Windshield Wiper Tones

      Windshield wipers can make music. What an unusual statement, you say. How can anything as prosaic and ordinary as windshield wipers make something as beautiful and inexpressible as music, you question. Using the mighty power of my pen and my thesaurus, I will show you. Close your eyes and listen. Actually, don't do that, since you have to read this.

     Ahem. Everyone knows that windshield wipers have different speeds. One end of the dial gives you a slow swish, and the other end throws out a whirling madness.

     The slow setting is useful for light sprinkles, or short spits. The moisture does not build up quickly enough to obscure the driver's view before the wipers swipe. One drives leisurely down the road, enjoying a gentle rhythm sounding from the swoop of the windshield wipers. Swish, swoosh. Swish, swoosh. Quite soothing, actually.

    With precipitation of more substance, the wipers are turned up a few notches to a regular clack clack or tick tock. The rain pats the windshield, and the wipers brush it to the side. Our gentle rhythm turns into a light chamber piece--sparkling and pretty, but slightly dull. 

     As the rain spills down more heavily, our wipers start to pick up the pace. We hear a joyous romp, as rain splats onto the glass and the wipers hurry to flick it off into the air. 

     When we get into stronger weather, the romp moves into a faster tempo. The wipers are really booking it now, running back from one side of the windshield to the other like percussionists in the middle of Beethoven. A symphony is sounding in our ears, the glorious sound of rain and wipers in harmonized motion. 

     Severe rain sends the wipers into panic mode; indeed, they hardly seem in control of themselves any more. Water pours down in a deluge, drenching the glass by bucketfuls. We hear the complicated discord of modern music--and are tempted to cover our ears at the sensation of such unfamiliar sounds. It is a frantic battle between rain and wipers. Where do the wipers stop and the rain begins? Where does the rain stop and the wipers begin? Where is the road, for pete's sake?

     At this point it is most likely best that you should seek shelter. Go find some Bach.

Scholarships are Melting my Brain

     I can pick up almost any college magazine and see an inspirational story about how Mr. or Miss Dental-Ad-Smile was able to pay for college using only scholarships. About how they were actually paid to go to college because of all the scholarship money they won, and they had a fabulous time not having to eat Ramen noodles or buy cheap shampoo that makes your hair smell weird. According to Mr. or Miss Dental-Ad-Smile, scholarships are waiting outside your door for you to fall into them. They are waiting on your money tree ripe for the picking, and all you have to do is Google the word "scholarships". Well, I'm here to bust that myth.
     The real truth about scholarships is that, yes, there are hundreds of thousands of them out there. But what Mr. or Miss Dental-Ad-Smile fail to mention is that there are hundreds of millions of students that are angling for those same scholarships. Every time you click on a scholarship title there are at least 67324.39 people that click on it too. And about 82% of those people are in a time zone that is 12 hours ahead of you, so they have 12 hours start in writing that fabulous essay that meets the prompt exactly.
     Speaking of essay prompts, there are two questions that make up the bulk of what you are expected to form a coherent page about. The first one usually asks your opinion about something. Which is fine, considering that most people have opinions. However it is not fine that the question asks your opinion about something that you most likely have never heard of. How do I know what my opinion is on the lifespan of a box turtle? I've never thought about it before. And I don't know that I necessarily have an opinion, either. The second question that is most often asked is about something the company does. The I. M. Poor Foundation wishes you to read the 960-page book on Keynesian economics; then choose one principle to analyze and to discuss how you would apply it today. And the award for the I. M. Poor Foundation comes to a total of $500. It is not renewable.  Not to mention that it takes time to write the perfect essay, and most people are still trying to struggle through the perils of trig, and the subjunctive tense in French.
     Another factor in the scholarship search is that most scholarships are hosted by companies who are looking for a person of Czechoslovakian descent who graduated from a high school in Epsom County of South Dakota, who is pursuing a career in neuroscience and speaks Swahili. Quite.
     So, if you're trying to go to a college that costs $35,000 a year, and they only give you $11,000 a year in aid plus merit scholarships, it looks like you're out of luck. Unless you are able to lock yourself up in a room for the entire summer and come up with 67.2 essays. Or a long-lost uncle who lives in Africa dies of a mysterious illness and leaves you a million dollars he didn't know he had. And then there's always the option of selling one or more of your siblings, which has proven surprisingly lucrative in a number of areas.
Who's ready for bone-crushing debt?

Christmas Carol

 

My favorite Christmas carol ever...

 

 O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O'er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wisemen from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friends.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!

Auditions: The Inside Scoop

     An audition day is a great and terrible thing. All of the practicing you have done is about to come to a head. Everything you have worked for comes down to ten minutes in front of five people. It is the best day and the worst day of your life.
     You wake up groggily, having often spent a sleepless night tossing and turning in your hard bed. A great deal of pillow-punching often occurs, as do wild thoughts of hopping a train to Alberquerque.
     Breakfast awaits in the form of soggy cereal and curdled milk. After ironing your wrinkled dress shirt, and wrestling on your pantyhose (a bout that ends in a knockout after three minutes), you open up your instrument case. Just as you are about to play the first note, your parent bellows up the stairs, "Time to gooooo!!" You carefully pack up your instrument, then start downstairs only to trip over your high heels and end up with a run in your stocking.
     In the car, your parent misreads the directions and turns left when he/she should have turned right. You arrive at the audition exactly four minutes before your warm-up time, and throw yourself out of the car before it has stopped. Your hair elastic breaks.
     Squinting at the directional signs (which all appear to be written in some combination of Swahili and pig-latin), you locate the registration room, feverishly sign your name and then look about for a ladies room. The only one in the building turns out to be three flights of stairs up, so you gather up your things and slog up the stairs. Apparently fifty other girls have had the same idea, and there is a traffic jam in the bathroom. After a good deal of pinching and scratching, you fight your way to a mirror and quickly repair the damage. It is all broken again on the way out of the door, but at this point you have about eight minutes left of your warm-up time.
     The practice rooms send out a din to equal three herds of cattle stampeding, but you find the one room that is empty. It is located between a screeching soprano and a groaning clarinet. You quickly unpack, and run through the most difficult spots in your piece. There is an air-conditioning vent blowing ice-cold air (in December?!?), so you have to keep re-tuning.
     Two minutes before your audition time arrives, you pack up and head out the door. The building is a labrynth, and your walk turns into a trot and then a full-speed-ahead gallop as you race to the audition room. You arrive panting, hair streaming and skirt flapping, only to find that three people are standing outside the door as calm and collected as caterpillars. They eye you coldly. You ask if the judges are running late, and three heads condescend to nod to you. Subdued, you find the nearest available corner and stand in it, running through your piece in your head.
      An unidentified person leaves the audition room, and Caterpillar A goes in. Strains of an impossibly difficult concerto come through the door. Caterpillar A comes out, smiling smugly. Your heart sinks. Caterpillar B disappears through the door. One of the most complex pieces known to man is heard through the door. You swallow convulsively. Positive thoughts, you tell yourself. Caterpillar B smiles smugly as he exits. Caterpillar C is lost from sight, and shortly you hear an impossibly difficult concerto and one of the most complex pieces known to man. You stagger and reel. Caterpillar C has left, and it is now your turn.
     The door creaks as you enter. The room is small, filled with many august personages who sit staring at you through pince-nez. They inquire your name. You reply, and announce your piece. They nod graciously, and you wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. You take a deep breath, and begin. Your sound is thin and wavering, you screech appallingly on the high notes and miss most of the difficult parts. The piece seems to drag and rush by turns. Finally you are finished. The August Personages nod again, and you leave the room.
     Greatly in need of comfort and refreshment, you head toward the spot where you last saw your parent. You find instead a being with clenched jaws and bloodshot eyes. It greets you with sighs of relief, and immediately pounces with a million questions of "How did it go? Did the part in measure so-and-so go right? Did you remember blah-de-blah in measure thingummy? Who was before you? What did they play? I've been sweating it out here waiting for you, I'll tell you that much!" Somehow you survive the grilling.
     You head home, and collapse on the bed falling into an exhausted sleep. And you know what? The worst part is yet to come. Waiting and waiting and waiting.



To be truthful I must confess that what I have written above is not at all accurate. Mostly. Everyone at the auditions was so helpful and friendly--it was way less scary than I was expecting. And I know that the Lord will have me wherever He wants me and wherever I will give glory to Him. And that's all I need. :)

He is enough

He is enough. Jesus is enough. No matter how this whole thing comes out, whether I go to college or not, He is in control. The Lord has a plan, and all I am here for is to glorify Him. He is enough.

Betsey-Candace

Okay, so I finally watched Phineas and Ferb: The Movie yesterday, and let me just say that it. was. awesome. Usually I find that when people (they in the "they" building) try to take an amazing television series and turn it into a movie, the product that they come up with is completely and utterly stupid. Either they mess up the characters, or they can't come up with a plot so you're sitting there watching the clock tick by on an hour and a half. But not so with P&F. It had all the elemental quirks that makes Phineas and Ferb amazing, but without seeming trite or overdone. It strongly kept my interest through all 78 minutes, and I actually had to relocate to the basement to watch it 'cause I was keeping the sibs up with my giggles. So yeah, it was pretty cool. :)

One of the really cool characterizations in P&F was the Candace from the 2nd dimension. She was a cool karate-master/spy/tough-as-nails-resistance-leader/way-awesome big sis. In fact her characterization was so well done (and also because Candace is my alter-ego) that I was inspired to create my own Candace costume. I did make some modifications so I wasn't showing quite as much skin as dear Candace, and unfortunately I could not find a cool belt with gadgets on it. But my little bro was kind enough to lend me his airgun for a cool prop so that became my weapon of choice. So without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, presenting Betsey-Candace!!

Fact: Candace and I are both the oldest in our respective families.

Fact: We both have a serious bossy complex.

Fact: Our siblings drive us nuts.

Fact: We both experience frustration at the bust-proof-ness of our siblings. 

(And yes, I did just make that word up.)

Fact: We both love Ducky Mo Mo.

When I showed these to the sibs, Suzy remarked that I look a lot like Vanessa. Okay....

I guess she could be right. I must admit that I would not mind being saved from imminent danger by Ferb, either. :)

*sigh* Oh Ferb, I'm waiting for you!! :)

Funny Commercial

One of the funniest commercials ever. Enjoy!

A Guide to Christmas Decorating Safety

Statistics show that over 83% of household accidents happen in the bathroom. The other 17% occur during Christmas decorating.* Over 25% of emergency room visits during the period of Nov. 12th through Jan. 7th are because of an accident when decorating for Christmas.* 
 Decorating for Christmas is a wonderful pastime, but it is important to have a thorough knowledge of the perils that lurk in order to have a safe decorating experience. The Commission of Christmas Decorating Safety (CCDS) has compiled this manual of rules and regulations to help the ordinary consumer follow safe Christmas decorating procedures.

Section A: Stockings

1. Stockings are not allowed to be hung from a mantel, radiator, bedpost or bookshelf. They must not weigh over 2 pounds 2.5 ounces when filled. The Department will ration exactly 2.5 lumps of coal to each household for each bread-winner to dispose of as they see fit. Each lump of coal weighs exactly 7 ounces.
2. Stockings must not be made from socks, shoes, nightcaps, long johns or any article of clothing that consumers habitually wear. It is dangerous to the public health.
3. There must be a regulation pamphlet by the milk and cookies that will direct Santa Claus to the stockings. He often forgets about them, and the Department will not be held responsible for any more lawsuits regarding this matter.

Section B: Presents

1. The Department has allotted 3 presents per person. Those who have more presents than the allotted amount must donate them to the Persons that Spread the Wealth Association (PSWA), where they will be distributed to those that are less fortunate. 
2. Presents may not be wrapped using tape, ribbon, or scissors. These are serious safety hazards to the white panda bear, and anyone found using them will be prosecuted.
3. No wrapping paper may be used that is colored with snowmen, gingerbread men, reindeer or Santa Claus as these shapes are discriminatory against those racial groups. 

Section C: The Tree

1. All Christmas trees must be over the height of 1.3 feet and under the height of 5.7 feet. This enables the maximum amount of people to help decorate the tree. Any tree smaller than 1.3 feet is a shrub. There is a considerable risk of injury/contagious disease/death from overbalancing when decorating any tree taller than 5.7 feet. Any trees that do not meet the height requirements will be towed away at owner's expense.
2. All ornaments must be made of artificial plastic. Wood, paper, fabrics, glass and metal are not allowed. There are to be no sparkles, glue or artificial substances of any kind attached to them. Such substances can be easily swallowed by small goldfish and are extremely dangerous to their health. Ornaments may not be hung on the top branches or the middle branches. If they are hung in the restricted areas they are an extreme risk for falling on small children's heads. No ornaments are to manufactured in the shapes of snowmen, gingerbread men, reindeer, or Santa Claus, as these shapes are discriminatory against those racial groups.
3. Christmas trees may not have lights. They could be mistaken for alien signals and the Department has issued strict orders against any communication with the outer worlds.
4. Absolutely NO tinsel may be used for decoration on the tree as it is very sharp. One gentlemen was taken to the emergency room last year because a piece had severed his foot. Blood poisoning spread and his entire leg had to be amputated. NO TINSEL!

This manual will be updated every 6 hours to comply with proper regulations.


 *Statistics are fake. Please do not pay any attention to them as they are used merely for promotional purposes. Thank you!

Happy Thanksgiving!!

:)

Thanksgiving

I am thankful for...

• Parents who love me and help guide me through a tangled life
• Siblings who drive me batty 
• Dr. Pepper
• A wonderful church family who helps me grow in the Lord
• Five wonderful cousins who live 30 minutes away
• The gift to play the violin
• Oreos
• Fairy tales
• God giving us His word so we know how to glorify Him
• A little brother who is already showing signs of being a wonderful man of God--love you, buddy!

There are so many many things that I have been blessed with beyond measure. I thank the Lord for giving me each day another day to glorify Him and to walk in His word. I thank Him for saving me from a horrible fate, for rescuing me from my own sin and clothing me with His righteousness.

I am also thankful for turkey.

Fall

There's something about fall that always gets me. The brilliant colors, the crisp air, the playful breezes that knock one off one's feet. Everything seems to come alive, in one last great burst of life before winter settles in to lull things to sleep. The weather is perfect, cold enough to wear my favorite coat, but warm enough to go without a scarf and boots.
I love looking out of the back windows and seeing a shifting sea of crimson and orange. My favorite time is when not all of the trees have turned yet, so some are green with occasional bursts of orange. Along the road I take to symphony there is one tree that I always look for, as it always turns earlier than the rest. I drive through a sea of green, and then just around a turn there is this flame of scarlet, shooting proudly towards the sky. It catches my breath every time. I love walking through the carpet of leaves on the ground, crunching busily. I love watching the wind catch a tree, whirling the leaves off of the branches and tumbling them to the ground. I love the smell of pumpkin pie baking in the oven (even though I don't actually like to eat it, shocking, I know). The smells of cinnamon and vanilla wafting from candles lighted throughout the house, the sunshine on my sisters' hair, the toothless pumpkins grinning on doorsteps, all of these bring me joy.
Every fall I realize afresh how much stuff the Lord has created, how creative His mind is, and how short I fall of His glory. I am always brought to a new awareness of how far I stand from Him, and how enormous the sacrifice was for Him to bring me closer. May my every thought give Him glory.

Dish Therapy

Washing dishes. One of the most therapeutic rituals known to man. You start by stacking all of the dirty dishes in neat piles by the sink. This creates an illusion of order, deceptive though it may be, that is very pleasing to the brain. You start the water flowing from the faucet, methodically go through the piles of dishes and scrape off all the leftover food into the garbage disposal. Make sure to stack the dishes neatly on the other side. Your mind will already feel more relaxed, as the dishes now do not appear dirty until closely inspected. Now stop up the sink and fill it with hot water. Then squirt some soap in the water and gently swish it around with your hands until there are towers of bubbles rising from the sink. This creates a pleasing picture--the sparkling, delicate bubbles against the textured dishes is a beautiful contrast. Now take a dish from the pile, submerge it in the sink, and start scrubbing it thoroughly with a brush. This is an integral part of the exercise, as scrubbing a dish vehemently will remove any feelings of frustration and anger. If bubbles splash out of the sink and onto the floor, so much the better. Your heart will feel visibly lighter the farther down the pile you go. When you have finished scrubbing the dish, turn on the faucet and rinse the dish under it. Now place the clean dish on the opposite counter for drying. Make sure that there are always lots of bubbles in the sink, and that there is a faint smell of lemon in the air. When all of the dishes have been scrubbed, pull the stopper out of the sink and let the water drain.

 There is a pleasant gurgling sound as the water drains out of the sink that will tickle your funny bone and bring a smile to your lips. Now find a soft, clean towel to dry the dishes with. Softness is very important, as your hands will be rough and possibly chapped after all of the soapy water. Not to mention that the softer the towel is, the more your thoughts will stray towards teddy bears, yellow smiley faces, ice cream cones, and feather pillows. Start drying the dishes, making small circular motions with the towel. This will make a soothing sound that will lull your brain. When all of the dishes are dry, place them neatly away in the cabinets, and take a long look at the rows of sparkling ceramic-ware. Shut the cabinet door and take a deep breath. The ritual is finished. Don't you feel better??? :)

Challenge!!

I have decided to start a challenge. I know, I know, the blogging world is full of blog challenges/goals/stuff to do regularly. One of them even ended up as an Oscar-nominated movie! And that movie just so happens to be one of my most favorite movies on the planet (come on, who doesn't like a movie that's dedicated to food?), but anyway. Ahem. I have decided to blog something every day for one month. A paragraph, a sentence, a word. Something.
Why have I chosen the busiest time of year, when everyone is running around like three-year-old kids on sugar highs, and when nothing is certain until about 17 minutes before it's supposed to happen, you ask?
Well, the reason I have chosen to do such a crazy thing is because that I have noticed that when I am writing a lot, my thoughts are more organized and I am able to communicate with people TONS better. A little while ago there was a period of about three weeks when I was swamped with college essays, Shakespeare papers, emails, and lots of other miscellaneous writing stuff. There were thoughts and ideas flying all around in my head, and trying to wrestle them into concrete form on paper was really good for me. It totally forced me to think about what I was trying to say, and as a result my conversations with people were a lot more fruitful.
And I've also decided to do this because I need something in my life that is regular, and certain--something I KNOW that I will do each and every day. I mean, all this waiting on college applications, and audition results, and things is really stressful!! So yeah.
And also because I've always wanted to do a "blog challenge".......*sheepish grin*.

Count Your Blessings

There's a song in White Christmas; a duet between Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney. She can't sleep, so she goes down to the kitchen (where Bing is noodling on the piano), to get a snack. They meet, talk, and end up singing a song about "if you're worried, and you can't sleep, just count your blessings, instead of sheep". I've been rather depressed lately, and wondering what's up with my life, so I'm gonna count my blessings and see what happens.....

1) An entire family.
2) Food to eat. While it's not the food I would prefer to eat, it's still food and it fills my belly.
3) My own room. I don't have to share with anyone, I can have it as clean or as messy as I want and nobody cares. What a rich blessing indeed.
4) A violin, and an amazing teacher.
5) "Cousins" that love me, are close by, and let me come to their house whenever I want to chill. Especially
6) My 4-yr-old cousin who screams my name and runs to me with arms outstretched every time she sees me; no matter whether it's the first time in a week, or the first time in an hour. I don't deserve her.
7) A wonderful church family. People say hi to me, ask how I'm doing, and they really care. I never knew that could happen.
8) Clothes.
9) The coolest dad in the world.
10) Books. What would the world be like without them? A tragedy.


I have so many blessings; why am I so frail that I moan over and over about how my life is in "the depths of despair"? Why do I become so unsatisfied with my lot, why do I find it so hard to bloom where I am planted?

"For the heart is deceitful and desperately wicked, who can know it?" Jeremiah 17:9

The LORD has my life in the palm of His hand. He has created the entire universe, orchestrated billions of lives through thousands of years toward His perfect plan. He has sent His only Son to die a horrible death, take the sins of those billions of lives upon His shoulders, so that I might live to glorify Him. And I, weak, pitiful, frail human being that I am, cannot remember that. My agenda is so small, so weak, compared to His great glory and majesty. What business have I to complain?

Conversation Over Hot Dogs

Conversation this evening while my little brother was teaching me how to fry a hot dog.

11-yr-old Bro whispers to 13-yr-old Sis: "I'm teaching Betsey how to cook a hot dog. I can't believe she doesn't know how to do this!" Aside to me: "I'm gonna do this once for you now, so that you can know how to do it later, and won't have to ask me."

Pans rattle. Single hot dog squelches out of wrapper and into pan.

Bro: "Now, you always have to butter the pan, because otherwise, um, you know, it gets a little crazy."

A few minutes pass, then:

Bro: "Oh, wow, it's actually smoking. Guess I cooked it a little too much! Betsey, do you mind burnt hot dogs?"

Me: "No, I kinda like 'em. It gives them texture."

Bro: "Good, 'cause this one is definitely burnt."

So here I sit, eating my hot dog that's burnt on one side and raw on the other. Brothers are awesome.

SYS Youth Talent Winner

The Springfield Youth Symphony has a concerto competition every year for its members. Basically, if you sign up, you play a piece for the judges and they pick two contestants to get to play their piece with the orchestra for the end-of-year concert. I participated this year, and although I didn't win, still had an amazing experience. Here is one guy who did win, and blew us all away with his amazing ability. The video doesn't do his performance justice, but it's still pretty cool.

Survival of the SAT

Scene 1: A Dark and Dreary Saturday Morning

The alarm blares at 6:05, and my hand gropes its way out of the blankets to shut it off. I roll out of bed, rubbing my eyes and grumbling under my breath. I am not an early morning person. The sun hasn't come up yet, and I'm too tired to turn on a light, so I dress in the dark. Rizzo whines, and I let him out the door. I stumble to the bathroom and flick the light switch, yawning as I pop my contacts in. After I brush my hair and take the shine off my nose, I head upstairs to eat.
Mom greets me with an equation: a triangle's area is 1/2 base times height. I nod, and bite into a muffin. As I sip my milk, she regales me with the fact that the area of a circle is pi times r squared, while the circumference is two times pi times r. Three number two pencils sit atop my admission ticket on the table, hugging my calculator. The calculator will be my greatest ally in math. The clock says 6:43, so I shove my shoes on and head out to the car, audible equations following me. As I turn the key I remember that "Mozart makes babies smarter"; why not me? so I run in and grab my Mozart Piano Concertos CD. If anything it'll relax me.

Scene 2: A Dark and Dreary Test Center

It was an hour drive, maybe a little more. Fortunately there was no traffic, except around the fallen tree on the city street. I found the test center after getting upset at Google Maps for saying it was the first right, instead of the third. I found a parking lot, and was unpleasantly surprised by the sight of meters in it (how many quarters for 4 hours?), and then pleasantly surprised by a little sign on the meter that said "Monday-Friday". Sweet, now instead of spending my entire worldly goods on a meter I might have enough for an ice cream later, if I survive. I notified my parents I had arrived, and walked through the door.
There was a green sign: "SAT Reasoning Test This Way", with an arrow that pointed straight to a man sitting at a desk. I stood in line, and waited my turn.
He got to me and barked "Name?"
"Elizabeth Karako."
He thumbed through his lists. "Start with a C?"
"K, please."
He found it, and made a check. "Room 434, take the elevator to the 4th floor and exit to the right. Haveaniceday." Was he being funny?

Scene 3: A Big and Scary Test

I found the room just as the man said. I opened the door and found myself confronting 23 pairs of eyes, at 23 desks. (Identified SAT test-takers, all in same boat.) The only pair of eyes that wasn't looking at me was messing with something at a podium. (Identified SAT test-proctor, may or may not be friendly. Exercise caution.) There was one table left, in the back corner, so I headed there as quietly and as quickly as possible. I shoved my provisions box and my purse under the desk, and sat down, breathing hard. It was as quiet as a hearse in there. I tried to breathe more quietly, and silently unpacked my pencils, calculator and admission ticket. Hmm, wonder why the guy downstairs didn't want this? I surveyed the room, and noticed one brave soul was wearing a Steelers jersey. Ah, a fellow fan. Thank goodness for some light in this dark place. Glancing down, I noticed that my provisions box was halfway out in the aisle, so I got up to fix it and promptly tripped over my own feet. I hit the floor with a thud to wake the dead, and 23 heads swiveled towards my direction. The proctor must have been deaf. Pretending I was unaware of 23 burning gazes, I nonchalantly picked up my box and sat down. Silence reigned for 2 minutes, then the proctor seemed to notice that the time was 7:43, two minutes before the start of testing.
"Has anyone here not checked in?"
A long arm clothed in black and gold stretched its full length and silently pointed at me. 22 heads swiveled my way, again. Mr. Steelers fan, you are no friend of mine.
"Have you checked in?"
"Um, not up here. Was I supposed to?"
"Yes dear, please bring your admission ticket to me."
I fumbled it off of the desk and walked the long road up to the podium.
"Your ID please?"
I turned around, trudged back and obtained my driver's license, then slogged the weary miles to the podium. 23 pairs of eyes followed me the whole long way. I swear that aisle was longer than going to the moon and back.
Formalities completed, I collected my paperwork and marched back to my seat. I collapsed in my chair and had just enough time to take three deep breaths when Mr. Proctor started his SAT speech.

As a result of that speech, I can't tell you any more of what happened that day, or I will be hunted down and arrested by the ETS. Suffice it to say, those were the worst 4 1/2 hours I have ever been through in my life, and I am being propped up by life-saving machines as we speak. But, I survived.

Spring Fever

If spring fever is

•  an uncontrollable hunger for pink flip flops
• driving with all the windows down at 55 degrees
•  an urge to attack the house with Pledge and 409
• strong desire for strawberries and the beach
• dreams of the beach
• inability to concentrate on such mundane things as schoolwork
• digging through the closet to find a sundress
• tears on a rainy day

Then yes, I have it. Oh spring, come soon! I need you!!

Car

I think my dream Corvettte has got a rival. Behold, the 1965 Chevrolet Corvair!!

 It's turbo-charged, got a 6 cylinder engine, comes in convertible or coupe, and is sooo cute!!!! I think it's time for some serious comparisons. Maybe I should have a saga. Old Love vs. New Love....stay tuned. :-)

Jazz Love

So, in orchestra we have been working on the "pops" bit of the semester and this year Dr. Dissmore said that our program would be entitled: "Jazz Meets the Orchestra". Humph, I thought, this will be interesting. I mean, I know what jazz is. It's funky music played by weirdos that has no real rhyme or rhythm. And Mom and Chrissy like it; enough said. Or so I thought.

We get about two weeks into rehearsals, and I discover that I really had no idea whatsoever about jazz. It's really fun stuff! I feel all warm and happy inside, and I want to tap my feet. And there are some moments when I even want to twirl around in a swirly skirt under the moon! Jazz music slides and sways; some bits are very lush and smooth (think fudge or pearls), while others tickle your toes so much you have to stand up and move!

There is a set rhythm, only it never sounds that way because when you play jazz music you smoosh it and pull it and stretch it and squeeze it and shake it, so that it doesn't really sound to have rhythm at all. One of the directors, Mrs. Whouton, said there was a whole new language that jazz people  used when referring to the rhythm. Apparently it consists of "doos" and "dats" and "dits" (there was one more but I forgot it).

Speaking of jazz people, we have a jazz trio, the Jacob Hiser Trio, coming to play a few pieces with us. They are an electric bass (oh so cool! I want one), some drums, and a piano. They sound really neat, and it's fun to see "real" (jazz trio verus classical orchestra attempting to play jazz) jazz played. My seat is the perfect spot for watching the drums and the bass during our 23-measure rests. I found out that the "shushing" noise is made by brushing the drums! The drummer takes two brushes that look like paint brushes with a twisted wire loop at the end, and sweeps them across the drum, smooshing the bristles down really far. And sometimes he turns them over and swipes the wire loop across a cymbal, which makes a smooth, bright noise.

Anywho, we are having our concert in approximately 4 days, and I was never so excited about an orchestra concert before! Which I suppose isn't saying much, considering that I've only had one other. But I definitely am going to have tons of fun.

So I guess the moral of this post is, never ever condemn anything until you've found out what it really is. Not to say that you couldn't condemn Chinese chicken foot soup, but that's beside the point. One never knows what something that appears weird might turn out to be. You might find a new love! (Except chicken foot soup, that's pretty self-explanatory)