Thoughtful

Wednesday I had classes, and one of my classes is Worldview. It's really making me think a lot. The other day we watched a video that mentioned "the empty self." It mentioned that the empty self could be characterized in a couple of different ways. One was was thinking about appearances all the time, and I thought, "I really don't have to worry about that, since I don't think about my appearance that much (other than making sure I look presentable and all that happy stuff) and I don't think about other peoples' at all. I seriously don't classify people as being good- or bad-looking. Another point was about how the empty self lives to be entertained, and devours rather than creating, and again, I though, "No problem," because I mostly entertain myself, and I do create things. I mean, I'm a writer and actress (whether I want to do those things for a living is a whole 'nother issue). Another point was that the empty self believes that everything exists to make him happy. This one kind of struck home a little bit. I don't think I conciously think that, but I do to some extent. The reason I do a lot of things is because they make me happy. And right when I was thinking about that, this one hit me. The empty self is a person tho thinks about himself and not about his role in the community. Gasp. I DO think about myself rather than how I can serve other people. I know when I'm talking to someone I want to tell them all about my problems or my happiness, rather than listening to their problems. And sometimes I end up being a jerk, such as the time I was all ready to tell a friend of mine about some trivial thing that has happened to me, and then he said that his girlfriend had just broken up with him, and he was really upset. Of course I stopped talking about myself and listened to him, but I really should have asked how he was before jumping in with my own thoughts and feelings.
Then for Women's History (which my rocking mom teaches) we talked about the role of women, both in history and now. There are a lot of things that people say women shouldn't do, but what it comes down to is this: women should do whatever God calls them to do. Period. If God calls a woman to be a military leader, then that is what's right for them. If God calls her to be a preacher, then she should do it. There are examples of Godly women in leadership in the Bible. Not all women are suited for it, but not all men are, either. And it made me think of how I could serve God. It really makes you feel small when you think about it that way. I mean, how on EARTH could I help God. There are so many people who are better at so many things than I am. And God is God. How could I do something for God? I'm still trying to figure those things out.
Today I kind of felt stupid at speech. A kid did a persuasive about some goofy subject, and I thought his evidence was real, so I said something about it, and it turned out that he just made it up. Wow. I probably should have figured that out. Only I didn't think we were allowed to do that. Well, not for tournaments, obviously. But for class I didn't think so, either.

I'm sad.

We went to Cici's Pizza last night and the singing busboy was absent.
Only Degrassi was there.
Degrassi is death.

Slow day.

Today I actually got paid for doing homework. Seriously. I was working at the Nut House (No, not the greenhouse. My boss has a little tent thing set up, and it's filled with bulk food type stuff. Mostly nuts. Somebody came in and asked if we had any onions. What the heck?) and it wasn't very busy. So I did my algebra homework and also some other stuff. I mean, my boss told me to bring it in case it was slow. I did sell some stuff, including a five pound bag of pecans. YES. One down, a billion to go. Also some corn stalks and stuff. These people must be nuts. If I walked into that place I would totally buy some of those cinnamon almonds and toffe almonds and all the chocolatey goodies they have. Chocolate covered pretzles. I'm telling you, it's torture working in that place because I have no money. And I really really really want some of it. I tried some of the wasabi peas today, and that is one thing that I will not crave. Bleh. If anyone reading this ever comes, hurry up and buy them so I can look at the good stuff more.

Anything of interest?

No.
Are you going to read it anyway?
Probably.

Anyway, I've decided that hormones are the worst thing ever, and am resolved to have nothing to do with them. Not that I ever really did ANYWAY. But you know what I mean.

Also, I've decided that I totally didn't appreciate my old art teacher when I had him, because he was really great and, although I still don't really like drawing, if I'm going to be forced into it I'd rather have Mr. Del than some...guy...who annoys the heck out of me.
Hm? What? I wasn't talking about any art classes that I took recently. Nope. Not at all. I'm not saying that some guy put a sticker in my scetchbook which, although filled with crap, is still sacred territory. I mean, this guy put it on the page with an actual drawing! "Buy my book!" Or whatever. I pulled it off, of course. Probably he didn't know what he was doing. I guess I'll forgive him for that. Eventually.
Ahem. I mean, that didn't happen to me. I didn't take art classes. I don't know what you're talking about. What are we talking about?

Debate is life...

Everything else is just prep time. Or:
Debate is prep time for life. Which is more profound?
I don't know. Well, the second is more profound. But I don't know which one I like more.
Anyway, I had debate class today, and since last night was spent doing my debate homework, I was actually prepared for it. And it was really fun this week. I mean, it's usually fun, but this week the other novices *gasp* TALKED! Wow! Well, two of them (other than Edison and me) talk somewhat, but the other ones did, too! Isn't that ama-za-zing?
Now I have more homework. Tougher homework, actually. But I don't really have much other homework (other than Algebra) so I'm pretty good. I mean, I have two weeks until my next chemistry and women's history class, so there isn't so much pressure. And I'm not going to be NEARLY as busy as I was last week. I guess I should talk about the Shakespeare play I went to go see.

Ahem. It was really really funny. A Midsummer Night's Dream. And the actors were REALLY good. Plus they did some really interesting things. First of all, they weren't in Elizabethan costumes (the fairies were in fairy costumes, of course) they were in business suits and stuff like that. That's because in Shakespeare's day they just wore what nobles in their time usually wore. They usually didn't wear clothes that the actual characters would have worn in their time period. Another thing was that they had a thrust stage, meaning that three of the four sides of the stage were surrounded by audience, so you could always see what was going on. In addition, they left all the lights on so not only could you see the actors, the actors could see you. In fact, since I was in the front row, there were a few times when the actors were delivering their lines TO ME. It was pretty nifty. And the last thing was that the actors went out in the audience sometimes and did stuff. Like when one of the actors had something good happen to him, he ran around the people in the front and got high fives.
Before the play some of the actors came out and played music. They were really funny, and when one of the younger actors started playing that one song that goes "Gimme one reason to stay here and I'll turn right back around" on the banjo and singing, he said, "This is to all the girls out there." And he winked at me! I laughed. Afterwards there was a question and answer session, and I got up the moxie to ask if it was hard for them to keep a straight face. One of the women said that it was really hard for her because she laughs at everything and has a really loud laugh. I could totally sympathize. I am the queen of loud laughs at everything.

Anyway, it was a lot of fun, and if you ever getthe chance to see a Shakespeare play, I suggest you go see it.

The Saga of the Singing Busboy

I will now relate to you, dear reader, the epic tale of what transpired last night.

It was Monday night, to those of you who are in another time zone or calenderly impaired, and so I had choir practice. The practice went by with few out of the way happenings, and afterwards my family and I journeyed to Cici's Pizza to consume various vitals. During this time my mother and father discussed the serious issue of Charlie Sheen's resemblance of his father, sparked by the appearance of said star on the television set in the corner of the ceiling. My other family members were unusually silent, most likely on account of the presence of another device in the other corner of the eating establishment. This other brain-remover--ahem, television set was currently playing some vapid program on Cartoon Network, a.k.a. The Channel of Death.
While these events occurred around me, I sat peacefully consuming my salad and pizza, and describing to my parents the horrors of a certain long-haired male in my choir with whom I am not on speaking terms (At the moment. Usually I am.). When we arrived at this food emporium there was a sports team of young men, but they departed after mentioning many times exactly how many plates of food they had consumed, and trying to calculate how many plates of food the entire party had masticated.
In the relative quiet of their absence it became apparent that the busboy who had the massive task of cleaning up after the sports team (Probably football players, if I'm any judge. Those scary football players...) was actually singing along with the music playing in the restaurant. This cleaner of floors and wiper of tables was quite attractive, and I found it cute that he was singing, since that's something I wish I had the guts to do at work. (Actually, the other day one of the women I work with caught me lipsyncing in Greenhouse Number Three and had a nice little laugh at my expense.) First he performed his own rendition of Landslide, then finished off with This is How a Heart Breaks. The most interesting thing about his solos is that they weren't the quiet, muttered half humming people usually chose to use in public. Even when he was almost on the other side of the room I could perceive his dulcet tones.
Shortly after the singing busboy was dispatched to tidy up the dining area, my family decided that it was an opportune time to leave, because the stupefying cartoon, called by the announcer "Camp Lazlo" and starring a pink Elephant with a retainer, a monkey-type creature and some other animal that had been so heavily anthropomorphically changed that this writer could not recognize it as anything the Good Lord had created, was over. I walked with leisure toward the door marked "exit." My family, heathens that they are, used the other door, marked "entrance." You would think that I would be rewarded for my contentiousness, but alas, that is not the case. My family, when I tried to exit, blocked the door so I could not leave. I was going to compromise my leaving places of eatery beliefs and use the other door, but when I tried that one, my family was blocking it as well. I stood and stared at their laughing faces in puzzlement. Why would they do this to me, their eldest daughter? When I turned to re-enter Cici's pizza from the glassy hallway, I found the Singing Busboy was, in fact, laughing at me. I gave him a sheepish grin, and considered saying something funny and intelligent, (Do you think I could live here for a while? I seem to be having a bit of a difficulty in leaving.) but changed my mind. I went to another door and, my ultimate humiliation being accomplished, my family let me escape.
The best bit was when I locked them out of the car for a while, but the Singing busboy wasn't paying attention then, so it didn't make me look any smarter to him.

Read it this time, kay?

To all you people on BlogExplosion.

READ THIS. I know you're basically just trying to get more traffic on your site. But you could take a little time to actually read. And comment. I think that would be cool.