Behold:
31 May, 2011
happy birthday to me.
I'm 21 now. Big surprise, I feel the same.
Behold:
Yes. That's what you think it is. A magnificent, if petite cookie decorated by professional cookie decorator me (as a sort of birthday gift to myself) in honor of towel day. Sadly, it did not make it to the 25th. I ate it in an airport in Houston, because keeping it un-smashed on the plane was just too hard. And I can't not eat cookies.
Behold:
25 May, 2011
16 May, 2011
what's all this about lonely gods?
Feeling rather dithery today. Probably been reading for too long, if that's possible.
Question:
How important is it that I investigate Doctor Who? I have a vague feeling that I would like it if I did look into it. The people I know who like it also list The Hitchhiker's Guide and Monty Python as favorites - both of which I happen to adore. Plus I wouldn't feel so left out when my mates have these sort of doctor who worship fests on facebook.
Question:
What will I do after I've finished all the Lord Peter Wimsey books? I've only got two more. Read the 23 other books I checked out from the library, I suppose. But it will be a little sad. What a delightful couple of weeks of reading it has been, what?
Question:
Will I ever have a good French class? So far it's been 2-0, baddies decidedly winning. The bummer is, I really do want to learn French. I know I'm missing clues when Poirot says things in French. Unfair, that's what I call it.
This weekend, I spent about three hours on wikipedia, looking up alcoholic beverages. I did this, she hastily explained, because I read a lot of books where people get themselves a drink, or toddle over to the bar, or offer their guests refreshment, about every three pages. And I never, EVER know what the drinks really are or what they're supposed to look like. Well, I should say I never used to know - I do now. I drew little pictures of the drinks I come across about most often (brandy, sherry, whiskey and sodas, etc. in their appropriate glasses, thank you very much!) and then painted them in appropriate colors. I'm positively bursting with information. Port, for instance, is just wine that comes from Portugal. How totally understandable and logical is that? I always thought port was something quite different than wine. And Madeira - also wine - just has to come from the Madeira islands. I finally get why they use a snifter - though I will never understand why they had to give the glass such a silly name. I always thought it was just affectation, holding a glass that way.
Anyways, I think I am going to make a whole set of charts about things in books. I like to picture what I'm reading very accurately, as you can see.
So far, I've thought to look up:
Types of noses
Carriages
Difficult foods. The sort characters get at fancy restaurants, I mean.
Jane Austen attire and miscellany
The more obscure types of furniture. I can guess what a hip bath looks like, but I'd rather know.
Possibly, if I am very brave, a less pictorial chart about levels of English nobility and all that. It wouldn't be fun but it would be very helpful
Particular types of facial differences - ears, for instance - that detectives use when identifying people/bodies
I'm sure I'll think of more.
On the subject of obscure information, I also looked up gunshot residue the other day, and read some very interesting things. I wanted to know if people could conceivably fake suicides these days, the way they do in Agatha Christie novels. It seems like it would be pretty darn hard nowadays, with all the tests I'm sure the cops have at their disposal. The only way it could work is, obviously, if you managed to get some of residue on the dead person's hand - and the only really safe way I could think of doing that is by getting them to shoot the gun earlier in the day. For example, pretend there's a party at a country house and Lord so and so has just bought a new gun or is slightly eccentric and makes reproduction pistols in his attic. If everybody is cajoled into shooting the thing, you would have realistic residue on your future corpse's hand.
Oh. My. Gosh. Am I really this insane? I'm not planning to murder anybody, I promise. I just wondered.
Er... I think I'm going to go for a walk.
Question:
How important is it that I investigate Doctor Who? I have a vague feeling that I would like it if I did look into it. The people I know who like it also list The Hitchhiker's Guide and Monty Python as favorites - both of which I happen to adore. Plus I wouldn't feel so left out when my mates have these sort of doctor who worship fests on facebook.
Question:
What will I do after I've finished all the Lord Peter Wimsey books? I've only got two more. Read the 23 other books I checked out from the library, I suppose. But it will be a little sad. What a delightful couple of weeks of reading it has been, what?
Question:
Will I ever have a good French class? So far it's been 2-0, baddies decidedly winning. The bummer is, I really do want to learn French. I know I'm missing clues when Poirot says things in French. Unfair, that's what I call it.
This weekend, I spent about three hours on wikipedia, looking up alcoholic beverages. I did this, she hastily explained, because I read a lot of books where people get themselves a drink, or toddle over to the bar, or offer their guests refreshment, about every three pages. And I never, EVER know what the drinks really are or what they're supposed to look like. Well, I should say I never used to know - I do now. I drew little pictures of the drinks I come across about most often (brandy, sherry, whiskey and sodas, etc. in their appropriate glasses, thank you very much!) and then painted them in appropriate colors. I'm positively bursting with information. Port, for instance, is just wine that comes from Portugal. How totally understandable and logical is that? I always thought port was something quite different than wine. And Madeira - also wine - just has to come from the Madeira islands. I finally get why they use a snifter - though I will never understand why they had to give the glass such a silly name. I always thought it was just affectation, holding a glass that way.
Anyways, I think I am going to make a whole set of charts about things in books. I like to picture what I'm reading very accurately, as you can see.
So far, I've thought to look up:
Types of noses
Carriages
Difficult foods. The sort characters get at fancy restaurants, I mean.
Jane Austen attire and miscellany
The more obscure types of furniture. I can guess what a hip bath looks like, but I'd rather know.
Possibly, if I am very brave, a less pictorial chart about levels of English nobility and all that. It wouldn't be fun but it would be very helpful
Particular types of facial differences - ears, for instance - that detectives use when identifying people/bodies
I'm sure I'll think of more.
On the subject of obscure information, I also looked up gunshot residue the other day, and read some very interesting things. I wanted to know if people could conceivably fake suicides these days, the way they do in Agatha Christie novels. It seems like it would be pretty darn hard nowadays, with all the tests I'm sure the cops have at their disposal. The only way it could work is, obviously, if you managed to get some of residue on the dead person's hand - and the only really safe way I could think of doing that is by getting them to shoot the gun earlier in the day. For example, pretend there's a party at a country house and Lord so and so has just bought a new gun or is slightly eccentric and makes reproduction pistols in his attic. If everybody is cajoled into shooting the thing, you would have realistic residue on your future corpse's hand.
Oh. My. Gosh. Am I really this insane? I'm not planning to murder anybody, I promise. I just wondered.
Er... I think I'm going to go for a walk.
15 May, 2011
new men
The day before Easter, I became a Christian for realz.
So there you go. Yahoo.
I feel like dear old Lord Peter (yes, I am obsessed at the moment), minus the exceedingly good brains, tendency to reckless driving and endless wealth. He's says he's not such a fool as he looks - I hope I'm more serious than I seem. I tend to laugh at myself all the time, and consequently have trouble taking, or presenting myself seriously. Even telling my parents about this was a difficult, stammering affair. (Though, why I was so nervous I don't know. They were dears about it, and I didn't get a bit embarrassed.) But I am rather serious about this, though bursting with happiness at the same time. It's a different kind of laughter.
Anyways.
I've been one of those sad little "cultural Christians" for years. Going to church, singing songs and feeling like a sham all the time. I'm glad I'm done with all that. I look back in my diary and see the old me, a big blob of hopelessness and self-obsession. I'm sorry I lived like that for so long. If a person had really looked at me and said, "she is a Christian", Christianity would not have looked very nice or satisfying.
It seemed strange, when I first really started trying to turn my focus towards God, trying and praying that I could begin to die to myself, that life suddenly became much simpler and less stressful. Though, now I think about why it's less stressful, it makes sense. I worry less about finding the ideal job (which, deep down, I know doesn't exist) because I know - and I mean know - that if my purpose is to glorify God, it doesn't matter much where I am so long as I'm doing it the best I can. Finding the best way, or the place that will best facilitate living out that purpose is the question. I suppose it's one of the questions Christians should never stop asking themselves. Certainly, I'd like and I ought to try to find a job I enjoy where I can use the talents I've been given - but if I became a paraplegic tomorrow, my purpose wouldn't change. My life would not be ruined.
I am very satisfied. Weirdly, exhilaratingly so.
I know saying I must, " die to myself" is very easy, and doing it is very hard. But I also know I will waste my life if I don't try.
One thing's for sure - when writers talk about how, after you become a Christian and really try to buckle down and live like one, you begin to realize fully how messed up you are. At least, it has happened to me. Trying to be good has shown me how grouchy, snappish, gossipy and spiteful I really am. It's heartbreaking. I get into the most terrible fusses over the most ridiculous things. Something breaks or is ruined or I gain two pounds, and I go around like a thundercloud, not only making myself more and more unhappy, but trying to make those around me uncomfortable too. I fell that people ought to be much more sorry for me than they are. I hate being passed over or forgotten.
I still turn into a monster when little things upset me. But I'm recognizing it much more quickly, and apologizing when I hurt people. I'm trying, though I know I need to try harder.
C.S. Lewis is marvelous.
"I think all Christians would agree with me if I said that though Christianity seems at first to be all about morality, all about duties and rules and guilt and virtue, yet it leads you on, out of all that, into something beyond. One has a glimpse of a country where they do not talk of those things, except perhaps as a joke."
So there you go. Yahoo.
I feel like dear old Lord Peter (yes, I am obsessed at the moment), minus the exceedingly good brains, tendency to reckless driving and endless wealth. He's says he's not such a fool as he looks - I hope I'm more serious than I seem. I tend to laugh at myself all the time, and consequently have trouble taking, or presenting myself seriously. Even telling my parents about this was a difficult, stammering affair. (Though, why I was so nervous I don't know. They were dears about it, and I didn't get a bit embarrassed.) But I am rather serious about this, though bursting with happiness at the same time. It's a different kind of laughter.
Anyways.
I've been one of those sad little "cultural Christians" for years. Going to church, singing songs and feeling like a sham all the time. I'm glad I'm done with all that. I look back in my diary and see the old me, a big blob of hopelessness and self-obsession. I'm sorry I lived like that for so long. If a person had really looked at me and said, "she is a Christian", Christianity would not have looked very nice or satisfying.
It seemed strange, when I first really started trying to turn my focus towards God, trying and praying that I could begin to die to myself, that life suddenly became much simpler and less stressful. Though, now I think about why it's less stressful, it makes sense. I worry less about finding the ideal job (which, deep down, I know doesn't exist) because I know - and I mean know - that if my purpose is to glorify God, it doesn't matter much where I am so long as I'm doing it the best I can. Finding the best way, or the place that will best facilitate living out that purpose is the question. I suppose it's one of the questions Christians should never stop asking themselves. Certainly, I'd like and I ought to try to find a job I enjoy where I can use the talents I've been given - but if I became a paraplegic tomorrow, my purpose wouldn't change. My life would not be ruined.
I am very satisfied. Weirdly, exhilaratingly so.
I know saying I must, " die to myself" is very easy, and doing it is very hard. But I also know I will waste my life if I don't try.
One thing's for sure - when writers talk about how, after you become a Christian and really try to buckle down and live like one, you begin to realize fully how messed up you are. At least, it has happened to me. Trying to be good has shown me how grouchy, snappish, gossipy and spiteful I really am. It's heartbreaking. I get into the most terrible fusses over the most ridiculous things. Something breaks or is ruined or I gain two pounds, and I go around like a thundercloud, not only making myself more and more unhappy, but trying to make those around me uncomfortable too. I fell that people ought to be much more sorry for me than they are. I hate being passed over or forgotten.
I still turn into a monster when little things upset me. But I'm recognizing it much more quickly, and apologizing when I hurt people. I'm trying, though I know I need to try harder.
C.S. Lewis is marvelous.
"I think all Christians would agree with me if I said that though Christianity seems at first to be all about morality, all about duties and rules and guilt and virtue, yet it leads you on, out of all that, into something beyond. One has a glimpse of a country where they do not talk of those things, except perhaps as a joke."
06 May, 2011
broadway always wears a smile
It's been a while, has not it? It feels so good to stretch my narcissistic blog muscles again.
SO! I turned 18 during Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull or whatever that monstrosity was called - guess what I will be watching when I turn 21? (Puts on posh British accent while doing foofy hand-motions) The American Ballet Theatre performing Giselle. Yes! How infinitely chic-er can you get? (I must be very tired, because I almost made some very, very bad, pun-laden jokes about the leap - see? - from bad movie to good ballet.) We are going to New York and Boston for an actual, real vacation. We NEVER go on vacation. We always go to something - a speech tournament, Aunt Nancy's birthday - and pretend that it is a vacation. I have to pretend pretty hard sometimes.
Anyways, I'm dreadfully excited. In Boston we are going to see John Williams directing the Boston Pops. My dear sister almost pees her pants when she thinks about it. She wants to make movie music for a living, and he's her favorite composer. When I think about Boston, I also get very excited because after three years of waiting, I will finally be able to buy a sweatshirt with Harvard on it, spelled phonetically.
In New York we are also going to see (triumphant horn blow!) How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. Well, Dad and I are going to see How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying - Mom and Cee are going to see Daniel Radcliffe.
Because I must burn off this excitement or I will never go to sleep, here is a small pictorial representation of what this trip will be:
I'M RATHER EXCITED.
I like New York very much.
Okay, right now I am going to think of every song I can... um... think of that mentions New York.
"New York, New York, it's a wonderful town!"
"Autumn in New York, something something ah something..."
"NYC, just got here this morning! Three buck, two bags, one me!"
"I guess the Lord must be in New York City..."
Uh...
Oh dear. This is bad. One of the songs is from Annie, for crying out loud! Think, Kelsey!
Do songs like "the Lady is a Tramp" and "Uptown Girl" and that rap that says something about Tribeca count? New York is implied...
Oh! oh! on a side note, I've read like five Dorothy Sayers novels this week. Lord Peter Wimsey's piffle is just so delightful, I can't seem to stop.
I read somewhere that Christopher Paolini is digging a hobbit house in his backyard. I would almost - almost - write and ask if that's true. Because that's just great.
On the subject of hobbits, the guy who played Arthur Dent in the Hitchhiker's Guide movie is going to be perfect as Bilbo. The man can say, "I need a cuppa tea" with such believable passion... he's going to be a dead cert.
These side notes were meant to distract the reader away from the fact that I know four measly songs off the top of my head that directly mention New York. Pathetic.
SO! I turned 18 during Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull or whatever that monstrosity was called - guess what I will be watching when I turn 21? (Puts on posh British accent while doing foofy hand-motions) The American Ballet Theatre performing Giselle. Yes! How infinitely chic-er can you get? (I must be very tired, because I almost made some very, very bad, pun-laden jokes about the leap - see? - from bad movie to good ballet.) We are going to New York and Boston for an actual, real vacation. We NEVER go on vacation. We always go to something - a speech tournament, Aunt Nancy's birthday - and pretend that it is a vacation. I have to pretend pretty hard sometimes.
Anyways, I'm dreadfully excited. In Boston we are going to see John Williams directing the Boston Pops. My dear sister almost pees her pants when she thinks about it. She wants to make movie music for a living, and he's her favorite composer. When I think about Boston, I also get very excited because after three years of waiting, I will finally be able to buy a sweatshirt with Harvard on it, spelled phonetically.
In New York we are also going to see (triumphant horn blow!) How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. Well, Dad and I are going to see How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying - Mom and Cee are going to see Daniel Radcliffe.
Because I must burn off this excitement or I will never go to sleep, here is a small pictorial representation of what this trip will be:
 |
I like New York very much.
Okay, right now I am going to think of every song I can... um... think of that mentions New York.
"New York, New York, it's a wonderful town!"
"Autumn in New York, something something ah something..."
"NYC, just got here this morning! Three buck, two bags, one me!"
"I guess the Lord must be in New York City..."
Uh...
Oh dear. This is bad. One of the songs is from Annie, for crying out loud! Think, Kelsey!
Do songs like "the Lady is a Tramp" and "Uptown Girl" and that rap that says something about Tribeca count? New York is implied...
Oh! oh! on a side note, I've read like five Dorothy Sayers novels this week. Lord Peter Wimsey's piffle is just so delightful, I can't seem to stop.
I read somewhere that Christopher Paolini is digging a hobbit house in his backyard. I would almost - almost - write and ask if that's true. Because that's just great.
On the subject of hobbits, the guy who played Arthur Dent in the Hitchhiker's Guide movie is going to be perfect as Bilbo. The man can say, "I need a cuppa tea" with such believable passion... he's going to be a dead cert.
These side notes were meant to distract the reader away from the fact that I know four measly songs off the top of my head that directly mention New York. Pathetic.
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