should be given respect, merit, and reverence based on his behavior, character, and action--not his age and the not-so-accurate stereotypes that accompany it.

*Names have been changed to protect the inescapably idiotic.

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
porphyrophobia (n): A persistent, abnormal, unwarranted fear of the color purple.

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:
"How long have you been seventeen?"
"A while."
--Bella Swan and Edward Cullen in Twilight.

When No One Is Looking

2009-08-21T17:32:00.000-07:00

Hey, hey, hey! :)

Once again--as usual when I sit down to blog--I do not have a planned out topic. Basically, I'm blogging because I was hanging out with my lovely group of friends last night and Erica (who I've mentioned before as my hot dog-selling buddy when we were kids) mentioned that she'd checked on my blog, hoping to find some entertainment, and was disappointed to see I hadn't posted anything new. SORRY, ERICA!

So here I am.

Today's topic is what I do when no one is looking!

Now, there are various types of people in the world: there are those who need people around them ALL THE TIME, there are those who prefer to be alone ALL THE TIME, and all sorts of people in between the two. I am a person who appreciates spending time with others, but still very much values her alone time. I honestly think I could go longer without seeing any other human beings than I could without having a moment to myself. (Not that I don't love having friends and stuff, I'm just saying I need sufficient time to myself to do with what I will.)

So, if you're a person that likes having people around all the time, allow me to give you some suggestions of things you can do in your alone time. Here's how I spend mine:

*Do something that is socially unacceptable.

Crank up the most embarrassing music you own and blast it through your whole house. (For me this would probably be Miley Cyrus music, the first Britney Spears CD, or the Boy Band albums I still own, originally purchased when I was in 5th grade.) Dance around to it--be sure that the dance moves are tragically awkward and quite possibly unflattering. In fact, it's all the better if they ARE unflattering; NO ONE CAN SEE YOU!
Talk to yourself in a fake accent. You can even make one up if you want.
Dress up in something horrendous and put on some dreadful make up. Do your hair to match/clash.
Sing along to a song that's WAAAAAAY out of your vocal range at the top of your lungs. (For guys, perhaps some Mariah Carey or Whitney Huston? For girls, Barry White anyone?)
Watch T.V. shows that you would never watch were others present--spanish soap operas (if you don't speak spanish), children's tv (if you're not a child), and trashy reality shows all fall into this category.

*Do something relaxing/creative that requires quiet time.

Read a book you've been wanting to read.
Write something. (A story, a poem, a journal entry, whatever)
Make something artsy--draw/paint whatever you're feeling like you used to when you were little and you didn't care what other people thought about your picture.
Write a song whether or not you think you are musical. If it's bad, no one needs to hear it.
Play a musical instrument.

I was planning on thinking of more things, but then I realized that pretty much everything I do when I'm alone falls into one of those two categories!

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
inculcate (v): to implant by repeated statement or admonition; teach persistently and earnestly.

Random Song Lyric Quote for Your Entertainment:
"Sometimes I get so weird I even freak myself out."
~Avril Lavigne, Anything But Ordinary

That's right: I AM an expert.

2009-07-20T15:04:00.000-07:00

Hey guys. I feel like it's been ages since I've posted a blog, and that's probably because it has been. Every time I try to sit down and blog I can't think of any good topics...sheesh. I could always tell you about my reactions to Half Blood Prince, but I've read SO many of those blogs lately and just about everything has been said that I would want to say.

But FEAR NOT! I have a plan: I asked my twitter followers (some of whom are also you loyal blog readers) for topics. RANDOM SIDENOTE: I love how everyone just uses twitter like it's some clingy, desperate friend who never has anything better to do than help them with stuff--this "stuff" can range from clothing choices to blog topics to movie recommendations and polls on "should I do THIS or THIS?". It's a funny ol' world we live in nowadays, innit?

Anyways, Beth (easavoy/bethsavoy) gave me a couple of good ideas, one of which I will use in this blog:

Thanks for reminding me about that, Beth! (And I mean for reminding me about the fact that I'm an "mp3 expert" at work, but I'm also happy about the new Demi Lovato album coming out! I like everything Disney channel related far too much for my own good. Yes, I know its target audience is pre-teens. Yes, I know it's really cheesy. Sue me.)

The phenomenon to which Beth is refering:

At my job (the one at the Credit Union) I am apparently the expert on music. I guess it's just because I bring my 80GB Video iPod to work every day. Today one of my co-workers (who is, ironically, the ACTUAL technology expert at the Credit Union...like...it's his job--he's the tech guy) randomly walked into my office, leaned against my desk and stated, "Hey Kiera. I have a question that I think you can answer since you're the mp3 expert."

"I'm the mp3 expert?" I asked, slightly surprised.

"Well yeah," he answered with a shoulder shrug while another co-worker nodded. As I let that sink in, I started anticipating the type of question he might ask; I was thinking he was going to ask me about making files into the proper format for iTunes or something. Instead he surprised me again with this: "Okay. So I've got this Hawaiin song on my computer that we're going to play at the Luau tonight--it sounds JUST like this one other song that's really popular right now. It's driving me crazy because I can't place it. I think you'll probably know it though. You need to come listen to it."

So I followed him into his office and he brought up the music file. It was on some Hawaiin-esque CD for white people to use when they pretend to be Hawaiin at Luaus. The song he played me was a rendition of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" played on the ukulele. As it began I timidly asked, "Does it remind you of that one that's like, 'Well, you done done me in you bet I felt it...'?"

"YES!" He shouted joyfully, making me jump. "THAT'S THE SONG! WHAT SONG IS THAT? WHO SINGS IT?"

After marveling at the fact that he didn't know, I answered, "Oh it's Jason Mraz. 'I'm Yours.'"

"AHA!" he proclaimed while triumphantly pressing the pause button, "I KNEW you would know the answer. Thanks, Kiera."

It was at this point that I returned to my own office, laughing to myself, and did what any other normal person would in this situation--I inconspicuously tweeted from my cell phone at my desk. Tweet-worthy moments are the ones that I live for. Haha.

At another time I'll have to expound on other such instances, for there are many--I seem to be the expert on a wide variety of things at both my jobs because I'm alternately known as "the mp3 expert", "the YouTube expert", "the Twitter expert", "the movie expert", "the book expert", "the Harry Potter expert", and "the English expert", depending on what question someone needs answering. (RANDOM SIDENOTE 2: I just realized that "expert" is one of those words that looks like it's spelled wrong or sounds weird when you think about it too much/use it too many times in one sentence.)

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
heinous (adj.): outrageously evil.

Random TV Quote for Your Entertainment:
"George Michael, I'm going to be better about listening to what you're saying from now on; I'm not just going to hear what I want to hear, okay?"
"Okay, Dad...I love my cousin."
"I love you too, son."
--Michael Bluth in Season 3 of "Arrested Development"

My Great Dislike of Theme Parks

2009-06-23T15:06:00.000-07:00

I'm going to Lagoon (an amusement park in Farmington, Utah) with my family on Friday.

I have a shocking announcement to make: I do not like amusement/theme parks (althoughI'm sure I'll make an exception for the Harry Potter one when it opens).

Now, you may be thinking, "WHAT?! KIERA, ARE YOU INSANE?! YOU DO NOT LIKE THEME PARKS???!!!1!11?" Which is a valid question; I mean, how could one NOT like a theme park? What with all the rides expertly designed to twist your stomach into a pretzel, melt your brain into a giant vat of migraine, and give you a serious case of whiplash; the continual awkward sightings of wonderful, tattoo-covered, sketchy and unattractive-looking couples making out passionately in front of you in line for those rides; the over-priced food that tastes like straight grease; the tightly-wound workers who tell you that basically, you are not allowed to do anything except breath quietly and blink while on the rides; the water rides in which you get covered in the same "water" that's been poured all over other people in the park throughout the day, mixing with their sweat and possibly saliva, dripping back out of their filthy hair and the creases of their pants and their shoes; the bathrooms that seem to repel all forms of cleaner and are full of unflushed toilets... Honestly, when you consider all of these amazing benefits of a day in a theme park, it just makes you antsy to get to one doesn't it?

Hmm...that's strange: it sort of seems like everything I just mentioned is actually stuff that sucks about theme parks...interesting.

Seriously, I can list the things I like about going to amusement parks (in this case, Lagoon) on one hand:

1. Dippin' Dots, the most amazing ice cream-like dish in the world.

2. The Rocket, one of the few rides I can enjoy without feeling dag-nasty afterwards.

3. The cheesy Broadway entertainment.

4. How hilariously unrealistic the ride"Dracula's Castle" is and the fact that it used to scare me as a child. Lagoon's website describes this ride as, "a classic dark ride, carrying guests through darkened hallways, with apparitions and suprises around every corner." Mwahahahahaha. These apparitions look like paper mache and have been there since the dawn of time.

5. People watching. If you ever think your family is the only weird one in the world, you have only to go to an amusement park or county/state fair.

There you go. So needless to say, I am not super thrilled for Friday...I'd even go as far as to say I'd rather just go to work as usual and GET PAID to do something that I don't exactly find enthralling. Oh well, it's life I guess...plus the weird people that I sometimes suspect aren't people at all will make it an interesting day, to be sure. And I'll get to eat Dippin' Dots, which are worth all amounts of suffering.

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
globule (n.): a tiny drop of liquid.

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:
"Maria was married on Saturday. In all important preparations of mind she was complete, being prepared for matrimony by a hatred of home, by the misery of disappointed affection, and contempt of the man she was to marry. The bride was elegantly dressed and the two bridesmaids were duly inferior. Her mother stood with salts, expecting to be agitated, and her aunt tried to cry. Marriage is indeed a maneuvering business."
--Fanny Price in "Mansfield Park"

Random Collection of Thoughts

2009-06-15T16:04:00.000-07:00

Hey there, blog readers. Today's entry is--once again!--highly unplanned. To tell you the truth I'm mostly just writing it so that you guys will see my sweet new blog layout! I changed it for Summer, and I basically think it looks like happiness personified...blogified?...whatever.

In order for this to be a blog I suppose I must say some things now besides just that I admire my own blog layout, so here is a random collection of thoughts for the day:

I work both of my jobs on Mondays with one hour in between the two to quickly down a no-name brand SlimFast and run any necessary errands; today that one hour was very promising: I checked the mail to find an adorable package from EMILY! (aka Mango/Wednesday/emlove143) It was a really cute assortment of summer things (bubbles, frisbees, etc.) and a sweet note. <3>
And speaking of unpredictable--haha--I impulsively purchased some super exciting bright shades of nail polish today which will probably make me feel adventurous when I wear them, even if I'm just sitting at home reading a book.
And speaking of reading, I'm currently reading the second volume of Octavian Nothing which is taking me ages to get through but is a really good book. Historical fiction is enjoyable AND educational! Woohoo! It's really got me thinking about how far Civil Rights have come today and how badly it would suck to be a slave. I've come to appreciate freedom to a greater extent than before through reading this book; it's a gift just to be able to get to choose your own work and get paid for it...and yet we constantly find ourselves complaining about our jobs...silly spoiled modern day people! (including me.)
And speaking of silly modern day people, have you ever noticed how hilarious make-up tutorials are on YouTube? The girls who do them crack me up with their little mousy voices and technical terms that go on for what seems like forever, but is actually only about eight minutes. I don't mean to be rude to them--I'm sure they are very nice people and their videos are frequently put to good use by their viewers--but the video format that they all seem to prefer just cracks me up. Just once I want to see a girl make one that's only a couple minutes long and has a script like this: "Okay guys, so what you're going to do is grab one of these doo-hickies with the thing on the end, cover it in some of this crap, and stick it on your eyeball. [jump cut] Now put some of this gunk over it like this. [jump cut] Ta-da! Now you look like a rockstar! The end!" That would be awesome. Maybe I should make a faux-tutorial video like that for entertainment purposes...hmmm...*muses over the possibilities*

So there's your daily dose of random! YAY!

Also, question for the comments (which I have a legitimate reason for asking): What is the worst movie you've ever seen?

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day: (I swear I'm not making this word up)
frabjous (adj): splendid; fine. (And as an added tidbit of fun fact, this word was coined by Lewis Carroll. Yay! He's so frabjous...)

Random Movie (...er...TV) Quote for Your Entertainment:
"It's not a bad thing to want a real life, Will! And to have a glue gun that WORKS!!!"
--Terri Shewster in Glee

Woah...a blog post??!

2009-06-10T15:39:00.000-07:00

...seriously...what is this...like...APRIL?!

No, stupid. It's June. Duh. Has been for ten days. Sheesh. Why do you as such dumb questions?

Okay. I'm sorry, dear blog reader. You aren't stupid. You're really smart. But whoever the hypothetical question asker is must be pretty dumb, okay?!

Wow. This is a really weird blog already--can't wait to see what else is in store! (Even I don't know because I don't have anything planned; I just desperately felt like posting again since I haven't for the past month and a half.)

I've spent a little of my free time the past couple of days catching up on my favorite blogs (Maureen Johnson, hayleyghoover, and italktosnakes), and it's apparently lit the flame of blog writing again in my dear heart. I've kind of missed putting my thoughts down for random internet users to peruse, which sounds like it could be some weird mental disorder, but feels quite normal when it's actually happening to you. Sooooo, what to write about?

Love life? No such thing...hmmm

Scholarly pursuits? Nope.

My job? Not really...well...okay...sort of.

So, life at the writing lab lately...my friend Katie recently got hired as a tutor at my Writing Center, so we've been having a lot of fun on Tuesday nights when we work one overlapping hour (the golden hour from 6:30-7:30). Thus far we've spent said time showing each other entertaining things on the internet, having both philosophical and trivial conversations about books and our shared acquaintances, and suffering through a really bad student paper submitted to us online which may or may not have included a source by the name of--I kid you not!--Winkeljohn. How can I take a research paper seriously that keeps quoting Winkeljohn?!

So anyway, moving back to the subject at hand, the other day Katie and I were discussing our high school English classes and I made mention of a certain short story I wrote in my sophomore year (age 16-ish for you non-yanks) which featured Katie as one of the main characters. She didn't remember it, so I found a copy I had saved in my e-mail and we read it aloud together. It made for extremely enjoyable reading. In Katie's words it is "like a really weird mixture of...Twilight and...Agatha Christie." However, bear in mind that comparing my sorry attempt at a murder thriller to Agatha Christie is kind of like comparing a three-year-old plunking away on a piano to, like, say...Beethoven.

I will include an exerpt now for your amusement at my expense:

It was now that she truly wished that she didn’t live alone. She normally avoided relationships, feeling that she didn’t need a man to make her happy, but now she was very much in need of a strong and study husband to make her feel secure. Little did she know that the answer to her query was waiting on her front porch just about to ring the doorbell.

As the bell sounded, Thorpe began his usual barking to notify her that they had company.

“Shh! Thorpe, calm down…,” she consoled her dog, “It’s okay…” She swung the door open halfway and peered up at an amiable police officer, just older than she, standing up straight and tall, looking all business. “Um, Hello officer,” she greeted him, blushing a little and wishing she would have done something with her hair before answering the door. “Can I help you with something?”

“Actually Miss, you could. I’m from the Crime Scene Investigation Unit here in town. We have several sources that point straight to your residence as the hide out for an armed and very dangerous killer. May I please inspect your home? That is…if you don’t mind of course.” His voice was soothing, creamy. It had a certain quality to it that sounded cultured and gave him a proper tone that suggested a slight European accent. Something about the way he spoke made her like him the moment she met him, but no matter how kindhearted and smooth the words came out, they still stuck in her head and registered fear and coldness.

“Oh, of course I don’t mind! I would really prefer it if you took a look around, to tell you the truth.” She had a way of keeping her voice completely calm and under control even though on the inside she was completely shocked, panicky, and having a nervous breakdown.

He stepped inside and began his investigation. She noticed that even his stride was distinguished. Why on Earth did he become a police officer? He should be a lawyer or professor or leader of a big firm, she thought. What she didn’t know was that he wasn’t a police officer. He was playing a double role in coming here.

This chunk is a good example of what the entire story is like. It's completely ridiculous. Katie and I were excessively diverted by this crap-writing. If you were entertained by it even a tenth of the amount that we were I have fulfilled my purpose in this blog post. I'm glad that the paper I actually ended up turning in for this assignment was significantly better--and that my teacher encouraged me to go in a different direction and use a true story from my life instead.

It's funny how perspective changes; I remember writing this story and thinking it was dang good stuff. How very wrong I was! Now it's only purpose is to perpetually engage all those who read it, not on its merit as a chilling tale, but rather, its merit as poorly-written rubbish and its nostalgic value. But, as a wise man once said, "We never write as well as we think we do in high school!" (Winkeljohn)

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:

encapsulate (v): to make concise; condense.

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:

"You can't just ask someone why they're white!"

--Gretchen Weiners in Mean Girls

My Wrath is Swift and Terrible

2009-04-30T15:23:00.000-07:00

I didn't know what to write about today, and I wanted to do something special for the last day of BEDA...I've decided (since I don't have a whole lot of time left today in which to blog--this is because I've been so busy today; I had Doctor Who to watch!) to take one of Maureen Johnson's suggestions on what to blog about on this last day as we run out of ideas. I'm choosing option 5 (I think?) which was to write an angry complaint letter to something in your life that hasn't been working properly and tell it off.

Here goes. I am now flexing my flamer muscles in my fingers. You do not want to be on the receiving end of my Wrath.

Dear Old Computer,

Remember back in the good old days when you fooled me into thinking you were awesome? We used to have fun together; I would sit in front of you and we'd play games: minesweeper, jezzball, solitaire, you name it. We were pretty good buddies, you and I. Back then you were dependable. You were always there for me.

But then you changed.

You became distant. You began shutting me out (of programs, of the internet, of you life). And who could forget that time you mysteriously lost and then deleted EVERY FILE IN MY VERY EXTENSIVE ITUNES LIBRARY?!!!! I don't believe I can ever forgive you for that. And then there was that last week we were together when you got even worse. You stopped working altogether; you completely crashed and left me all alone.

I'm not writing you this letter to get an apology. (You're too proud for that...and also...um...I'm not sure it's within your computer-y capabilities to respond to this in any way that I could comprehend because you are a TOOL. That's it. You're nothing without a person controlling you. You are worthless!!!) I'm just writing to tell you that I've moved on. You no longer have any effect over my life; I'm through being stung by your thoughtlessness and disregard for my every happiness.

Yes. There's someone else: a shiny, new model that is more than I could ever have hoped for--better than YOU ever were. And we're happy together.

So you can think of that as you rot in your fragmented brokeness, the pieces of your shattered moniter mingling with the pieces of your shattered hard drive and the pieces of your shattered soul. And you know how shattered souls never work out, right? You saw how well that turned out for Tom Riddle. And in this situation, you are the Tom Riddle. I am the Harry Potter. I have risen victorious, and there's nothing you can do to change that.

I hope the remainder of your life is miserable and full of crap.

Sincerely,

Kiera

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
vengeance (n): the return of an injury for an injury, as in retribution or revenge

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:
"Gee, I'm really sorry your mom blew up, Ricky. The doctor said she'd be okay, though; she'll just have to stay away from spicy foods for a while."
-Lane Meyer in Better Off Dead

Attempting To Not Appear Insane

2009-04-29T11:14:00.000-07:00

Seriously, it's harder than it sounds. (That's what she said.) (NO! We are not going into Michael Scott jokes. NOOOOO!)

Okay. I'm forcing myself out of that mode. So do you guys ever have those moments when you are in a public-ish place* and you laugh about something that only you are being entertained by and whoever can hear you thinks you're crazy? That happens to me ALL the TIME. Here are the situations in which it happens most often:

1. When I'm sitting at a computer with headphones in, generally watching YouTube videos.
2. When I'm reading a book.
3. When I'm listening to my iPod.
4. When I'm at some large gathering such as church, high school choir concerts, or a lecture.

In that last instance it's usually because I'm remembering something funny that happened earlier that day; it's always at an inappropriate moment, like when someone else is speaking about something really serious--I just remember something comical and can't help laughing and then I get dirty looks from everyone who thinks I'm making fun of the speaker.

Multiple times this has happened when my family sits down to dinner and someone is saying the prayer on the food. The funny thought comes back to me and just...Oh dear.

So here's what brought this on: I was catching up on my YouTube subscriptions on my work computer at the writing lab because I didn't have any students today, when I came across this video:

I don't even remember if it was THAT funny, but I was just in one of those moods and I started cracking up. I literally had to clamp my hand over my mouth and nose to stop myself from sounding like a lunatic because I had headphones in and there were a bunch of math tutoring people in the room with me. They could probably still here my stifled giggle fit even with my muffling precautions AND the fact that I was pausing the video every few seconds so that it wouldn't keep being funny at me! Wow; I sure do sound like an insane person.

So there's your daily dose of Kiera looking insane! Let me know in the comments if this happens to you, too.

*public-ish place: any place where there is at least one other person within fifteen feet of you

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
maniacal (adj): wildly/violently insane

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:
"Mental, that one, I'm tellin' ya."
-Ronald Weasley in Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone

Adventures From My Youth

2009-04-28T16:20:00.000-07:00

Nothing life-changing has occurred today, so I shall regail you all with stories about my childhood.

First of all, my best friend's name was Erica. And we're still friends to this day, see?:

(Also, hello to Erica if you're reading this since I know you occasionally get on and read my blogs!)

Okay, so before I get off topic, distracted by the shiny happy picture specialness and shout-outs to friends, I will go on with my story.

When Erica and I were little, we got into all sorts of trouble; we just liked to call them adventures, though. You may remember my mention of selling hot-dogs from door to door as a five year old with a friend in my "Remember That Time" blog. That friend was most definitely Erica. To elaborate on the story, this is basically what happened:

1. Erica and I, as curious and ambitious five year olds, overhear her mom talking to some other grown up lady and she says, "I know. Hot dogs are getting SO expensive."
2. Erica turns to me, as she always does when she gets brilliant ideas, and says, "We could make a killing selling hot-dogs to people!"
3. We, being little kids, automatically decide that hot-dogs would be much more valuable if they were already microwaved, cut up, and ketchup-ed, and so prepare the hot-dogs.
4. We set out with a plate of ketchup-y hot-dog slices and attempt to sell them to her unsuspecting neighbors at an astronomically high price for what they're paying for. (Something like twenty dollars PER SLICE if I recall correctly.)
5. Mrs. Across-The-Street phones up Erica's mom to tell her what's going on and our entire business scheme is ruined.
Ah. Such good business people we made. I look back on that time as one of the happiest and most successful in my life; I wish I had that kind of stamina now to get things done at such a high rate of speed. Like, can you imagine how exciting my essays would be and how effectively they'd get written if I was still that innovative? It would be like BAM idea BAM write BAM perfect finished paper.

Erica and I also started several clubs which convened in her tool shed. We were surrounded by random gardening tools and assortments of various fruits and vegetables in jars as we pretended to discuss important items while jotting down notes in our colored, paper folders. The club evolved a few times over the years: sometimes we were "The Mystery Club"; other times "The Spy Club"; I believe our club culminated in the completely ingenious, masterly-thought-out, imaginatively and aptly named "Fun Club". And I'm not even kidding when I say I'm PRETTY sure our motto was "Fun Fun Fun". How creative. But good times were had by all in that "clubhouse".

Too bad we don't all have the attitude of children anymore...this world would be freakin' amazing if we all still had such child-like ideas and beliefs that we could easily make any of them happen in a second. Don't get me wrong, I'd still want everyone to have the intelligence and experience of an adult, just with that perfectly confident feeling of a child. We'd all do so much more stuff that we wanted to do without being so synical and discouraged about what is and is not "possible". When you're a kid, the word "impossible" is kind of impossible...it just doesn't really exist for you at all.

Wow. I really just started writing this blog post to share some funny childhood stories, but it's made me wax nostalgic and reflective; who'da thunk?

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
pristine (adj): characteristic of the earliest period; unspoiled

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:
"If you were my kids, I'd PUNISH you."
"If we were your kids, we'd punish ourselves."
-Stimey in "Little Rascals"

My Life's Soundtrack

2009-04-27T16:52:00.000-07:00

Hey there, blog readers.

Today's post is inspired by my little sister's school assignment: she was challenged to come up with a playlist of ten songs that describe her/her life in some way. I thought it sounded like an interesting and fun assignment, so I'm going to do that myself and share it with you. ( I tried to limit down the number of songs as much as possible, but once I got to this point I couldn't narrow it any further, so here are my eighteen songs.)

1. "Across the Universe" by The Beatles. Because this song speaks so much to the writer in me.
2. "The Call" by Regina Spektor. Because everything that starts small can turn into something so much bigger and memories are precious; they should not be forgotten merely because those you share them with aren't around or because nobody around you understands them.
3. "Some Things Are Meant To Be" from "Little Women". Because some parts of our lives are meant to be happy, some sad, some in between, and some difficult. We have to accept all of them together.
4. "Lessons Learned" by Carrie Underwood. Because every mistake is worthwhile if we learn from it.
5. "In My Life" by The Beatles. Because I look back on a lot of things with fond memories and "in my life I've loved them all."
6. "Music Box" by Regina Spektor. Because I hate the conventions that society forces upon us, and sometimes I long to break free and "sing another melody completely".
7. "My Life" by Billy Joel. Because it drives me nuts when people with no authority over the choices I make try to tell me what to do with my life.
8. "La La Land" by Demi Lovato. Because I believe we should all live the way we want--be able to stay down to earth and not be too concerned with what the rest of the world thinks of us.
9. "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield. Because "sometimes my tries are outside the lines". I don't always want to be like everyone else.
10. "Over You" by Daughtry. Because this is EXACTLY how I feel about guys when I get over liking them. Kind of a "What was I thinking? What did I see in you?" syndrome.
11. "Fairytale" by Sara Bareilles. Because life doesn't end at marriage--after the "happily ever after" there are still hard times. There are always things that need to be worked out. Also, it's kind of a "Be careful what you wish for" song, and I love that theme.
12. "One Fine Day" by The Chiffons. Because this what goes on in my head when I like a guy who doesn't know I exist.
13. "Fidelity" by Regina Spektor. Because when it comes to love, I'm kind of a coward; I'm scared of getting hurt so I don't take the leap.
14. "I'll Be Seeing You" by Linda Eder. Because it's a gorgeous rendition of a gorgeous song, and it perfectly describes my feelings whenever someone I love is away and I miss them.
15. "Like A Song" by Lenka. Because certain people who make impressions on me/are influential in my life stick in my head "just like a song".
16. "Enchantment Passing Through" from "Aida". Because sometimes I dream of all the possibilities out there that I have yet to explore and I imagine experiencing them.
17. "The Spark of Creation" from "Children of Eden". Because I'm a curious creature, don'tcha know?
18. "Just Around the Riverbend" from "Pocahontas". Because I love the way there are constant changes in the world, and I need to remember that change isn't always a scary thing.

So there you have it. What are some of your songs that describe you or your life?

P.S. Also, thanks go to Sean (livin4hymn) for his blog which reminded me I wanted to compose this list.

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
subvert (v): to destroy completely; to ruin

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:
"Life continues a quick succession of busy nothings."
-Fanny Price in "Mansfield Park"

Picnics Are Where It's At

2009-04-26T17:21:00.000-07:00

I've had a fantastic day today!

After church, my friends and I threw together a little picnic; We went to Joelle's house (which is a PERFECT picnic location since she has a lot of property surrounded by trees) and wandered to this lovely little patch away from her house that we like to call "The Secret Garden". The reason behind the title is pretty self-explanatory, so I'll not sport with your intelligence with a lengthy explanation; it's simply a quite, solitary meadow-ish thing that you can't see from the road or her house itself and it's full of grape hyacinths, daffodils, and red tulips. It's what Lady Catherine DeBourghe of Pride and Prejudice would call "A pretty-ish kind of little wilderness on one side of the house." I love it there! And the weather was splendid. Here are some pictures!

It was a lot of fun to hang out with my friends and just have a perfect, relaxing Sunday together. Once it started to get windy we went inside and talked for a while and THEN I got to hold a super cute baby lamb! See!!
It was the smallest of triplets, so Joelle's family--who live on a farm--have been taking care of it and bottle feeding it; apparently sheep mamas can't really handle more than two babies at once, but they occasionally have triplets.

YAY! So it's been a really great day. Sometimes outside can be fun!! XD

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
volitant (adj): flying or capable of flying

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:
"Everything in this meadow is eatable. Even I am eatable. But that would be cannibalism, my dear children, which is, in fact, frowned upon in most societies."
--Willy Wonka in "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory"

Death

2009-04-25T12:05:00.001-07:00

Something extremely strange happened...So, remember a few days back when I posted that blog on "chesterly fellows"? I know I do. And remember how there was that guy that came into the writing lab that day who INSPIRED that blog? Well...he died.

That isn't a joke--I wouldn't just randomly kid about that kind of thing; I'm completely serious. I woke up this morning and my dad yelled to me, "Kiera! Hey, do you know..." I was waiting to hear the name and thinking, Of course I'm not going to know this person, because, you see, my dad is a Newspaper junkie and any time there's a person close to my age that lives in our area in the local paper--whether it be a person on the sports page, marriage announcements, arrests, or the obits--he asks me if I know them. I NEVER do. So I was surprised when he said the name and I recognized it.

"Yeah, I do know [insert name here]. Why?"

"Well, it says that he went to [my school]. He died this week."

So basically, I'm writing this blog in a state of surreal shock. (Not the shock that I'd feel if it had been someone I knew well and loved, but a shock associated with the death of a human being that I've spoken with in the past week nonetheless.) And possibly some guilt. I mean, I wrote a rather mean blog entry about him (not that it wasn't true, but still!) and then he up and dies the same week. It sort of makes me feel like a bad person or something.

This whole occurrence just got me thinking about death and how strange it is. Every time I find out someone I know, however casually, has died, my thoughts about life and how precious it is really float up to the surface. It's just such a strange thought that anyone at any time can just cease to exist here on earth. (I myself am Christian and believe in an afterlife, so I don't think people just completely end, but it's still strange to think that in an instant we just leave the only kind of life that we have known/remembered.) It's just a really hard concept for me to wrap my head around.

Generally these thoughts also lead to me evaluating the type of life I've led thus far; I think of things I've accomplished and things I've never tried; of people I've really gotten to know and some that I've not even begun to understand; of books I've read and things I've done and things I've wasted time on; It just puts everything into an infinitely larger perspective for me: that I should live my life being the best person I can be because in a moment all of my plans for the future--all that is ME in that particular instant--could vanish.

I know this is a somewhat morbid/dreary post, but it's what's on my mind and I'd feel really superficial writing about anything else today. Sorry that it's not funny; it's not entertaining; it's just true--it's just life. Death and life are so closely knit, even though we think of them as opposing entities. They walk hand-in-hand throughout history, the world, and everything we know.

And yet, it's good for us to forget about death most of the time; to just live our lives as we do. If we're always focused on Death we forget to Live, and if we never think about Death we forget to Live the way we should. I guess that's just one paradox of many that govern our existence.

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
memento mori (n): a remider of death or mortality

Random Movie Quote for Your Enlightenment:
"You've been given a great gift, George: A chance to see what the world would be like without you. [...] You see George, you've really had a wonderful life. Don't you see what a mistake it would be to just throw it away?"
-Clarence in "It's a Wonderful Life!"

Are You Kidding?

2009-04-24T08:45:00.001-07:00

Seriously? I have to write a blog today? I don't wanna....but I will because I am committed to this project. Boo ya.

This is going to be SUPER short today because I have to go to work in about a half an hour and as soon as I get home I'm heading to a little party at my friend Erica's house. I'm sure I'll get home too late to use the computer, so this is really the only time I have. Anti-Squee. (Not about hanging out with my friends, but about being at work all day.)

Today's blog is just a random fact about me that you may not have known before:
I am a connoisseur of movie quotes. I love quoting them in my everyday conversation, despite the fact that most of the time no one catches the quote; they just think I'm being particularly strange. It's great though.

I just had a great idea: I'm going to include one of my favorite random movie quotes at the end of every blog now along with my under-appreciated vocabulary word.

Hopefully I'll have time to write up a proper blog tomorrow.

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
oneiric (adj): of or pertaining to dreams

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:
"Do you know who I ABSOLUTELY adore; who I just want to...wrap up and put in my pocket?!"
--Mrs. Elton in "Emma"

The Timelord Beckons!

2009-04-23T15:13:00.000-07:00

As many of you know from my Twitter and DailyBooth (I don't THINK I've mentioned it yet on here...), I've recently begun to partake in Dr. Who. Yes. I now actually understand what people are talking about when they mention the show instead of just going, "Dr. ...Who?"

And the verdict is........

(insert drum-roll here)

I'm completely hooked!! E-gads. It's like a frackin' disease or something! I can't stop watching it! I'm really close to finishing Season One right now, and I'm not entirely sure I'm ready to lose Christopher Eccleston as The Doctor. I love him! And I know everyone's become pretty much obsessed with David Tennant and such, but I don't feel ready for a new actor yet! Not to mention I adore Rose as well, and I know there's a new assistant coming....Wah!

Anyway, the point is, Dr. Who is now definitely in my list of favorite shows. (Currently this list consists of Bones, The Office, and 30 Rock. And now Dr. Who.) And it takes quite a bit for a show to be added to that list. I have standards! ;)

Sorry if you don't like Dr. Who, and I've bored you with my enthusiasm for it, but it's what I'm thinking about at the moment. Plus, I couldn't think of any good topics to blog about today.

This post is short because, frankly, The Tardis is calling me and I'd rather return to the doctor than continue typing this blog.

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
iconoclast (n): one who attacks widely accepted ideas, beliefs, etc.

Chesterly Fellow Colonies

2009-04-22T12:18:00.000-07:00

There are many different types of human beings; whether in looks, behaviors, or internal processes there are thousands of variations....but what I want to know is are we really sure all of them are human? Seriously? Because I for one have noticed one category that seems to differ far too much from the conventions of your average human. This group is what I like to call "The Creepos" and my friend's little brother likes to call "The Chesterly Fellows".*

Chesterly Fellows, or Creepos, are basically just those people (if they ARE people!) who have a certain aura about them that gives one the heeby-jeebies. They can be either goodlooking or badlooking--it's their demeanor, facial expressions, and "vibe" that determine the creepiness factor, not their outward appearance alone. I had one such person use the writing lab today.

He's come in before and makes me feel really ansty. Most of the time I love my job, but every once in a while I really regret that I have to be ALONE with any student who comes in and have a private tutoring meeting with them. This particular guy has NO idea how to use the writing lab and seems to have this idea in his head that these are the appropriate steps:

1. Walk into the lab unannounced.
2. Look at me in a very creepy way while I greet him.
3. Pull out his laptop and skoot as close to me as possible.
4. Tell me he doesn't know how to do his assignment.
5. Have me read through his paper, which is full of awkward and vulgar references.
6. Try to get me to tell him what the common theme is in a bunch of nude pictures he's supposed to analyze for an Art Essay. (Pictures of his own choosing, by the way.)
7. Generally not say much throughout the entire session, while never forgetting to laugh creepily after everything I say.
8. Not recognize when I'm concluding the tutoring session and sit there in creepy silence for a few minutes after we've finished.

Needless to say, I am very glad that's over, and that it's the end of the semester; hopefully he'll forget that the writing lab is here in his future English classes. Sigh.

I think there should be a special, separated living quarter for these Chesterly Fellows. (Maybe the mothership?) We would be free of their chill-inducing presence, and they would get to spend plenty of time in each other's company--completely oblivious to one another's creepy-ness. It would be a happy arrangement for all involved, I believe. They could just live in their own little Chesterly Fellow Colonies, which would be located somewhere near the Evil Baby Orphanage.

OH! Brain Crack is a-coming!! There could be a Chesterly Fellow Baby Orphanage so we could get them out of this creepy-ness as youngsters! That's a better plan than the colonies probably....but the colonies should be in place until we have the time-travelling tecnology to make this thing work. The colonies could also be helpful afterword for anyone who slips through the cracks of the system and isn't recruited to the CFBO while still young and impressionable.

*Though there is no precise definition of a chesterly fellow, here are some pictures that you can refer to in order to soak in the general concept:

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
inveigle (v): to entice or trick into doing or giving something

NEWSFLASH! NEWSFLASH! NEWSFLASH!

2009-04-21T13:01:00.000-07:00

This just in: I am now an even bigger English nerd than I once was.

About a week ago I checked out this book at my local library; it's called How Fiction Works by James Wood. It's REALLY nerdy. Like, it could easily be used as a text book for a Literary Analysis class. And I'm reading it for fun. During my semester away from school. You may think this sounds crazy, but I actually find it very interesting to read some critic (who, like all critics, thinks his opinion on EVERYTHING is the only correct one...ha ha ha....I mock their narcissism) ranting and raving on which elements work well in fiction/narratives and which ones don't.

Thus far I've been reading his thoughts on which perspective of narration is the superior-est one. He likes what he calls "free indirect style", which is basically third person narration with a really close tie to the main character--sometimes the reader can't tell if a descriptive word in the narration is the author's word or his character's. I thought immediately, of course, of Harry Potter because that's the type of narration J.K. Rowling uses.

Now, you all know that I adore Harry Potter, so don't take this the wrong way, but...seriously? James Wood thinks that he's special enough to declare which type of narration is "best"? Say what? I think various perspectives are excellent in literature! Which one is "best" is entirely dependent upon the author's intentions! That's like a person approaching you and saying, "Here. Look at these outfits and tell me which one is the best." The person then reveals a diving suit, an evening gown, a police uniform, a t-shirt and jeans, and an astronaut uniform. You can't choose one that is "best". You don't know for what occasion you are picking the outfit!!

For instance, I think that Wood's "free indirect style" is a good one, and I've seen it used very effectively in lots of different literature, but every style has it's place. I, for one, am a big fan of first person narration because as readers we get extremely close to the character; the tone is generally much more conversational. Wood dislikes this form of narrative in most cases (with a few exceptions, including that of Jane Eyre) because of its unreliability--we can't ever be sure we are being told the real story all the time because the character's judgment is skewed and biased; I think there's something to be said about this skewed bias--it too has its merits! Sure, we may not be given an accurate account of events, but we are seeing the events as told by an involved character, which is an entirely different story on its own. Imagine reading Looking for Alaska from the perspective of a third-party narrator. Or even in first person, but from...say...The Colonel's perspective....or The Eagle's. It would become a completely altered book!

To be fair, Wood doesn't actually claim "free indirect style is the best", but he beats you over the head with how amazing he thinks it is, barely even mentioning the other forms of narrative at all: I'm to page 77 and so far he's included one paragraph about each of the alternative perspectives; the remainder of those 77 pages is absolutely devoted to free indirect style. He is a man obsessed, I think. He's spent way too much time focusing only on literary criticism instead of enjoying the literature for what it is every once in a while.

I'm just glad that I'm reading this book using my handy-dandy critical thinking skills and not just blindly accepting everything this guy has to say. Sorry if I bored you with my English-ness!

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
myrmidon (n): an unquestioning follower

P.S. Share your literary opinions in the comments if you have stuff to add to this/weren't scared off by my outburst.

Hey, Remember That Time....

2009-04-20T17:23:00.001-07:00

Today's post is going to be short because 1. Maureen Johnson gave everyone the day off, which I'm not accepting since I joined Blog Every Day April late anyway and 2. My little sister, Mariah, is waiting for me to do this so we can watch our free RedBox movies together.

This blog topic was inspired by a Regina Spektor song ("That Time") that I listened to on my iPod today at work. (I love Regina Spektor; she's awesome!) The song is basically a collection of random reminiscences--each line beginning with, "Hey, remember that time when...." (Examples from the song: Hey, remember that time when all I would read was shakespeare? Hey, remember that time when all I would read was the back of cereal boxes? Hey, remember that time when all I would eat was boxes of tangerines?) So basically, I'm just going to list some random bits of my life in that form, even though none of you guys will remember any of those times. Sound good? No? Too bad. That's what I'm doing.

Hey, remember that time when I....

fell down two flights of stairs in front of all my peers?
went door-to-door with my best-friend selling microwaved, ketchup-ed slices of hotdogs for twenty bucks when I was five?
stayed up ALL night reading the seventh Harry Potter book and had it read before it had been out for a full twenty-four hours?
really, really enjoyed the song, "Tell Me What You Want" by the Spice Girls?
was terrified by a deranged, drunk, homeless man in the London Underground who looked EXACTLY like how I picture Mundungus Fletcher in the Harry Potter books?
joined YouTube just so I could subscribe to vlogbrothers and the two 5AG channels, and then ended up making my own videos and joining a collab channel?
watched The Little Mermaid and Beauty & the Beast EVERY DAY?
took gymnastics as a child and sprained my ankle on parents night?
almost beat my dad at chess?
was driving to my first ever figure skating class and was late because I passed the rink and went through two other cities before noticing I wasn't in the right place any more?
took piano lessons for two years and then quit because I hated practicing and then proceeded to love playing the piano later in life for relaxation?
listened to nothing but Frank Sinatra for several weeks?
listened to nothing but The Beatles for several weeks?
first realized I was in love with everything Jane Austen?
became obsessed with the "CRAZY CORES!" flavored Skittles? And was super upset that I couldn't find them in the big bags? (Oh wait that was today.)
wrote a blog about random things I remember from my past? (That, too.)

That's all I'm going to write about now. Feel free to leave your own "Remember that time when I"s in the comments or on your own blogs!

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
frolicsome (adj): full of high-spirited fun; playful

Harry Potter Bliss and What Makes for Good Literature

2009-04-19T16:09:00.000-07:00

Well, my punishment blog is completed, so now it's time for my regular post for the day (I'll keep it short for your convenience).

Yesterday I spent the majority of my time finishing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I've been re-reading it for the past two weeks and haven't been covering very many pages per day, but yesterday....holy crap. I just couldn't put it down once I was to the point where SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER Harry gets caught by Fenrir Greyback and is taken to Malfoy Manor. I ended up finishing the whole book. I think it's a mark of a truly well-written book when you've read it multiple times and can map out in your mind exactly what's going to happen in the upcoming chapters but you STILL just have to keep reading. Jo Rowling (I love her so much that I can't just call her the unfriendly "J.K."!) is such a fabulous writer. The way she's crafted all seven books just...Ah...and particularly SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER the end-ish chapters of book seven from the point where Snape dies to the point where Harry defeats Voldemort...words don't even express how brilliant she is. Re-reading this book has also helped to revitalize my love for Snape's character. Sigh.

Sorry, non-HP types if this bores you, but it's a big part of ME.

Today I've been watching some more Dr. Who online, which I'm just starting to get into. I started at the beginning and am now four episodes into the first season. I just wanted to check it out to see what all the hype was about, and I wasn't disappointed. I'm hooked.

That's all for now. Hopefully this post wasn't too crap-tastic, but I don't feel too bad since I already posted one of my date stories today.

No under-appreciated vocabulary word since I posted one earlier today.

Random Question for everyone:
What do you guys think makes for a brilliantly written book? There are so many different definitions that work, and I'd love to hear yours!

Mine: When you can re-read a book over and over and still be surprised and engaged in it; you can still find new themes and underlying meanings. You find yourself in its characters and still catch yourself getting teary eyed/emotional by passages that you've already met before.

Dates, Dates, Dates

2009-04-19T13:22:00.001-07:00

....and I'm not talking about the ones you eat. (Unless you are a vampire or a zombie, in which case you might eat this kind of date as well...)

It seems you commenters have reached a consensus: you want my bad date stories. (And, oh boy, do I ever have a PLETHORA of those.) Sooooo.....where to start? Perhaps the beginning; that's always a good place.

My first (real) date:

It was my sophomore year of high school. One of my guy friends from school, we'll call him "Brad", called me up at the beginning of the week. The phone call was a little awkward, and I wondered why he sounded so nervous. We didn't talk a whole lot at school generally--we were mostly just friendly acquaintances--but he seemed more jumpy than usual.

At one point in our very short conversation he said something like this:

"So, I was wondering. Um...Tom and I were planning this thing...we want to get a bunch of people to go see Spiderman 2 on Friday...would you wanna go?"

So that doesn't sound like a date right? It sounds like "a bunch of people" going to see a movie together.

"Sure!" I said, "I've been wanting to see that; sounds fun. What time?"

"Well, it starts at seven so..."

Then the conversation was awkwardly ended.

So Friday rolls around, and at about 6:45 after hurriedly getting ready for a casual movie with my friends, I leave the house, my parents' crappy ford windstar in tow. I get to the theater, buy my ticket, and wait for about ten minutes for the "bunch of people" to get there.

I began to wonder where they were as time ticked closer and closer to 7:00.

"Kiera!" I looked up at the sound of my name. The voice surprised me because it was one I recognized, but CERTAINLY not one I was expecting.

"Mom?" I was completely flaberghasted. Mom looked like she had something important to tell me; her hands grasping around as if that would help her figure out what to say next.

"Kiera, Brad came over to the house to pick you up for a date! Why are you here already?!"

And so, I ended up selling my ticket back to the theater (after my mom embarrassingly explained the whole situation to the woman at the register) and meeting my "date" in the lobby. My mom and dad had both come in the car so that my mom could drive the van home, allowing me to ride with my date and our group in their car for the remainder of the evening.

The worst part was going back through the ticket line, Brad paying for my ticket this time, and enduring the cash register lady's extremely obvious amusement. Brad noticed it, too, but had no idea why she was so entertained. She leaned forward and said something to the effect of, "Oh, it's nothing. I just know this girl's mom, and I've seen her coming into this theater since she was little. It's just so cute to see her growing up and on a date!" I'm SO glad she said that. It DEFINITELY improved this situation and didn't make it more HUMILIATING at ALL.

The rest of the "date" was fine, but the entire time I was inwardly agonizing about how dumb the beginning had been; to this day I still wonder if I just missed something in the phone conversation that should have tipped me off that the movie invite was a date and not a hang-out, but I've never been able to discover it.

I was going to share more than one "bad date" story, but I'm pretty sure this post will end up ridiculously lengthy if I do, so I'll end it here.

This has been Bad Date Story Hour with Kiera. Tune in next time for more exciting tales of woe.

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
anadipsia (n): an incredible desire to drink any kind of liquid

I Must Not FAIL!

2009-04-18T16:35:00.001-07:00

Every once in a while when I have an online project going on, there's this little thing called "real life" that tends to get in the way. I am referring, of course, to the fact that I did not post anything for BEDA yesterday even though it was only like....the fourth day of me doing it. Oops.

I'll tell you what I was doing, though:

Yesterday I was working at one of my part-time jobs (the one where I scan loans all day at a Credit Union, not the English Tutor one) for virtually the entire day. As soon as I got home I warmed up my voice a bit and rushed over to a local university graduation ceremony at which I sang the national anthem. It was rather scary; I got much more nervous than I usually do when faced with the prospect of singing in front of others. I mean, "The Star-Spangled Banner" can be pretty daunting. Fear not, though, it went rather well.

As soon as I finished up at the graduation I hung out with one of my friends; we ATTEMPTED to watch a John Wayne movie with her male cousin and friend. It took us about an hour just to pick a movie that all of us were willing to try, and though I'm not a real fan of old western movies or John Wayne, I was all for watching this movie because I was sick of the boys picking a movie that we didn't want to watch and us picking a movie that they didn't want to watch. Turns out this movie wasn't even a Western. Mr. Wayne was a pilot in this show. And it was REALLY boring. I NEVER fall asleep in movies, and I could NOT keep my eyes open. Oh man.

Anyway, to make a long story short (or at least LESS LONG), I didn't get home until it was quite late and my family was already in bed so I couldn't use the computer. Basically, sorry I failed BEDA as far as yesterday goes. BUT---I will make it up!!!

Here's the deal, leave me comments requesting a specific type of story from my life that will be sort of a punishment for me to share with you. Think bad date stories, embarrassing moments, silly recurring nightmares, whatever you want. I will post said request either tonight or tomorrow in addition to the post for that day.

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
roorback (n): an ugly rumor used in politics against an opponent

P.S. Random thought: Have you guys noticed how generally at big national events the person who sings the national anthem gets so into "jazzing" it up that the song hardly has the same melody any more? That so drives me crazy.

My Dark Past of Unavoidable Injuries

2009-04-16T17:03:00.000-07:00

I don't really have much to blog about because my day has been made up of only work, thus I shall entertain you with unlikely (but very true) stories from my dark past.*

To begin with, there are a couple of things you should know about me:

I am an extreme wimp, which is sort of like being an extreme daredevil only it's much more dangerous.
As a youngster I was very active and did all sorts of dangerous things but NEVER got hurt severely.
Nowadays I spend most of my time doing perfectly safe INDOOR things.

Taking all of these points into consideration, reader, you might assume that I don't get injured very seriously or very often; unfortunately your assumption would be incorrect. Being an extreme wimp, I attempt to avoid situations in which I'm likely to hurt myself; consequently I tend to attract injuries in a variety of other ways that, on the surface, are extremely safe--almost to the point of boredom.

I've paid several visits to the emergency room suffering injuries from activities that you would not think capable of injuring a person badly enough to go there. I would not be lying if I were to tell you I've received stitches twice: the first time was due to sitting on an immobile skateboard in my own driveway; the second was the result of a pumpkin carving gone horribly wrong. I also once sliced open the back of my hand during a read-a-thon in my sixth grade English class. Another time I sprained my right ankle doing a cartwheel on the grass at a church next to my friend's house. Yeah. A cartwheel.

Every scar I have has its own ridiculously domestic story behind it. In fact, now that I think about it, I don't have a single mark on my body with a heroic tale of bravery or adventure tied to it. Sometimes when people ask me how I hurt myself when the injury is still fresh and noticeable I'm very tempted to just make something up so that I'll feel less silly....Picture this conversation between myself and an acquaintance of mine:

ACQUAINTANCE: Oh! Kiera! (noticing a HUGE bloody looking gash on the back of my hand) What did you do? That looks so painful!
ME: (thinking, "Oh great. She thinks that I punched through a window in a fire-y building to rescue a baby or something....Maybe I should just say that's what I did....) Um....(trying to think of something believable but not as embarrassing as the truth...)...well...I....uh....(finally feeling resigned--pwned by inability to lie)...You see there was this read-a-thon.
ACQUAINTANCE: ....?

And that's when I lose all the sympathy that my audience felt for me. Alas, that is how my injuries always are.

The moral of the story here is, of course, to do lots of dangerous stunt-like things because you will not get hurt--and if you do, face it: you'll have a heck of a better story than, "Well...you see, there was this read-a-thon." And anyway, if you attempt to avoid catastrophe, it will only seek you out. And now I'm off to go bungi-jumping, I guess.

* I do not actually have a "dark past", but I felt it was a good descriptive to keep my readers interested. Did it work?

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
ubiquitous (adj): seemingly present everywhere at the same time

Punctuation; It's important!

2009-04-15T13:26:00.000-07:00

I'm interrupting your regularly scheduled program to inform you that
1. My brain was just turned to mush by the brilliance that is John Green.
2. I'm sick of the snow.
3. Much of a sentence's meaning is dependent upon punctuation.

I don't really want to go into a deep post in response to John Green's, but just know that some of his topics blow me away and put me into a zombie-like state wherein I'm completely non-responsive to my surroundings. His blog can be found here. Go become a deep-thinking zombie.

On a completely unrelated note, It snowed today. It's April, for crying outloud!

Dear Weather,
Please limit yourself for at least the next sixth months to light rainfall, thunderstorms, sunshine, partly cloudy with a light breeze, and fair. This is non-negotiable. Your full cooperation would be very much appreciated by many people, including myself. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.
Hoping you are well,
Kiera
P.S. You don't even want to know what the hard way is.

Moving on from the weather to the truly important matters in life, let's talk about punctuation really quickly, shall we? I'm an English nerd. I adore learning about punctuation and grammar: all that technical crap that makes most students hate the English language and learning more about it. To me, English is an intricate dance between our thoughts, our words, and the symbols that some person scribbled onto primitive parchment, declaring, "These are letters!" But I'll stop myself before I start boring you with my geeky fascination with the written word--my purpose here, of course, is to bore you with my geeky fascination with punctuation which supplements the written word.

As an English tutor, I'm frequently lambasted by punctuation crises. Seldom do I read over a university student's paper and find myself completely satisfied with the way it has been punctuated. Today I found a particularly humorous situation that I would like to share with you:

I was reading over a paper submitted to me through my writing center's online tutoring program when I spotted this sentence: "Students will be mailed along with their test results positive incentives." I believe what the writer was trying to say here was that test results and positive incentives would be sent through the mail to the students; however, she has neglected some very crucial punctuation, causing this sentence to sound as though the students would, in fact, be physically stuffed into the envelopes and placed in very large and accommodating P.O. Boxes. Chortle. All that is needed to clarify the meaning here are two strategically placed commas so that the sentence reads, "Students will be mailed, along with their test results, positive incentives." We'll ignore the fact that this sentence would be made better still if worded, "Along with test results, students will be sent positive incentives."

And so we see that punctuation really IS important; all those dusty English teachers really weren't lying to us.

In conclusion, I'd just like to add that I will be mailed along with birthday presents chocolate cake.

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
ramshackle (adj.): loose and rickety; likely to fall to pieces

What Am I Getting Myself Into?

2009-04-14T19:04:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been introduced to blogging from a series of influential sources--the main one's being YouTube, Nerdfighting, and Maureen Johnson. I've never really considered having a blog, and heaven knows I don't need any more websites to be keeping up with; I already have two YouTube channels, a Twitter account, a DailyBooth, a Facebook, various profiles on "the ning", and multiple e-mail accounts. Do I really need to publish myself elsewhere on the internet? Really?

Um...yeah...apparently I compulsively sign up for these things against my own will--and I might add "better judgement". Oh well. I've already created my blogging account, so there's no turning back now. As Andrew Lloyd Webber would say, I've "passed the point of no return".

Today it's been raining a lot, so naturally it made me decide to join BEDA fourteen days late. Those two things are OBVIOUSLY inexplicably related. Rain does weird things to me like that; for instance, today I've randomly burst into "Drip Drip Drop, Little April Showers" and "Singin' in the Rain" more times than I care to admit--and in public, too. Not that I really care. I've kind of stopped caring what the public at large thinks of me. My motto--if I had one--would go something like this: WHO CARE'S WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK? IF YOU LIKE YOU, THAT'S WHAT REALLY MATTERS!

I only wish that I had figured this out much sooner in life. Like in third grade when I would have given ANYTHING to be friends with "The Popular Girls". Their pink glitter and shiny pigtails enticed me to join them; I could never figure out what set them apart from me. What is it? I would think to myself, Is it the way their moms perfectly curl and fluff their bangs every morning? Is it because they have more money? Is it the giga-pets? I honestly desired a giga-pet as an elementary schooler merely because I thought it would magically make me more "cool". How wrong I was.

I have learned much since then. I no longer attempt to be one of the "In-Crowd" by buying giga-pets...I've moved on to bigger and better things...which is why I've started a blog: it's what all the cool kids are doing!! Ha ha ha ha ha. I'm totally kidding, of course. I'm starting a blog because I've missed writing lately....AND all the cool kids are doing it.

I think I'll go play with my giga-pet now.

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
monoglot (n): a person who speaks only one language