Today's been sunny and windy, and rather tiring. No sermon this morning, just lots of prayer and healing. I love those kinds of services! And I ended up going out to eat with the rudest kids at Lyon's - which was not altogether fun, though the hanging out part was okay. No rodeo, unfortunately; by the time we got out of the restaurant, I didn't feel like going anywhere but home to sleep. Hopefully next June I'll have Rodeo weekend to myself so I can watch the cowboys without bein' bothered.
The one thing I was unsure about when it came to the Rodeo, though, were the cowboys who owned Confederate flags. I saw several fluttering in the wind yesterday, and that made me a little queasy. I don't have anything against anybody just 'cause their skin color is different from mine, but I pity the people who are prejudiced because I am not white like they are, and don't have blond hair or blue eyes. I think it started way back when civilized Europe set out to convert the natives - forcefully. Guess that gave 'em a superiority complex or something. Racial discrimination for the most part is not evident anywhere in the U.S. anymore, but it's still there. Is it just politically correct to ignore the fact that it exists?
My Dad and I drove past the Rodeo grounds twice today, and gods, it's crowded. I'm planning to go out there tomorrow after church to watch dem cowboys. In all the years that we've lived here in Livermore, I've never had the chance to attend the rodeo 'til now, mainly 'cause my family had other things to do on the Rodeo weekend. I ain't too fond of wearing cowboy hats or boots, but I would love to learn how to ride a horse someday - and I don't mind watching folks who're good at it, either.
I just remembered that we had a grassfire in the surrounding hills last weekend. We were driving through the backroads on our way home earlier, and directly ahead of us, the western face of a hill was pitch black. 'Twas a large portion of wild, brown grass that had gone up in smoke, but it was still considered a small fire. Still, ya never know how it could turn out with such a fickle wind.
Started reading Myst again.
BTW - Samuel L. Jackson is one heckuvan actor.
I've played a vampire character before in RPG stories, and you know what? I still don't understand 'em. I'm not much of a horror fan, but horror creatures are usually pretty fascinating. 'Course, I ain't manic about 'em; maybe it's 'cause they're something akin to supernatural that makes 'em so interesting. And butt ugly.
Another thing that bugs me about Hype is the disappointment when something doesn't pan out. Take movies, for instance. Take Pearl Harbor. The dang thing is three+ hours long. I haven't seen it, but I've heard the bombing effects are great. Otherwise, it's just another Titanic lookalike. I was so looking forward to seeing this movie, and I s'pose that I've no right to say anything bad about it until I do see it, but I'm pickin' on Pearl Harbor 'cause it's another perfect example of too much Hype, and not much else.
Movin' on to less Hype-ish nonsense : I guess I should be motivated more to try creating my own templates and such, after coming across some awesome blogs with great designs. But actually, I'm kinda jealous. And a little incredulous. Ya see, these designers are still in high school, and while the blog designs are absolutely wonderful, the content absolutely sucks. Go figure. And pardon me for whinin' - I try not to do it that often. No, really!
I guess I should've mentioned something last night about what today's topic would be, but I was getting too sleepy. Today, folks, today I'm gonna talk about Hype.
The first thing that comes to mind when I think of Hype is - okay, are - cheerleaders. The second things that come to mind are commercials. Cheerleaders and commercials have one thing in common : they are all talk, but offer no real results. I mean, honestly - when was the last time you bought something after watching a commercial, and it turned out to be bland or not at all like what it seemed on the TV screen? And the chicks in the short skirts! I have nothin' against them, and I suppose that they are genuinely enthusiastic when they lead the crowd in a cheer, but they can be rather . . . well, misleading. The offensive pushes to make a touchdown, the cheerleaders get everybody riled up, and the ball's fumbled. Hype, y'all. It's a two-faced sucker sometimes.
Egads! I can't believe the amount of posting I've been doing lately. Got too much running through my head, I guess. Need someplace to post it all, don't I? *tsk, tsk* And you poor people keep comin' back here for more . . .
Gonna mention a few more things before I hit the hay. One : I can't believe I woke up a quarter to eleven this morning! Two : I almost didn't want to mention this on this page, only because I was not sure if any family bravely ventured over regularly to read my ramblings - and I don't think any of 'em have or do, and even if they do, I don't care anymore. I downed half a bottle of wine cooler last night and felt buzzed. Hence the strange post at 00:19 about having a migraine and such. Well, now you know how I got the migraine. Pretty smart, huh? Um, can you say . . . STUPID? Last time I ever go near that stuff! Three : I wonder if the folks here at Tripod are dang tired of watching me log in about 2-3 dozen times a day. ("Uh, Harry, it's her again." "Gods, what is her problem? She needs a freakin' life!") Four : Get yer cowboy hats and wriggle into yer wranglers, boys and gals - it's time for the annual Livermore Rodeo!
I am gone, y'all. Lots of stuff to do tomorrow, so little time - and even less time if I oversleep again. Argh!
When you get under the skin of a character and find out what that person's really about, you have to wonder just how much of yourself you should pour into her. I write as three separate women at Pan Historia, and I realize that each one reflects a different facet of myself, simply because I wanted them all to be different from one another and yet say something about the person behind the mask. I mentioned this awhile back, but I'll repeat it again just for reference : one of my favorite aspects of writing a story is character development. Many a time I can see what this character's doing in my head, what she will do, what she's afraid of, what she hates. (I have yet to try writing with a male perspective at PH - I've done it before, but not in a collective of writers. That'd be . . . I dunno, weird!) Sometimes the story seems to write itself; the rest of the time, though, it's fun to be a puppeteer.
Un-Soul-ish concerns : Ever watched a drop of food coloring or watercolor paint as it traveled through water? I would have to say that it's one of the most fascinating things to watch. A mushroom cloud below the surface of a clear liquid. Whoa.
Oh, and a quick note : you know those rolls of ready-to-bake cookie dough that they sell at the supermarket? Don't buy that crap. The cakes and brownies are okay, but the cookie dough is just horrible. The homemade treats are the best. Call me if you want a batch. *wink*
I think I'm a little tired after talking about Soul so much. There's a lot more I could say, but the subject is still incomprehensible, if not intangible. I s'pose only God knows and understands the Soul, since he created the concept. But it's more than a concept, o' course. It defines me and you as a person, an individual. It says who you/me/we are. Perhaps it's better to just express it rather than talk about it, huh?
blog of the week : every day
(Yes, as you've noticed, the order of things have been kinda screwed up since this week started. Somewhere below, I said that things would be different, and so far, things have not only been different - they've been kawazy! But you knew that, right? *evil grin*)
I was going through some news photos on Yahoo! a few moments ago and came across two images that nearly brought tears to my eyes. Both regarded the impending Timothy McVeigh execution but conveyed the roiling emotions of the victims' families. For some reason, I feel no pity towards this man. He has admitted his guilt in this crime, and now he's trying to avoid the consequences by appealing for a stay in his execution.
One image was of one of the 169 memorial chairs with several balloons tied to it. The other was of a wall with these words sprayed in crude black :
May God have mercy on your soul, dude. I'm sorry, but I don't have any mercy in my heart right now to show towards you. You pretty much condemned yourself when you detonated that bomb.
More on Soul : I came across this picture of a little family sitting on the beach. Dad's holding the Bible, and Mom and Daughter are reading along with 'im; the family dog is running around in the background, enjoying the surf and sand. I wouldn't call the whole scene sappy, but it is rather aesthetic and (IMO) idealistic. And maybe a little too perfect.
The best thing to do if you want to fill the Soul with good stuff is to let everything out first. I am a poet by hobby only, but I find that writing prose not only clears my mind and lets me vent . . . it also provides inspiration for others and drives me to write some more.
Here're some definitions of Soul that I found to be rather thought-provoking and interesting : "the immaterial essence, animating principle, or actuating cause of an individual life"; "an active or essential part, a moving spirit"; "the moral and emotional nature of human beings, the quality that arouses emotion and sentiment"; "the spiritual principle embodied in human beings, all rational and spiritual beings, or the universe, Christian Science"; and "a strong positive feeling (as of intense sensitivity and emotional fervor) conveyed especially by black American performers." This last def. I know to be very true! Ever heard a gospel singer belt out a medley? (From yourDictionary.com)
These definitions got me thinking : what is Soul to me? It is the Rational Moralist that provides balance for the Passionate Artist that lives inside me. But it goes much deeper than that - the Soul was formed by a Divine Creator who knew what he had in mind when he made me. The Soul in essence is the evidence of his fingerprints, his influence. Without it, I wouldn't exist. With it, I have to choose to give it back to him or lose. It's immortal, it's spirit. And it bears witness with his Spirit, if I choose to be his.
What is Soul to you?
Today, my children *affecting priestly air here for a moment, even though I'm female and becoming a priest is rather impossible, but who really gives a - oh, never mind* we will talk about Soul.
Yes, that's right. Soul. We have the mind, body and spirit. Where does the Soul fit in? Why do we care? Why do other people care about your Soul? (I'm pretty sure you know what sort of folk I'm talking about - I happen to be one of 'em, though I'm rather lacking lately in this area.) And then there're the different variety of phrases today that include the said subject : "Chicken Soup for the Soul"; "baring my/his/her/your Soul," etc. etc. etc.
In my mind, there're two kinds of people in this world, and they are the people who recognize that they have a Soul and try to fill it until they're content with life . . . and then there are the people who try to ignore the fact that they have a Soul or just don't realize it until the last minute. Which is rather sad, if you ask me. But before I go off on a tangent . . .
The best people to turn to if you want to talk about Soul are artists : they bare theirs frequently and have no qualms about it, nor do they care much about the reactions they may garner in the end. Artists are not just those who work with paint, brush and canvas, or coal, pencil and paper. They are people who make eyecandy (graphic designers, photographers), ear candy, all in the profound sense, and last but not least, writers (poets, authors, ya know what I mean). Read 'em, watch 'em, and hopefully your own Soul will come alive. However, beware of the artists who do it just for the money - they're cheap impostors, I tell ya!
I've got a migraine the size of my apartment that's settled right between the eyes. Feeling light-headed was bad enough, but this . . . this is definitely the pits. Not ready to say WHY I feel this way just yet . . . maybe in several hours or so. I think, I hope.
Last words on Obsession (promise!) : drumroll, please - my two main obsessions happen to be . . . God and blogs. (Ker-ching! Now that didn't hurt, did it?) Not the concept of God or a god . . . I mean God. The Being everyone seems to have misconceptions about. The "Guy Upstairs," as he's referred to sometimes. This obsession seems to come and go, but it'll always be there. And then there's the whole blogging deal - I wouldn't be hanging around here if I wasn't kawazy about it, ya know? And this page is a nice fuse between God and blogging, one I think I'll keep around for a long time.
More on Obsession : Have you ever noticed how people insist that they cannot be infatuated, inundated or fascinated with a single object or person so consistently to be considered obsessed? They call it a hobby, a habit, or just a passing fad. Hunh. I'd be more inclined to think that you were trying to convince me that you have a multiple personality disorder or something than you were trying to convince yourself that it's true. Face it, you're obsessed with what's-her-face (his-face) or whatever's the latest in fashion or that or this here and there, and you don't wanna do anything about it. You'd also freely admit what yer obsession was if it were strictly off-the-record, but you don't want the rest of the neighborhood to know if you were interviewed for the local paper ("Why would any reporter want to ask me what my obsessions are?" Trust me, pal, there're some journalists who might, if only to satisfy their lurid curiousity.)
Obsession, it seems, borders on the extreme and manic when it comes to a particular interest. Well, okay. It is extreme and manic . . . kind of. Why is this so?
(And by the way, you'll notice that I haven't mentioned any of my obsessions - yet.)
Pic of the Week
Um, Miss, this house was intended for the little feathery critters with wings - and unfortunately, you don't fit that criteria!
(Don't worry, this will appear in the pic section, too.)
Today, class, we're going to learn about Obsession. Yes, that dirty word that everyone seems to be wary of once it escapes your lips. Ya see, most folks will notice that you are obsessed with something; you don't have to say a word. They'll just be able to tell from the way you act, the tokens lying around your house, etc. etc.
Everybody has an obsession. Everybody just doesn't want to admit it or say what it is out loud.
I'm kinda glad to have my own kitchen now, 'cause I can start experimenting with dishes. Er, not those kind of experiments; I mean making different combos and trying out new foods. The kitchen looks horridly empty right now, but I'll fix that in a little bit . . .
When I get into a bad mood (don't worry, I ain't anymore), I tend to sound or act brazen, sarcastic, sometimes even downright cynical.
I had to leave the room for a little while and take a walk around the school to cool down. I wasn't even sure why I felt so frustrated and - that dang word again - grumpy all of a sudden, but it helped. Kind of, anyway. Maybe I just got restless and needed to walk off some of that energy. I dunno.
Now, though, as I glance down to watch my fingers fly across the keyboard, I think the bad mood is birthing somethin' else - a burst of inspiration, perhaps? At any rate, I'm gonna try somethin' different.
I won a trophy / I lost a gameAnother good thing about bad mood days (most of the time, anyway) is that you never remember 'em a year later. Perhaps in that sense it's a(nother) good thing that I seem to have such a bad short-term memory nowadays.
Bad moods are like a contagious sort of virus. Thankfully, they only last a day, sometimes not even several hours. And I'd best end this on a positive note before it gets me. Waitaminnit, what the hell am I saying? It already got me! Argh! (And no, you can't set the Internet on fire. You're not Al Gore. You know who you are! *scowl*)
Ahem. Now I feel better.
I finally got to meet Chris, my new roommate (housemate? oh, whatever!). She's pretty kool to talk to, and she's somethin' of a party animal, but that hasn't stopped either of us from getting to know each other.
Dreams like the one below usually give me a lot of inspiration for a new story - or, new stories in this case. This should be fun to write! Now if only I'll have enough motivation to actually finish this one . . .
I had a strange dream last night that still seems to be running through my head (usually I don't remember my dreams, even if I'd like to) : I was first at a huge mansion, a beautiful, pristine place in creamy white stucco and tiles. Smaller mansions were inside (yep, mansions within a mansion), and each one had a pool and artificial waterfall in the courtyard. I sat close to one of the pools with a few other girls I didn't know, and then suddenly we were taken to a different place altogether. This place was at the top of a gently sloping staircase made completely of granite - at the bottom of the stairs was an alley that led to whole maze of stone-cobbled passageways, and while it seemed kinda creepy to me at first, I wasn't really frightened by these surroundings. I mean, anything's possible in a dream, right?
I quickly lost sight of the other girls with me; we were at this strange auction, where we were the ones being bidded on. The one with the lowest bid had to marry some old, ugly coot; the one with the highest bid won a prize. All of us got the chance to rise the price of our bids, and I did this by running through the maze . . . and I have no idea why! For another strange reason, I was known as both Rhesa and Sarah (my real name, for those who didn't know 'til now). As Rhesa, I was able to raise the price of Sarah's bid to win. So no marriage to some old guy I didn't even know.
The scene changed again, and this time it was just me - I was in a house made completely of glass and mortar. The inside was mortar, the outside glass, shaded glass that is. I felt like I was in the land of comics, because all of the strange-lookin' creatures wandering outside looked like they had been drawn, not actually created out of some kind of matter. I couldn't let anybody in . . . it seemed like I was being hunted down, and if I was caught, things wouldn't look too good. And yet people kept coming in somehow, and they were not ordinary people - a lot of them seemed very alien, with puggish faces and bodies that kinda reminded you of midgets, though they were much taller than average midgets.
The current inhabitants of the house consisted of two groups of folks - humans and vampires. The humans stayed on one side of the house, the vampires on the other, and they seemed to be playing a strange game of cat and mouse; neither group could even lay eyes on a member of the other group, and if they did, I guess somethin' terrible happened. Case in point : one of Jocelyn's friends and another girl had to hide in the closet when a group of vampires came into the room I was in. I guess I was in the middle, because nothing happened to me when I interacted with the vampires. In fact, I kind of felt like Buffy.
Towards the end of the dream, I remember stepping outside finally, into a common suburban neighborhood - which was very strange, because a few minutes before it had been a dangerous wasteland with roaming gangs of comicbook aliens that you wouldn't want to mess with. I called L.T. to tell him what was going on, but my voice went hoarse and then wouldn't work at all. (That was a good time to start panicking.)
I know that's not what I'd call a brief recall of a dream, but I still remember a lot of the details. Running through the maze, talking with vampires, putting on suntan lotion in the mansion (?) - details for a new twisted version of Alice in Wonderland, or is this another layout for a story?
*announcer's voice* "Tune in next time to see the all-new conclusion to Rhe's twisted dream adventures." Um, yeah.
Was it a good idea to come home? Now I ain't sure. My mom wants me to stay home for another day. Argh!
Got the first Myst book : The Book of Ti'ana. The second book, The Book of D'ni, was a great adventure to read. Now mind you, I've watched my brother play the first two Myst games, and it's frustrating to just watch him play - there're too many puzzles that take too long to figure out (and I don't have patience for puzzles, not even the simpler kind - Mir and Mom will tell ya). I'm content to read the books, thanks.
This weekend has been fun, tiring and kawazy all at the same time. I feel kinda sorry for Mir, who's not used to the hour-long drive from S.F. to Livermore and vice versa - somethin' my dad has to put up with in order to come to church every weekend. (That's a long story I don't have time to tell right now, I'm afraid.)
My apartment looks nice, I mean reeally nice. It is so much better than my old dorm room; the place came furnished with three bedrooms, a kitchen, two bathrooms, and a living/dining room. Me and Mir went shopping for stuff to fix up the bathroom, and I've got my side of the double bedroom set up. Sweet! There's only one other girl living there right now, and I'll meet her tomorrow night if things go well.
Plans are bein' made so me and Mir can attend the church convention at the end of July; I'll also be able to meet L.T. and Chris, my reptile-loving bro in Riverside. I'm so lookin' forward to this summer!
Fer now, though, I've gotta look for a summer job on-campus; things with the internship don't seem to be going so well, and truthfully, I'd rather stay in S.F. But we'll see how things go . . .
This is me at the computer terminal : Log in to Tripod. Forty-five minutes later, log out. Two minutes pass - log in again. A minute later, log out. *sigh* Sheez, I misspelled that word. Log in again . . .
When will I ever learn?
I think I filled my duffel bag with too much stuff - my arm felt ready to fall off while I was walking away from the bus.
About an hour and forty-five minutes to go before check-in time. Whoohoo! I wonder what my roomie(s) are like . . . will they even be checking in at all today?
From one of yesterday's posts :
"That is unfortunately the case when it comes to any sort of war, ain't it? Between groups or nations . . . it's still the same thing, esp. when hostilities and hatreds have existed for hundreds or thousands of years. What kind of animals have we turned into?"L.T. responded to this earlier today, and I thought he made a good point :
The question you should ask is not what have we turned into, but what are we?There are so many things from 1916 that I'd love to post here, but it'd ruin the fun of reading the book for yourself. So check it out from the library or buy it. It's a great read.