Off To Camp

Going off to Miracle Ranch to spend the next month as a counselor.

*sigh*

Somehow I just want to stay home and relax rather than endure a month of camp. I haven't seen my dad nearly enough lately, and my mom and sister aren't going to be back for a few days (thank God) so if I didn't have to go, I could hang out with Dad. That would be lovely.
Unfortunately I've already signed up, and they're counting on my presence.

*sigh*

Reminder

When you get a chance could you look up the Shrewsbury Renaissance Faire near Corvallis?

Congratulations! You Have Just Recieved...

THE CONGRESSIONAL MEDAL OF HONOR!

Ooooh, buuurn... :3

Been Gaming Awhile

My dad discovered the Fancy Pants Adventures on a site called Kongregate. I joined and have since gotten totally carried away, between 3D Logic, Speck Oppression, Particles, and Bubble Tanks. So I've been spending all my time upping my ranking on the site. I have 227 points, I'm a level 3, and I only need 33 more points to be a level 4.

My Lord, I'm a geek.

Maybe this tells me a little about myself, though: once I have a goal, I will strive after it until I get it (or just get really bored), and I'll try different methods to reach my destination. I can spend all my time distracted in my goal, once I have one.

Maybe this is why I like this site so much. It's a total distraction.

Of Death and Funerals

Isn't it weird to go to a funeral for someone you never knew? But then, I think it's weird to go to a funeral for someone you did know. The very act of honoring someone who is not able to bear witness to their honoring seems a very strange ideal. If you didn't know the person, you have no claim to their life; why should you have claim in their death? And why should we honor their death, anyways? Honoring their death is not an honor to their life. It is an honor to their death, and that is all. And who are you giving the honor to - their memory? I don't understand the concept. If the person is not alive, why should we lend our senses to them? Why should we drown ourselves in the memory, when life is waiting for us? Their time of changing has passed. If anything, we should learn a lesson from those passed: live life while one can. Doesn't that lesson in and of itself throw the idea of a grand funeral into doubt?

Then again, I've never lost someone who is extraordinarily close to me. If and when I lose a parent or sibling, perhaps then I will understand better the need for closure from grief.

Just Exploring

Found a cool site with a ton of games. The site only went public recently, so it's not totally polished, but I've been having a lot of fun anyway.

Well, time for a lunch break.

Also Decyferdown has kind of a cool sound to them. Here's their mySpace.

It's A Wonderful Night, You've Gotta Take It From Me

It is such a beautiful night outside. It's easily room temperature. One could sleep out there if one could find a good solution for the mosquitos.

I wish that I didn't live in such close proximity to the city. What I wouldn't give to see the unadultered stars adorning space. I want to see the stars so badly. It hurts that I can only see the few brightest on such a gorgeous night.

I want to live in a place without mosquitos. Then I could sleep outside in a hammock on nights like this, with nothing but a light blanket and a pillow, and fall asleep admiring the moon. I could awaken with the dawn and the sparrows.

*sighhhh*

I need to stop dreaming about things like this. It makes for a sour heart when you realize how far you are from the dream.

Indeed, I Think Randomosity Works Here

Was editing my profile and got this for a random question:

The children are waiting! Please tell them the story about the bald frog with the wig:

So, of course, I write a short novel. Here you are.

Once upon a time there was a bald frog named Jacob. He spent all his time leaping about from shadow to shadow, frightened that the bright sunlight would bake his head to a crust, and worried about how to prevent it.
Finally he went to visit his aunt, whose name was Petunia. Petunia was very wise, for a frog, but not so much as compared to humans. Jacob asked her what he should do to cover up his head without having to jump from shadow to shadow. "Well," said Petunia, "'Tis my belief that a wig should look a right side better than a blackened skull." Jacob was amazed at her wisdom, and gave her three large glossy green flies from his pouch as a token of his appreciation before hopping away to find the wigmaker.
The wigmaker was a small ostrich who lived at the outskirts of town. As he was the only wigmaker in the area, he got a monopoly on the business and was quite successful. His name was Mr. Maltbrook. Jacob hopped over to see him, being very careful to keep in the shade.
"Mr. Maltbrook!" he croaked loudly. "Mr. Maltbrook!"
"Here I am," said a very flustered ostrich. "What can I do for you, fine sir?"
"Well, you can make me a wig!" said Jacob impatiently. "That's what I came all the way over for!"
"Oh, my," said Mr. Maltbrook. "There's a bit of a waiting list, I'm afraid. All the rabbit family wanted theirs done at once, you see. I'm quite tied up. Is there any way you might wait a couple of weeks?"
Jacob pondered for a while. "No," he finally croaked. "I'd like one now, if you please."
Mr. Maltbrook sighed a big long sigh - he only ever sighed long sighs with his long neck - and said that he supposed he could do something. Jacob was very happy and thanked Mr. Maltbrook ecstatically, then settled down to wait for his wig. After a while Mr. Maltbrook sent in a small fieldmouse to obtain Jacob's cranial measurements, but after that no one bothered Jacob in his patient wait.
It took Mr. Maltbrook six hours to make a satisfactory wig for Jacob. It was a lovely wig, all done up with white powdered curls and green ribbons to complement Jacob's skin tone. Jacob was very proud of it, and paid an almost unheard-of amount of twelve bluebottle flies for his new wig.
From that time after Jacob sat happily in the sunshine upon his lily pads, where he could easily reach the gnats that danced in the sunbeams. He grew very large and fat and wealthy, since he was free to roam about as he chose, and lived to a very old ripe age before handing his wig down to his children.

Such A Bloody Seattleite

I had a day in Seattle with some friends. It was a lot of fun.
As pictured, I went to Borders and found a near-lifesize cardboard cutout of Michael Buble, and was happy.
Also we went and had tea and crumpets with Nutella and went about the Pike Place Market a bit, then went to several clothing stores, because we are teenagers and thus idiots.

Can't say I didn't enjoy it, though.

Severely unflattering photo, innit?

To Love Your Soul

At the risk of sounding emo, have some song lyrics.

Am I a man who knows how to love, yeah?
When you hate what you fear the most, yeah
I'll wash your feet as you spit in my face
Hey you, I love your soul

I'm gonna love when you hate
You can't outrun or escape this liquid
My life poured out like water
I'm gonna drown you with maddening forgiveness
Hey you, I love your soul

I can't depend on your hate to define my love
Am I strong enough to love your soul?

Love doesn't care to receive what it gives
Bleeding compassion to extreme
Love stretches out to die for its enemies
Hey you, I love your soul

I can't depend on your hate to define my love
Am I strong enough to love your soul?
No bounds on the deep, no bounds on the wide
Am I deep enough to love your soul?

GOD I want to swim in the deep of You

GOD in You I'm strong enough,
strong enough, strong enough

I can't depend on your hate to define my love
Am I strong enough to love your soul?
No bounds on the deep, no bounds on the wide
Am I deep enough to love your soul?

- Skillet, Hey You, I Love Your Soul

At the risk of sounding melodramatic and emo, suffice it to say that I'm feeling this song right now.