An artist out at sea

I just saw a commercial for some stupid new reality TV show. Here I am, trying to escape my little sliver of the universe by turning on the tube and devouring some humor from The Big Bang Theory (I love nerds), and I get interrupted from doing so when all of these stupid commercials come on that are advertising some new reality TV show. It was something about a neighborhood that had a wall up around it. I didn’t catch the name. I was instantly bombarded by thoughts concerning how stupid TV has gotten that I was too sidetracked to remember the damn name.

There are too many of these shows to name. VH1 and MTV are chock full of ‘em. They come up with a new one each week starring someone who lost on a different reality TV show. (Ex: I Love New York, Megan Wants A Millionaire, Daisy of Love, That’s Amore etc.) They start as one tiny twig and then branch off into a million other shows. And what about those Laguna Beach shows? As if the world’s population wants to watch spoiled little rich kids running around in the California sunshine. Unfortunately, these shows have viewers. I can assure you that I am not among them.

Sure, it might be fun to forget about your life and get a peek into someone else’s who is more privileged than you are, but is it really that fun? Fun enough to watch the show religiously and worship the people on it? Do the viewers know that probably half of the stuff isn’t even reality? And that in real life NO ONE looks like those people? I guess not.

When I watch TV (which isn’t often), it’s to be entertained by something that isn’t real. Something that could never happen. (Ex: SpongeBob draws with a pencil an artist out at sea dropped and the doodle comes to life.) It’s that kind of thing. I’m too busy trying to live my life to pause everything and watch someone else live theirs.

“Sexting – and common sense”

“Eighteen-year-old Jessica Logan of Ohio committed suicide after her boyfriend put her naked photos out in public, but it was also girls who bullied and harassed her. The girl who trusted was socially ostracized more than the boy who violated that trust” (Goodman).

I am all about having an opinion, and it just so happens that Ellen Goodman and I share one on this particular subject. This article has helped me confirm the undeniable conclusion that girls are stupid.

Teenage girls get so absorbed in their “significant other” that nothing else is important to them. When the boyfriend texts and says “hey babe can I get some pics?” the girl will usually be more than happy to oblige. She will think he wants me! and give in to anything he asks. Girls want to feel loved, and when a boy feeds a girl what she wants to hear, she is all his.

I have common sense. I think about the consequences of my actions before I go through with them. If I have to think about something for thirty seconds or more, it probably is not a very good idea. I would never take part in this “sexting” because A) it is a stupid thing to do, and B) I do not even own a cellular telephone. Trust is vital, and honestly, most teenage boys cannot be trusted.

The girls who do have trust in someone have to face the consequences they never fathomed before. What really gets me in a tizzy is that boys have a choice. They can be responsible for a girl’s pain, humiliation, and the baby growing inside of her one minute, and then simply walk away the next. The girl is scarred for simply trusting somebody, but the male involved has no visible boo boos.

“Let’s not forget the sexism in sexting” (Goodman). Yeah, don’t remind me.

I’m strongly against all things sexting. Nobody considers the future consequences anymore and it is a shame. One mistake can screw up the whole problem for you on a math test . . . or it can ruin your life; like it did for Jessica Logan.

Sugar, spice, and everything nice

Normally I try to have a reason why I am writing on my blog, but tonight I do not seem to have one. Oh well, I’ll just let the creative juices flow and make some lemonade. (Ha, geddit? Lemonade? I crack myself up.)

I don’t feel like being outlandish anymore. I’m too tired in the morning to bother with my usual crazy and quirky mismatching outfits. Every day it’s just jeans, a tee shirt, and my main pair of Chucks. My blue ones haven’t been touched in months, my old black ones are sleeping peacefully somewhere, my brown and pink ones have only certain outfits that they match with, and my new camouflage ones have only been on my feet once or twice since I got them for Christmas. Is there such thing as being depressed by lack of new clothing articles? I think I may be experiencing something of this sort. I need something new to wear, pronto! (Even though there are several items in my closet that still have pricetags on them…) Maybe tomorrow I’ll dig out my “hooker” boots that haven’t been in use since, oh, February-ish. I can see the snow falling from where I am sitting now. We have made it to the month of April safe and sound – doesn’t Mother Nature owe us all a break? (Though I must thank Her for this last chance *knocks on wood* to use my lovely boots.)

I want graduation to get here. At the beginning of the year I couldn’t bear the thought of my friends leaving me behind, but now I’m at the point where I want to shove some of them out the window and yell “GOOD RIDDANCE!” I’m sick of their stupid drama and recent bout of Senioritis that engulfed them all. Just let me be in peace in the hell where I must spend two more years of my life. Years filled with unnecessary mathematical equations that I will need only to pass the stupid NYS Regents tests that we are forced to take every January and June. Next year comes the test that I have mixed feelings about: English. It doesn’t matter if you have talent when it comes to writing, if you forget a literary element (Zeus forbid) and you fail to match up to the criteria set before you, you’re practically screwed. Being forced into a piece of wood by a giant hammer is not my idea of a good time.

Everyday it’s the same routine. Get up at 6:50ish-7:00ish, “Oh crap! I have to take a shower!” Hurriedly strip thyself, wash thyself, dry thyself, clothe thyself, eat/drink feed thyself, and get thyself out the door before the clock can strike 7:23. At least I have a very organized list set in my head before I do anything. If I did not possess this skill, I would be doomed to fail. I don’t have time to bother with the outfits I used to sport all the time. I grab my stuff, make sure Pandora is in my pocket, and get in the car before mom starts honking the horn. I need something new. I need something different. I need something exciting to happen that will spice things up, but only for a little while so they can go back to normal again. I don’t like change, but temporary change would be okay. Watch, now I’ll wake up in the morning and find that I’ve switched bodies with my brother overnight. I don’t know what I want. Definitely not a dramatic change, Zeus, but a little spice would be nice.

You be you, I’ll be me

I can see through people. Not many people have this ability, but I certainly do. When people lie, I can tell. When people cover something up, I can tell there’s something more. When someone only pretends to like me, I can tell. When people are fake, it makes me sad. When people copy what I do and call it their own, it depresses me a little. What? Can they not come up with something on their own? If you feel that you need to lie, that’s okay with me. If you don’t mention a major detail of a story, fine, I won’t pry. Go ahead and keep pretending to like me. As long as it avoids stupid drama I’m fine. If talking about me keeps you entertained, that’s okay with me. If you feel the need to hide yourself and put up a false front, okay. I’ll be me, you be not you. It’s when someone copies me that really gets to me. I don’t care if it’s supposed to be flattering – it honestly gets very annoying. Be you, I’ll be me. Get your own ideas, create your own style…and leave me be. I’ve accepted that original thoughts are next to impossible (the world is so full of people – it is only to be assumed that someone has thought of something before me), but my style; my original way of life; the way I go about my business has to be my own. You be you (unless you’re fake), and I’ll be me. Subtract original thoughts, but add in a lot of confidence. Confidence is what I thrive on. To be like me you must have confidence. Well, do you?

No, Miley. I don’t ever wish to be a “Fly On The Wall”

I feel like ranting. Hope you’re ready for this.

I just viewed Miley Cyrus’s video for “Fly On The Wall.” Now, I didn’t mean to watch it, I was perfectly happy with the 3OH!3 video that was before it, but I cannot control the playlist on Playlist. Though I wish I could, sadly I cannot.

She is so annoying. I hate all of these pop artists that think they are hot shit and stuff. They think that absolutely everyone loves them, even though quite a few people obviously don’t. Another example is Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable.” Now, I respect Beyonce more than Miley, but the whole “I could have another you in a minute” really cheesed me off. Yes, Beyonce, now we know that you are a whore and like it. Good for you! Now shut up.

Anyway, back to Miley.

It just feels like the perfect time to rant about her again. Remember my post from over the summer? Ha… well, here’s more.

I didn’t mind her when she first appeared out of nowhere. I watched Hannah Montana every once in awhile and kind of liked it. After some time, she definitely didn’t grow on me. SpongeBob did, but she didn’t. After the whole Vanity Fair fiasco all I remember thinking is “ew.” I never was a fan of hers, but after the magazine thing, I didn’t care for her at all. Here she is, this role model on Disney Channel for all of these young kids that love and adore her, and then she has to do something like that. Gross.

Her voice is awful, I don’t think she’s that pretty, and her chipmunk teeth annoy the hell out of me. The part in the music video when the “paparazzis” start dancing really got to me. She’s just standing there with her mouth part way open and her teeth sticking out. Very attractive. She’s obviously trying to break free of “cute little Miley” and trying to be “bad ass Miley.” It’s not working. All of these Disney people seem to think they have to prove that they aren’t as “goody goody” as they seem. It’s starting to get a little annoying, to tell you the truth.

I feel bad for all of the young kids that look up to this Miley character. Pretty soon they’ll be wearing really tight jeans and throwing their hair about in an attempt to be like Miley, who tries to be sexy. She’s a little older than I am, but she is acting like she’s in her twenties. If being a “Fly On The Wall” means having to listen to stupid gossip and hair products and clothes and shoes, well, I hope they see me and swat me. Or…I could buzz around her head and annoy the hell out of her. Yes, that sounds much better. In the meantime, I’ll stick with only ONE “Fly On The Wall.” Instead of watching Miley’s horrible video, go read the book Fly On The Wall by e. lockhart. It’s far better than any song Miley will ever sing. (Attempt to sing…)

Emily’s poetry, a history

I’ve been writing poetry for years. My mother named me after her favorite poet, so why not carry it on? I started out with a composition notebook that I decorated with stickers. Everyone just assumed it was my diary, as if it couldn’t be anything but a shallow notebook with all of my deepest secrets and fears hidden inside. Nobody gave me enough credit. Boys would steal it from me, but I managed to get it back without any harm done. They were only teasing. Teasing is harmless, right?

After that was filled, I moved onto a pink camouflage notebook that had pens attached to the front of it. It was nifty because if I had an idea I didn’t have to hunt for a pen before being able to write it down. The pens were just there. That notebook was also known as my “diary” and even a teacher asked: “why do you bring your diary to school?” To which I simply replied: “it’s not a diary.”

I poured random thoughts and whimsical dreams into those notebooks. Within about a month, the pages started ripping out of the pink camo notebook, so I saved the paper, but threw the rest of the notebook in the garbage. It was time to move on again.

I found a regular old yellow spiral notebook and plastered it with quotes, stickers, drawings, and pop-up sunflowers that I ripped off a thing I had at home. Poetry was transferred from my head onto the pages of that thing for about a year. I entered the seventh grade with the same notebook, and only showed the ones I was proud of to my then English teacher (who is now a teacher in the high school). The boys in my grade grew up a little and stopped calling it my diary, and I continued writing.

For my birthday that year, one of my best friends (we barely speak anymore…) bought me a hardcover spiral notebook with puppies on the front. Said notebook lasted me for nearly two years. That notebook taught me something important. Because I wanted the notebook to last, I only wrote poetry when I really really felt like it and had a good feeling about an idea. I decided that I didn’t have to write about everything – but there are some things that I will always wish to remember. I still have one page left in that notebook that remains empty. If I fill it in, the notebook is done forever. I always want to have the option of being able to fill it up totally. It’s amazing to go from the earlier poems in that book to the last few. It’s like traveling through two years of my life in thirty minutes.

Eventually, I took a little notebook that was a party favor at some birthday party I went to (I think it was Carin’s) and ripped out the used pages. I then covered it with duct tape, and voila! New notebook.

Using the duct tape notebook, I rewrote some of the ones I am really proud of, but I also wrote a year’s worth of new material. I am still busy filling it up with my life, so it’s a work in progress. It’s crazy to see how much I have grown in the past year. There are some poems in said book that are extremely naive and young-sounding. I know I will say the same thing in the future when I look back at what I wrote when I was fifteen (the present… for now), but I like what is exploding out of my pen at the moment. Maybe I will post some examples in the near future (which is defined as: later today).

What gives you the right?

I’ve been thinking quite a bit lately. Mostly about life, death, murder, killing… etc…

Where am I going with this? Well…

I have been thinking about people that have taken another person’s life. Murderers, crazy people, people that should call a jail cell home as punishment for what they’ve done… What gives those people the right to take someone’s life away? Do they think that they are important enough to do something as horrible as that? How can someone stand up, point a gun at someone, shoot, and then still be able to live with themselves afterward?  I have future spreading out in front of me, or so it seems. What if I don’t? What if someone suddenly decides that they are good enough to take my life because they are not happy with their own? Yes, I am full of “what ifs,” but that’s just how I am.

I think guns should be illegal. Yes, they’re useful for hunting and whatnot, but these instruments can end someone’s life with the pull of the trigger – what gives a person the right to do that?

Bouquet of needles

My grandfather got up from his seat at the table and left the room. I had no idea where he went: all I knew was that he was getting something for me. He returned and set a box in front of me that I had seen earlier that day. It was a long box with screwdrivers featured on the top of it. I had disregarded it earlier because it had tools on the cover.

I guess I never thought that there could have been anything else in there besides tools. My grandparents never did either. They had always thought there were tools of some kind in there and never bothered opening it. I lifted the lid, and my grandma smiled at the awe written on my face.

Inside this tool box were quite a collection of knitting needles. Big, small, wooden, plastic, metal… you name it. “I’m sorry we didn’t get these to you sooner,” my grandma said. “We always thought that the box was full of screwdrivers and never thought to open it.”

“Are these yours, Grandma?” I asked. She let my grandfather answer my question.

“They were my mom’s,” said Papa.

So there I was. Holding a box full of knitting needles that have seen more than I could ever imagine. They had aided my great-grandmother with her hobby, and had probably created a sweater or two for Papa when he was younger.

It’s neat how a hobby can bring people together. My love for writing brings Jordan, my mother and me together, and then there’s knitting. Knitting is the one hobby that my mom and grandma and I can relate to. And if Great-Grandma were still alive, I’m sure she’d be the one to give me tips and pointers in the big world of knitting. It’s cool to use her needles and think that at one point in time she was probably sitting in a rocking chair knitting while a younger version of my grandfather looked on. Right now I am using a pretty blue pair that are relatively wide, and I cannot help but wonder as to what she used them for. I guess I will never know.

On my vanity sits a green vase with a bouquet of colorful knitting needles spilling out of it. Mixed in this vase are the needles I bought myself, and the ones that my great-grandma bought way back when. I will never have to buy myself another pair of needles as long as I live.

Don’t “go with the flow”

These days I live in a world where people quote lines from movies constantly. Maybe I am bitter about this because I do not tell stories or quote movie lines very well, but it gets annoying when I ask a question and someone responds with a line from Stepbrothers or Juno or The Dark Knight. It’s as if there are no more original thoughts anymore… it’s like everyone has their own personal screenwriter. I guess people just piss me off in general.

Am I the only person in this world with confidence? When I first brought my knitting to school, everyone laughed at me – but was I discouraged? No. I kept bringing it to school despite what people thought or think. If you like something, don’t be afraid to express it. Liking something makes you who you are and what’s wrong with showing who you are? Watch me walk down the hallway in what people call my “hooker” boots and my adorable Tripp skirt. Sure, people will stare, but do you know what they are really thinking? I think that they are wishing they could do something like that; dress like that; be who they really are. I can tell when someone has their shield up…and it’s kind of disappointing. I am kind of sick of taking the initiative. There are too many people that just “go with the flow.”

I have a friend who has changed a lot in the past year. Sure, I have changed too, but I haven’t changed what I believe in or my sense of humor or anything. My friend (he has been a friend for years) recently discovered his love for God. He goes to this church that sucks people in (at least, I think they do) every Sunday, and for the extra teen things that they do. I think of it as a cult. Going to church (should church be capitalized? ‘Cause I really don’t think it should be) so often has changed him completely. It’s as if he thinks he needs to be righteous all the time and do the right thing. If we gossip around him he gets pissed off. Oh, but when he wishes to gossip, it’s okay. I really miss who he was before he became super religious. Before he started bugging me about going to church. I feel like he has a wall up, and it needs to come down. I wish to knock it down, but we fight everyday over stupid things, and I never get the chance. I am very opinionated, and he can’t seem to accept my opinion, so he gets all cheesed off when I say mine. When he says his, I consider it. I don’t really know about him anymore. He is a completely different person these days. I don’t know what happened.

Anyway, yeah, people piss me off. Most people are selfish and it drives me nuts. I may not seem like it, but I think about other things besides myself. I am concerned about world hunger (which is why I visit the Free Rice website often), the economy – I was even thinking about how I was complaining about having to wake up early to go to school this week. Then I thought about it and here’s what I came up with: here I am complaining about going to school to be with friends when there is some kid who has to wake up early to go to school and gets beat up everyday and comes home covered with bruises that his/her parents don’t even notice. Yeah, suddenly waking up early to go to a place where I have friends and am at no risk whatsoever of being beaten up (unless I piss someone off) doesn’t sound too bad.

I have scratched the two resolutions I wanted to tackle. I can’t just quit everything cold turkey – I will ease into breaking free from my habits. Right now I am trying to be extremely thoughtful. And people still piss me off.