voldemort and a loris

Here is a picture.

Here is a story.

dream jobs

The concept of being a detective has mesmerized me ever since I was yay-high. Not a real look-at-bloody-pictures-all-day detective, an old school book-derived detective. An enthusiast of mystery like Basil of Baker Street, an eye for the elementary like the great Sherlock Holmes... a humorous quick thinker like... Robert Downey Jr? Well, 2 out of 3.

It started when I listened to Jungle Jam... and then Adventures in Odyssey. It continued into teen-hood. It still exists now. Voice acting. There are so many nuances to the voice that people don't consciously notice. So many elements play into a voice -- so many characteristics, habits... I have a tendency to listen to people's voices. To imitate someone's voice is to notice the subtle part of their being that makes them heard. To voice act is to project a character using only sound. It is an art.

I wrote my first full book when I was 7 or 8 years old. It's still on my bookshelf. It's about horses, naturally. When I was 14, I typed up 30 pages of my first real shot at a novel. Life happened and motivation waned, unfortunately. I watched What's-His-Name publish Eldest at age 19, ripping apart my half-dream to be the youngest successfully published author in America. [Mini-rant: I really disliked Brisingr, though. Which was comforting. Somebody get that guy an editor. Are you being paid by the word? Shooot. I stopped in the middle.] Even though age 19 has slipped by, I still think about writing something...

snackage

First, let me set my scene. The warm, foldy curtain is apathetically attempting to shade my room, but light pushes past onto my corner of the bed. So here I'll bathe, a little cat-like. There are paper rings hanging from the ceiling like stalag-somethings, adding reds and purples and blues and whites to the blue/brown room. There is a giant painting of a cartoon owl staring at me with uneven, always-surprised owl eyes.

Snack time. It's a platter, so pick and choose as you may.

• Read this poem about reading poetry: Click Me.
• I always mix up The Black Eyed Peas and The Red Hot Chili Peppers. Not that there's a lot of occasion... to do so...
• I've discovered an odd fondness for the song Don't Rain on My Parade when it guest-starred on an episode of Glee. I'm not a huge fan of Glee, but What's-Her-Face's performance was cra-zazy.
• Demetri Martin is a literal genius. Not like, "ohemgee, he's the shiz, what a funny funny guyyyy" but like, "If he put his mind to it, he could take over the world." I'd like him to become a Christian, please.
• Strawberries are really, really delicious. Eating a strawberry is a delightful experience.
• I'm sitting in on a high school ESL class right now... and I'm back in California... so... can I just say this? Can I just say this without sounding bizarre? I really, really love asians. I just love them.
• There is a girl in one of my classes that people find annoying. She's a blurter. Do you know what I mean by that? She blurts. Most people don't like a blurter. Someone asked me if I liked this girl, and I didn't answer, but she said "You do. You like her. How can you like her?" And you know what I was thinking? Yeah, I like her. But more than that, I love her. I had an opportunity to explain the whole God's love thing, but I didn't. These were Christian school kids. And I had a feeling that it wouldn't have settled. Or would it have?
• See picture below.

o and p

My day started twice today. So yesterday evening I was tired, right? Yeah. People get tired. So I'm thinkin': nap. I announce to the general living room, "I'm taking a nap. Don't let me sleep too long" and I stumble into my bed. I dream and snuggle my nose into my pillow untiiillll- BAM. It's dark. ... it's dark and it's... quiet. Oh no. It's dark and quiet. That means one of three things in my house: The rapture happened... at night. My family was murdered... at night. Or it was the middle of... the night. I groaned, rolled out of bed, brail-walked my way downstairs... flipped the light on... 4 am. I went back to sleep, didn't wake up to my silenced alarm, and that was how my day started twice.

Now that I have more to do in my classes, I feel a lot less tired. I think I was making such an effort to stay intellectually engaged with the teacher, the classroom, the strategies... that I plum tuckered myself out. I've definitely learned from observing different age groups, ability levels, subjects within English, and even different teachers. It's been beneficial.

Least favorite part: wearing professional clothing.

Favorite part: understanding why a teacher is doing what they are doing and seeing a group of students react positively.

I am attempting to go above and beyond the credit requirements. I have been grading papers, using prep periods to postulate and reflect, leading reading activities, taking notes on teacher/student interactions and the flow of the classes... I will be teaching for two days next week in creative writing and today I attended the faculty meeting. There is one thing that I have failed to do properly: my O&P journals. Day 1 and 2 it was late, day 3 I forgot! And now the next one is due in 15 minutes. Ah!

redwood christian high school 2: my own sequel

My May term class is called Observation and Participation. It's 2 credits and it requires 60 hours (6 hours, 10 days). I am serving my time observing and participating at Redwood Christian Middle School and High School. It was odd being back as something more than a visitor but different than a student or teacher. I am, however, being treated like a teacher.

Here is my schedule:

1st period- prep

2nd period- reading with Mrs. Savage

3rd period- ESL with McDaniel

4th period- 10th honors english with McDaniel

5th period- 10th english with McDaniel

6th period- lunch

7th period- 7th grade English with Blevins

8th period- creative writing with Russell

... that's all I have the energy to say. I'm absolutely exhausted.

Ecclesiastes 11:6

"Sow your seed in the morning, and at evening let not your hands be idle, for you do not know which will succeed, whether this or that, or whether both will do equally well."

This is my verse of the summer.

"Broaden cooking skills, read a variety of books, get a job, exercise regularly, and begin a bible study."

These are my goals of the summer.

"Write something, sculpt something, play tennis, play catch."

This is how I will avoid wasting time.

"San Diego, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Oakland, San Jose, Monterey, Carmel, San Ramon, Hayward, San Lorenzo, San Leandro"

These are the places I will visit.

So, friends, there you have it.

Know what's great?

The time change. Waking up at 8 in the morning in California feels like waking up at 11 am. I'm such an impressively early-riser right now. Not much of an audience, or anything, but still.

The Fairy Tale of My First Few Days Back After Four Months Away

Once upon today, Goldie Bethany woke up and ate a blueberry bagel. It was just right. Unfortunately, she forgot that she had just arrived home, and so the hype would feed her for several days. Not 10 minutes later, her father popped happily in the door with a bag of donuts. And so she partook of second breakfast and beamed thankfully.

Later that day, Bethany began a book that her brother had given her. He insisted it was excellent, and so she read in the sun of her window. In popped father again, this time with crackers, cheese, and a pickle on a plate. A little snack, he announced, would be a good move before dinner in a couple hours. She agreed with a smile and munched while she read.

Half an hour later, mother stepped into the room and climbed onto the bed. In mother's hands were an apple, a knife, and two plates. Her mother sliced the apple and between crunches, they spoke. When the apple was gone, Bethany took a short nap.

She awoke to her mother announcing dinner and a movie, and so she slipped out of bed and into the kitchen. Food was put on a plate, eaten, re-filled, and eaten again. Mid-movie, chocolate cake was passed around.

And so ended Bethany's first day home and the inevitable reception of her family's love language: food.