Not Really a Kangaroo Jacket

There's nothing like a pillar of perfection on which to smash my sorry ego...

Inadequacy, or the feeling that you are (inadequate, that is) is normal (I hope?). Having too many perfect people surrounding your imperfection seems like a cruel joke to make them look even better in comparison. And my whole day has been that sort of day.

"It seems like my whole life is that sort of life," the creepy girl in the corner huskily whispered, wearing too much eyeliner and a black hoodie three sizes too big. (Hood up, of course.)

"I prefer to call it a 'kangaroo jacket', actually, and it makes an artistic statement about the meaninglessness of life and work!"

Oh, yeah? Like what?

She shoots me a sardonic look from underneath her hooded eyelids, enunciating as if I'm the mad, bizarre one who broke into someone else's house to make odd comments in the corner. "That black is a color! Not a shade! A color! Take that, society."

What a statement. How did she even get in here? I need to stop leaving the cat flap open. But we don't have a cat. Or a cat flap.

*shoots wary glance to corner and scoots away slowly*

Anyway, I was saying before Miss Clothing from Australia over there interrupted me-

"It's not Australian," she calls over to me, looking bored as she tries reading my dictionary.

You said 'kangaroo'-

"Oh, and you just assume it was Australia?" bursts out my unwelcome visitor, the shine of triumphant conquer shining upon what little I can see of her face. "I just say 'kangaroo' and Little Miss Inadequacy Issues over here decides that 'Oh, kangaroos, things can be from Australia, I'm a geographically-challenged dork, blah de blah de blah!" She leans back into the wall, satisfied.

Okay, then. Where is your precious jacket with its misleading name come from, huh?

She slouches again, borrowing into her hoodie. "I don't know."

Ha. Google saved me. CANADA.

"I can be Canadian. If I want to," scoffs the girl in the corner. "You know, this is a really good book."

That's the, um, dictionary. What did you say your name was again?

"I didn't," she grins in a sinister manner.

That cleared things up. And don't be so sinister. Sinister people don't read the dictionary.

"But it's really good," she raved, in a rare display of emotion.

It seems I need to call pest control for this half-wit.

"You have self-esteem problems. And you're too slumpy."

Are you really in a position to be insulting anyone right now? You're a weirdo that I don't even know who is occupying a whole corner of my room, you're not Canadian and you call your hoodie a kangaroo jacket! You're reading the dictionary!

"You've read part of the dictionary before!" she remarked, injured.

That was four years ago, when I thought I was cool because I- wait a second, how do you know that?

"Lucky guess?" she replied sheepishly.

On that invasive and disturbing note, I will end this conversational blog post. We will recommence tomorrow, when we might fight out Miss Annoying 2011's problem. Or we might be led in meaningless circles again.

"Meaningless circles, for sure," mutters the odd one, putting on a garish shade of orange lipstick. "That's good, right?"

No comment, ha ha ha. Yes comment. You look like you put ketchup on a coral reef and ate it.

"I can still hear you, even if you mumble it sarcastically to yourself!"

Drat.

Quote for Thursday, April 7, 2011:

An original idea. That can't be too hard. The library must be full of them.

-The Liar (1991)

(

http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Stephen_Fry

)

Muse for a Day:

I have no idea what I was going to write about before the creepy girl in the corner. And it's BEDA for a week so far!

Cleaner than Normal

For once in my little life, I have no homework. I am also not reading, watching, or doing anything worth blogging about. So let's pretend you care (honestly, just pretend. I know I'm monstrously interesting, but you can pretend if you want to) and write up a list of stuffs on my bedroom floor. (I am an unorganized mess of processed food, so I am going to leave out things like 'granola bar wrappers' and pretend they don't exist.)

• A stack of blank index cards
• An empty glass of nothing
• I Me Mine by George Harrison (The book, not the song. Although I can't keep a song on my floor.)
• A plastic spider
• A broken-in-half headband
• Posterboard
• My cell phone
• A colored in picture of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter than my friend did for me
• Brave New World by Aldous Huxley (reading it for school. Very confusing, I think)
• Old stories from years ago (because I was rereading them a few nights ago, exalting in my brilliance.) (No, not really.) (But seriously. Those were good stories.) (No, not really.) (But seriously.)
• A black skirt that is very linty- how did it get so linty?
• Some lip balm
• A pen that looks like a flower (I did it with duct tape)
• A magnet from Paris (!) that a different friend got for me when she went there over break. It has dancing people and some French words on it.
• This is Me by Charlie McDonnell (This is music- in CD form)
• Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder, because I was pining for my childhood or something
• Half a package of unused tissues
• One pair of skinny jeans, questionably clean

And that is it. My rooms fairly clean today. I actually do have something to do, places to go, you know (usually I would be lying but now I am genuinely genuine) so I leave you here. If you want to document your floor, too, try it. It could be Freudian Fun! Punny! Ha! I'll leave before I get too witty.

Future Noncareers

Physics is a class which seems to have been made for the express purpose of reminding me that I'm not so smart. Well, Physics and Trigonometry are both adept at this honorable goal, but I digress.

Usually, physics is math. There is almost no difference between physics problems and math problems except physics has an ego and likes saying that it's science.

Except when it tries to be all scientific and hands-on.

Like today, when we are currently in the process of making a power strip. I realized at least two things in that class:

• Some boys don't deserve to exist, and they exist for the sole purpose of making the rest of us feel slimy and murderous.
• Electrician is at least one more career I will never have.

My list of noncareers (careers I will never have) has been lengthened considerably this year, which just shows you how school can be. Providing me with opportunities and crushing dreams I never knew I had. Just this year:

• Actor
• Gymnast
• Volleyball player
• Mathematician
• Truck driver (but that's a long story)
• Dancer (of any kind, and I knew this years ago, but the way it was proven to me this year makes me shudder at the pain of repressed embarrassing memories)
• And now electrician...

I'm not proficient at a lot of things... but we can only hope I don't have to fall back on any of these.

Also, I have a math test. And a headache. But that's okay.

No, it's not.

Quote for Tuesday, April 5, 2011:

"Le public est une bête féroce: il faut l’enchaîner ou la fuir."

("The public is a ferocious beast: one must chain it up or flee from it.")

-Voltaire

(

http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Voltaire

)

Indigo Eyes

I was back in school today after a week off, and in a way, I like being in school sometimes. I like the structure. I also like hating the structure, and doing everything I can to rebel against the structure (without actually ever getting in trouble, because I am a goody two-shoes).

I actually was thinking all day about what I would blog about- I know people run out of ideas fast during BEDA, and you can only use that "I'm dry!" excuse so many times in the month.

Actually, it's *cough cough* Day 4, and I think I've used that excuse already...

Now that we've trundled through all of my ceremonial useless blather, let's get to the real point:

I was walking down the hallway on my way to lunch. I was late, as usual. There's never anything good to notice when you're late. So I was noticing things like "School spirit banner...locker...locker...classroom...school spirit banner...pen on the ground! Ha ha! That's mine now! Locker...locker..." when I came across two people who were just standing there and talking. Using my stunning command of insipid glances, I shoot a sidelong look at the two people languidly leaning against the lockers, and I noticed their eyes right away, that they are the most interesting eyes I've ever seen.

The two of them have to be related, because their eyes were so uncannily similar. They (the eyes, not the people) were so dark that their irises almost looked black, but they were actually this sharp, deep shade of twilight indigo. Their eyes were shaped like cat's eyes, too, shrewd and narrow, so they looked like really wise gods, shining down upon the mortals of earth with their arresting eyes.

I think I had to catch my breath for a second, because I have never seen eyes that cool in person. The boy just gave me a quick glance and then ignored me, but the girl (who outlined her eye in midnight blue, making it stand out even more) gave me this annoying little smirk, like she knew what I was thinking. I felt very creepy, like I'd intruded on something, so I hurried along to try and erase the moment from existence.

But those were unforgettable eyes.

Quote for Monday, April 4, 2011:

The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you.

-(http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Infinite_Jest)

Muse for Today:

Other than what I wrote about in the post, this. Although, looking at Josh Hutcherson, he would make a better Gale than Peeta. But the filmmakers didn't ask me first.

Really Bad YA Fiction

Today, I am coming to you about YA novels. I am going to do my best not to criticize, but instead just bring things to your attention, in case your attentions weren't there anyway.

I'd like to think I am the key demographic for Young Adult novels- I am a teenage girl who likes to read and will put up with a lot of rubbish exposition for about fifty pages. (I read Twilight, didn't I? Nothing happened for roughly the first 110 pages. And I read it before the sensation started, too. There was nothing keeping me there but my ironclad patience and lack of anything else to do.) Also, I have outgrown quite a few children's books, but am throughly bored and/or disgusted by some adult books. This type of literature was made for me.

Or so you might think.

There are quite a few excellent YA authors, and what makes them excellent is that they do not pander to their audience. They understand who they're writing to. They know that not every single teenager has their mind completely fixated on the opposite gender and how to make the other gender love them (though it would be a lie to say that doesn't play some part). I like books that bring up some sort of thought, some sort of wondering about the world. I think teenagers have a lot that we're not sure of, and we don't really seem to fit in anywhere. We're too old to do things that we like or liked to do, but too young to do things that seem like the next step from where we are. It's an extremely awkward and boring place to be in, sometimes, and finding that state of wondering that isn't child-like but isn't grown-up is hard to do, but really pleasant to read when the author finds it.

For these sort of books, I like Paper Towns by John Green (probably the best YA novel ever written) and Don't Call Me Ishmael by Micheal Gerard Bauer (which is funny the entire time. Also, Australian).

But then there are YA books that I don't like, and I won't mention any of these by name because I hate them so much.

Usually, these books involve a girl. This girl will be either be:

• some sort of completely inadequate and insecure so-called 'smart-girl' who has one super-mega-totally-tight-yo-best friend, a horde of 'just-there' friends, and lots of time to complain. You will be asked to relate to her, but there is a 75% chance* that you will hate her.
• some 'new girl' who is 'different', 'smart', and 'totally appealing to everybody' but will still wind up being the whiniest brat in the whole story. You will be asked nothing of her, because she is so 'meek' and 'shy', but there is a 92% chance* that you will hate her.
• some kind of a Mary Sue who's desperately insecure and hides it all behind her Homecoming Queen smile and straight-A average (she will be involved in 'dozens of extra-curriculars' but somehow also have enormous amounts of time in which to complain). You will be asked to relate to her. However, because she is both irritating, spoiled, and completely unrealistic, there is a 89% chance* that you will hate her.
• some awful variation/combination of one of these.

What will happen is that this girl will be completely fixated by some boy, and this boy will be a vampire but nobody else at the school knows it, and he'll be intrigued by her because he can't read her mind, because, you know, he's a mind reading-vampire-thing, and they'll sit next to each other in biology and he'll sparkle in the sun like a pretty, pretty diamond and she'll want to kiss him, but he'll be afraid that he'll eat her if they do kiss so he won't but then they do, and then there's a werewolf who comes in and makes things complicated but he's not really a werewolf and he doesn't own a shirt and he smells good which is part of the complication but that comes later, because now there's only the sparkly undead manly-man and the masochistic little wimpy high-schooler who is getting in too deep.

So...yeah.**

Quote for Sunday, April 3, 2011:

Kat: You are amazingly self-assured, has anyone ever told you that?

Patrick: I tell myself that every day, actually.

-(

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0147800/quotes

)

Muse for Today:

Violet Hill, by Coldplay. This is my favorite song by them.

*Rough mathematical estimation made by a cow in Wellington boots

**Not every bad YA book is the one I was heavily referencing up there, but scores of bad YA novels were based off of that one and making fun of it is WAY too easy. So I failed not criticizing, but won my own heart.