Bored Out of Mind

As of last Tuesday, the teachers of our school district have been on strike. This means that since last Tuesday, we have had no school. This means that since last Tuesday, I've been stranded at the house with my younger siblings and recently-moved-in Grandma. This means that since last Tuesday, I have had NOTHING. TO. DO.

You would assume that the natural thing for a bibliofreak like me to do is read, right? I did, but it just didn't go so well. After a long search for a new mystery series to get obsessed over, I attempted to fall in love with Kerry Greenwood's Phryne Fisher series, by way of its sixth installment, Blood and Circuses. While I did find the book pretty interesting, mainly because of the impressive early 20th century speech patterns and slang, it just wasn't what I was looking for (and was also a little too graphic in some parts). I guess you just can't force love. It's going to take a lot more to find a series that can stand up to the ones I already care about.

After that, I got a little restless. I also managed to acquire a pretty darn-awful cold, to the point where it got really hard for me to talk. Deciding to make the most of my newfound silence, I picked another book off of my shelf, one that I have always heard nothing but good things about: The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger. This is the favorite book of so many people I know, I feel bad about wondering whether they even read it after I was done. Could it REALLY be such a well-liked book? Was Holden Caulfield REALLY such a source of, well, not inspiration, hopefully, but of identifiable understanding? If so, I really worry about my friends.

I didn't hate it or anything. I very rarely hate anything, and even then I change my opinions later on. I liked the interesting portrayal of New York night life, and the post-war emotion, and the speech and slang of the '40s. I liked Phoebe. I had a lot of mixed emotions about Holden. As I described it to my Dad, "I sort of hated him. Like, a lot of the time." He was an overly emotional, spoiled brat, who decided to ruin all good things that came to him. He could have been any of the number of emo, cynical hipster jerks who goes to my high school. He had such a hateful, unhappy personality that I couldn't help but feel like he would end up getting the worst in life, simply because he expected it. Heck, with his reckless behavior, he encouraged bad endings to join up with him.

And yet, he was easy to relate to. How many people feel like him, like they're surrounded by "phonies", like they don't know what's worth living for, like they want to take a gamble with the universe for the sake of finding a better existence? He provided miserable company, which I, in my sorry state of stuffy nose and throbbing throat, welcomed. And while I was glad our time together was short, he did provide interesting conversation. I hope he doesn't choose to visit again soon.

I also hope our school district and teachers resolve their matters quickly, because despite the lingering Summer weather, I am managing to depress the hell out of myself with poor book choices. I know this could be set right with an AP Calc assignment or something.

#3. Kerry Greenwood's Blood and Circuses (of the Phryne Fisher series). High society noblewoman Phryne Fisher temporarily ditches a life of luxury to take up the post of a horse rider, in an attempt to find out who is sabotaging a traveling circus.

#4. J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye. Unhappy and lonely, Holden Caulfield behaves badly in 1940s New York after getting kicked out of yet another boarding school.

Remember

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."

God bless all of those killed in the attacks on September 11th, 2001, and may their families and friends find solace in the fact that their burden of loss will never be something they have to bear alone. Our country will forever be standing behind them, and their memories will never be forgotten.

May the enduring American spirit keep us strong through trying times to come, as well as find cause for hope in those we've lost in the past.

Please think of those whose lives were unfairly stolen in this act of violence, and their loved ones, today.

The Beginning of the End

Long time, no see, right? However, I refuse to regret the lost time, for in the space of these couple of weeks, I have finished my summer reading (Wuthering Heights was slightly less insufferable the second time); went on a beautiful, wonderful, blissful, all together way-too-short vacation to Central Oregon (SunRiver Resort=heaven); and started my senior year in high school.

While I do mourn the loss of my beautiful and fantastic AP English class of yesteryear, I do think that this new one is going to be crazy fun, as well, even if it is my first period of the day. It'll just have to wake me up then. :) And while it is rather large, as opposed to my intimately acquainted Junior English class, that is because it is the ONLY class currently offering AP Senior English, so we're all stuffed in. How lovely is that? It's only a matter of time before we start seeing ideas bouncing around the classroom and smacking people in the brain. And my new English teacher is pretty cool, too. After the sudden departure of our now-retired AP Senior English teacher in June, I am happy to see that we have found someone just as qualified as she was to fill her place. :)

Anyways, want to hear what I've been reading? Mainly just rereading, because it's nice to be able to come back to those few that you love so dearly. For me, it was Tamora Pierce's Trickster's Duo: Trickster's Choice and Trickster's Queen. Out of her magnificent fantasy canon, this is my second favorite series, the first being the adventures of the Beka Cooper trilogy (the last book of which comes out on October 25th, ten days after my bday). I also read the newest Alex Flinn fantasy, Cloaked, which I found entertaining, and, after many recommendations from my best friend's Mom, I read Janet Evanovich's One for the Money, which I didn't find interesting at all (In truth, I found it kind of gross. But I felt obligated, so I finished it).

So, that's what I've been up to in my extended absence. Don't worry, I'm back now, and more ready than ever to start blogging, big-time. I find beginnings are one of the best places to set a challenge, so here's a challenge to myself, for which you may hold me accountable: By the end of this school year, I shall have read at least 50 books. Hopefully, this will force me to update more frequently, so I'm setting the bar at one blogpost a week as well. So, with the start of the school year, I start my 50. Let's go!

#1. Alex Flinn's Cloaked. Utilizing her talents for transforming traditional fairy tales into teen fantasy, Flinn brings some of the Brothers Grimm's not-so-famous stories into the light of a modern romance.

#2. Janet Evanovich's One for the Money. Out-of-work Stephanie Plum attempts to make some fast cash by catching court-date evaders for her cousin's bail-bond business, but this proves difficult due to a possibly-innocent old flame, and a dangerous stalker.

Killing Sunshine Time

Every August, a mysterious illness befalls teenagers all over the world, when the advertisements for back to school shopping start to play on TV, and the sounds of the ice cream truck and splashing at the pool gradually start to fade away. In the last two or three weeks of summer, their skin becomes sallow, and their eyes lose the gleeful shine that arrived with the presence of the sun. They will willingly forgo pleasure outdoors, choosing instead to spend their time cooped up indoors in silence. Some are lucky; they escape from the affliction until the very last week before the return to school, but then, a harried frenzy accompanies their every action, and they rarely leave the confines of their quarters. It may be karmac retribution for falling asleep that one time in Chemistry, or maybe that one time your English teacher caught you with gum, but whatever the reason, you are still struck with that yearly torture, in the form of a paper, titled, SUMMER ASSIGNMENT.

No matter how you think you can outrun it, by starting your Chemistry problems in mid-July, or by keeping careful track of how much you have left to complete them, the book reports and notes refuse to budge, and you are unable to enjoy the last dregs of summer, thanks to the major amounts of words and lines and math problems in your way. The best way to confront them is to just hack away at it, and hard. Here are some helpful tips on how to best kill the remnants of your sunshine time with the assistance of classic literature:

1. Don't avoid it. It is there, and it is waiting for you. Every time you take a dip in the pool, every time you run barefoot through the grass, every time you blissfully consume a Fudgecicle, it sees you, and bides it's time, because it knows that sooner or later, you'll have to pay attention to it. Why spend your summer under that sort of dreadful cloudcover? Remove the possibility of a major storm later, by sweeping away the clouds now, and doing your homework.

2. Don't leave it alone. Upon starting these dreadfully tedious tasks, you'll be strongly tempted to walk away, or maybe you'll do it innocently, on, say, a trip to the kitchen for some water. Regrettably, your television is on the way to the kitchen, and it wants your attentions just as much as your assignment does, which means it will ensure that you do not return to said assignment for the duration of at least an episode of Warehouse 13. Instead of allowing this terrible accident to befall you (repeatedly), make sure you have everything you need before you sit down, including a snack and a drink.

3. Don't forget predestined events. These include family picnics, trips to the beach, camping excursions, etc., during which you would not want to miss out on the fun, do to the lodging of your nose between the covers of a Science textbook. You may think you have a whole month left between July and September, but if that month includes two weekends away, a baseball tournament, band camp, and a family reunion, then you'll be shocked to learn that's not much time to complete your assignments. Plan it out on a calendar, and learn how many days you really have before impact.

Use me as a lesson, kids. Seeing as though I'm taking AP Calc next year, I had a set of problems to complete, and for AP Chem, I had a series of assignments from a textbook. Seeing as though I'm not hot for either Math or Science, they were some tough goings. However, they were nothing compared to AP Eng. for Senior year, which saw me reading (and taking pages upon pages of notes on) a hefty portion of the Bible, as well as almost all of Hamilton's Mythology, and, as some pretty dense frosting on top of the cake, 2-3 pages of notes per chapter of Wuthering Heights (I could have chose differently, but those choices included Moby Dick and Anna Karenina). This last assignment is going to be accompanying me tomorrow, as we leave for our annual trip to Sun River, Oregon, and it is definitely not by my choice.

So don't wait, and just get it over with. The only antidote to your terrible illness, is the beautiful, bright "A" that you will start out the school year with, when you turn in all of your careful work.

I Spy

Who, as a kid, didn't dream of becoming a spy?

I read about Harriet, from Louise Fitzhugh's Harriet the Spy, in elementary school, and promptly took to recording everything I saw and heard in a little notebook (which was also promptly lost). In middle school, a friend introduced me to Ally Carter's Cross My Heart and Hope to Spy, and I graduated into the ranks of the Gallagher Girls and their amazing, top-secret boarding school. However, now that I'm in high school, I decided maybe it was time to play with the big guns.

There were a couple of reasons why I originally picked up a copy of Ian Fleming's Casino Royale. The first reason was, understandibly, a love of the Bond movies. In fact, this fascination (coupled with other draws from the realms of fantasy) led to a brief foray into the sport of fencing when I was in the seventh grade, including the nicknaming one of my practice-mates Miranda Frost, in honor of the devious character from 2002's Die Another Day (I lasted eight months, in case you care). The second reason had mostly to do with the amazing centenary cover art. :)

Regardless of the "why"s, I sat down and read Casino Royale. In one sitting. It certainly was fast-paced and action packed, and had plenty of derring-do... but all I really got from it was a reasonably thorough knowledge of the game of baccarat (which is described extremely well), and a deep desire to rewatch the Daniel Craig movie. Because, and I'm being perfectly honest here... James Bond is a total jerk, to the point where it was distracting for me. For the most part, it's okay, because his attitudes towards women tend to revolve around them altering his focus. I also get that this book was written in the '50s, so attitudes towards women were a little different. However, that does not excuse his completely outrageous behavior in specific parts, especially the ones in which he discusses Vesper Lynd, his love interest (who I also, admittedly, sort of hated). I still feel the need to rewatch Craig in all his blonde glory, to figure out what I really saw in this guy, Bond, in the first place.

I then turned to less hearty fare, in an effort to reclaim the wonder that I once felt when regarding the word "spy", and picked up something a friend had recommended, Linda Gerber's Death by Bikini mystery. While well-written, it was predictable (which is nice sometimes, but not when dealing with spies), and I also felt a reasonably thorough dislike for the main character.

All of these misadventures were so lacking in any real adventure, that I'm forced to beg, on my knees, CAN ANYONE FIND ME A GOOD SPY BOOK???

Scary Camp Stories

The act of sharing scary stories around a roaring campfre is an age-old tradition, as old as the history of story-telling itself, when tribes would gather to listen to the words of a wise man. These days, a wise man knows not to orate the tales of Big Foot, the Missing Miners, or the Ghost Whatever, at our campfires, unless they also wish to contend with the blood-curdling screams of my little brother (but I can't poke that much fun, because, a very short time ago, that was me). It seems that the exploits of terrifying creatures and phenomena have been expelled from our camp grounds forever, so we lie around, reading books, instead.

However, maybe we haven't heard the last of the Boogey Man. A handful of tent-pitchings ago, my Dad stowed Mary Roach's Spook in his duffel, and later still, Stiff passed through his (and my) hands, too. The interest in both science and the scary proved too much for us to withstand, and we enjoyed both books immensely, and still reference them casually between episodes of Ghost Hunters (Our family is devoted. No judging).

So this interest in science and spookiness is what prompted me to pick up Death from the Skies: the Science Behind the End of the World (Yes, the cover art work did factor). :) It didn't feature things that went "bump in the night", but instead, Philip Plait, Ph.D., focused his attentions on things that went boom in the sky. Things that could possibly destroy us all.

While the book was informational, interesting, and a great conversation starter, it did confuse me a little. The chapters on various space happenings, like stars going supernova, gamma ray bursts, etc. start out with attention grabbing stories of woe and destruction, then meander through easy-to-follow descriptions of the phenomena themselves, and then finally evolve into the epic conclusion: You're not going to die. At least, not right now. In a while. And for the problems that may affect us, lots of smart people are working on it. So, relax.

To be honest, I feel like it acted as a sort of calming reassurance, for all potential scaredy cats, which contradicted everything the book had promised, with it's eye-catching cover, and apocalypto chapter openings. I felt like it didn't take the topic seriously; therefore, it hindered me from really taking any of it seriously, and didn't get me invested in the information. The message of "Don't Panic" made the entire purpose of the book seem slightly less interesting.

Maybe it's because I'm not enough of an astronomy aficionado. Maybe it's just the same lesson we learned camping: if you have to worry about the chicken hearts, the campfire won't be as fun.

Eras Will End

This past weekend, my father and I went on our very first (official) college road trip. We rolled past seemingly endless fields of wheat and windfarms, in our efforts to reach the very edge of what is defined as Washington territory, to inspect the separate universes of Central, WSU, Whitworth, Gonzaga, and Eastern. It wasn't that I had to pick one out just yet, my parents said, but that I had to start forming ideas about this upcoming ladder rung of life.

(As someone who has been longing for boarding school since the publication of the first Harry Potter novel, no less than vines covering worn stones and wrought iron, with new friends and hidden staircases left to be discovered inside its walls, will satiate my craving for a literary existence :) ).

While the prospects of a newly-formed, freely-lived second life away from my parents are exciting, and as the classic saying goes, every ending is also a beginning, what about the time BEFORE the ending? The train is heading full speed at an ice wall. The wall may yield to a brighter and warmer climate, but what about 100 yards back, when all you see is an end, and all you can do is brace yourself for the cold shock?

Childhood has always been, at least to me, one of the most easily misplaced luxuries. It sits on your bedside table through elementary, middle, and high school, but one morning, you wake up, and decide you want to take it with you, but it's gone. You wanted nothing more than to have nothing to do with it for the longest time, and then, when you want it the most, it has taught you all it can, and it has to leave. In a sort of Mary Poppins sort of way.

One of the only authors that I've encountered, who has been able to fully articulate my tight-chested feelings on the subject, was Annie Dillard.

"Must I then lose the world forever, that I had so loved? Was it all, the whole bright and various planet, where I had been so ardent about finding myself alive, only a passion peculiar to children, that I would outgrow even against my will?"

Her book, An American Childhood, is one of the most treasured in my collection. She is at the top of my list for Writers I Would Most Like to Talk To. However, the novel also gives me anxiety: I refuse to lend it or recommend it to anyone remotely close to me, because the feelings detailed inside are so real and so familiar, it would be the equivalent of tossing out my own journal to the wolves. It is a beautiful thing, to be able to retire the old, oft-spoken catchphrase of Teenage Rebellion, "No one understands me!", but a frightening one to consider that maybe, instead, the multitudes can. And even worse, do.

The fact that a second childhood is possible to experience, is enough of a reason to read this book. For all literary-minded, fire-hearted, suburban straightlaced and straightjacketed girls everywhere, Annie Dillard gets it. However, she has breached the ice wall. Pretty soon, I'll have to do it, too.