Bam. Last Post for October.

Look me in the eye and tell me life is just a figment of reality

Everything you say is so profound and yet I hear it as profanity

Logic doesn’t justify the methods I have used to prove your sanity

Minutes pass and still I’m doubled over in the sickness of your vanity

I’m the pawn in this little game, aren’t I?

Tell the truth for once and let the words roll off your tongue and tell me how it tastes

When the words you say are always just a little plot in the awful games you play

I could understand if you meant it when you smiled at me the other day

But I’ve come to know that something is awry when you look at me in just that way

So I won’t try to pretend we didn’t say goodbye.

Hey, Mister Tambourine Man, Play a Song for Me

Thick black notes juxtaposed on a blanket of white, littering the page with dots and straight lines, dropped almost haphazardly to create something magnificent. My recurring dream that life is a musical and I’ll wake up singing a song that everyone knows the words to and suddenly it’s not just me, it’s hundreds of people all singing and dancing along to the beat. A performance of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony in C Minor, Op. 67 circa 1808 in the infamous Theater an der Wien in Vienna, Austria. Hearing my favorite song on the radio when I’ve had a rough day and I can belt out every note and every lyric and suddenly it’s just me, John, Paul, George, and Ringo thinking about Yesterday. Songs that portray the heartache of slaves in the 20^th century, proclaim peace in times of war, and capture the despair of the Great Depression, that coerce you, envelop you until you’re there, experiencing what those generations had felt years ago. Louis Armstrong and Bessie Smith’s 1925 classic recording of St. Louis Blues. The familiar rush of electric energy that surges through my body the moment before the curtain opens on me to sing the first note. The warmth of the spotlight, the silence of the audience, the reverberations of the sound as it waves through the space, bouncing off people and chairs and windows and doors and coming back to me as if by gravity. The ability of a song to say just what I was thinking, but in words I never could have imagined. Mourning, melancholy notes giving way to upbeat staccato, pulsating in my ear, moving through my veins, drumming into my heart, consuming me, painting me a picture so spectacular and vivid that it’s so very real that you feel it in every fiber of your being. The distinctive voice of Ol’ Blue Eyes Sinatra that defined an era and brought hope to a nation in the time of war. And who could describe a White Christmas better than Bing Crosby? That sweet, echoing resonance that ricochets through a cathedral or a concert hall and replays in my head for hours on end—the sound of the voice, of singing. Singing serves as an escape, a way to communicate your feelings through poetic lyrics and intricate melodies. For me, singing is a not only a form of expression, but a way of life. Whether it be making up harmony with my friends, humming the tune of a song from Les Mis or Bye Bye Birdie through the halls, or belting out jazz or hip hop or country in the car, music is constantly on my mind. Music transports you to places you’ve never dreamed of—a delightful concoction of reality and fantasy that gives you hope. When my life is miserable, music is my outlet, my escape, medicine for the soul. I’m not me anymore; I’m with curly-haired Annie, “just thinkin’ about Tomorrow”, singing my troubles away. Or perhaps its midnight in Paris, after all the shops have closed and I see “La Vie En Rose” through the darkness, humming along to Edith Pilaf on a nearby radio as the lightning bugs get lost in the stars. Next I’m flying high above the clouds over it all on a magic carpet ride, “over, sideways, and under” till I’ve forgotten just how difficult life is—lost in the moment, lost in the fairytale. Then I’m in the heart of New Orleans listening to the cry of trumpets as they sweat in the sun, watching jazz and culture unfold before my eyes in the thick July air of Southern Louisiana. No matter where life takes me—no matter where I end up—I’ve been everywhere. I know that no matter what the future holds for me, I will always march to my own beat; head up, eyes forward, facing the music as I always have, soothing the soul as the ever-present melody crescendos on and on.

Halloweeeeeeen

HALLOWEEN IS ALMOST HEREEEEE :) Not only do we get to dress up like our favorite celebrities (you will all have no problem figuring out who I'm going to be), but we get free candy from people we don't even know. It's like winning a prize for doing nothing but cutting holes in a bed sheet and knocking on doors.
Since I've already devoted tons of blog space to the Christmas season, I thought it nay fair to devote this post to our most favorite holiday...in October.
Halloween is simply marvelous. When else will you see Batman, Spiderman, Captain America, and Wonderwoman all at the same party?
Or how about giant skeletons and spiderwebs littering your neighborhood?
And when else will you encounter tiny dogs dressed in tutus, bumble bee outfits, and multi-colored wigs? Or girls in too-tight leather and fishnet tights? Oh wait...

Anyway, Halloween is the time of year when normally scary or creepy people can come mingle with the rest of society and fit in. According to The Hunchback of Notre Dame, they will not only fit in, but they'll actually win prizes for their freakishness. Halloween, ultimately, is a time of acceptance for all and a night in which you can publicly embrace your strangeness.

So let it all hang out, people. Happy Halloween :)

A Few Things I Feel Strongly About

Phrases such as “the bomb dot com” and “failcake” should never, under ANY circumstances, ever be integrated into regular conversation…unless you were raised by wolves, and then you may be forgiven for your obvious lack of social etiquette. Also, any word or phrase ending in “izzle” should be seriously reconsidered.

Drunk persons who have lost the concept of “personal space” should not be able to use the “I was drunk” excuse. I don’t want your breath all up in my face, nor do I appreciate your inability to hold a coherent conversation. If you cannot prop yourself up and you need to lean on me on public transit or any other form of transportation, you lose all privilege to use the “I was drunk” excuse as your Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card for any idiotic thing you say or do for the remainder of the night.

If you call a phone number and the person on the other end doesn’t sound even remotely close to the person you were trying to contact, odds are you dialed the wrong number. In other words, it would be wise to hang up. If you continue to insist that you have dialed the correct number and yet the person on the receiving end denies that he or she is indeed Jose, Mary, Billy, or Tina, I would still recommend hanging up. Either Jose, Mary, Billy, or Tina does not want to talk to you, or you have mistakenly dialed another number. Just admit defeat and move on.

Vampires have gotten completely out of control. All of the Twilight books/movies/posters/fashion/gothness is entirely horrendous and frankly has overstayed its welcome. There are vampire TV shows, books, movies, various paraphernalia, appearance in Snoop Dog’s music videos, and its own MLIA site: My Life Is Twilight. Things, my friends, have gone too far. Twilight is a travesty to the traditional tales of vampire lore; if it is ever your misfortune to run into an avid Edward Cullen or whatever that other kid’s name is, I sincerely apologize. In my opinion, vampires need to go back to Transylvania where they originated, as the only benefit the Twilight craze has given to humanity is the sudden increase in the sales of Coppertone sunblock, so tweens can get that Edward “sparkle” (which, by the way, is false…everyone knows vampires burn in the sun).

It is entirely uncalled for to be rude to telemarketers. True, they tend to interrupt your dinner and magically seem to call at the most inopportune times (i.e. during a big business meeting, at 3:00 in the morning, in the middle of your wedding), but these people are just doing their job. If you were a telemarketer getting paid minimum wage to have people pull pranks on you, scream at you, or just hang up on you day-in and day-out, would you be able to muster up the enthusiasm to greet House #5785943 on your list for the day?

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eyes with pops of color, vibrant and vivid and radiant

colors, sliding, mixing, a kaleidoscope of hues that dance in the moonlight

POP! POP! POP!

crackling in the heat, in the wind, in the air, in the street

POP! POP! POP!

spinning off into the sky, bursting with beams of colors

red, green, yellow, blue

POP! FIZZ! POP!

You see them, don’t you?

POP! POP! POP!

twirling about, cascading down, filling up the universe and enveloping you in light

POP! POP! POP! POP!

faster now, shooting from every direction, up, up,

coiling like a snake above the trees,

interweaving shapes and sounds,

POP! FIZZ! POP!

erupting, exploding, BOOM! BOOM! POP!

I'm __________, the ____________.

I don't really know how I feel about this whole Real World thing.

For example:

Now that I'm in an education class, I've realized that my decision to become a teacher isn't really that far off. It's getting more and more concrete as each day comes and goes, and I'm frankly a little nervous. I'm making lesson plans, unit plans, mapping out my future classroom...to be completely honest with you, I'm getting a little apprehensive about being thrust into the capital-R, capital-W Real World.

I guess this is what it would feel like to be a baby bird thrown from the nest before you learn how to fly. I just don't know if I can handle it.

It also doesn't help that whenever I'm confronted with the "What's your major? What are your life goals? What do you want to do for the rest of your life? How are you going to change the world?" dialogue, I feel like I'm reading through a script. It's like an out-of-body experience: Erin, English Major. Erin, High School English Teacher. My name as the title and my future projected afterwards.

As if I can even begin to explain my future. Life just doesn't work like that.

And yet we are expected to plan our lives, schedule ourselves into existence, chronicling our every move until we've molded our Future.

This is the scariest thing I've ever done.

!!! NEWEST OBSESSION !!!

I've probably already bored you all to tears with the extent of my obsessions: Disney, books, movies, et cetera, et cetera...all of which I'm quite positive I've mentioned too many times throughout the course of this experiment I seem to be engaged in BUT...

...please forgive me for mentioning my insane appreciation for a good novel just one more time :)

I'm currently reading Furious Love, a biographical novel (it's huge) on the scandalous love affair of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. It easily trumps any chick flick ever made; the descriptive language of the author grabs you by the throat and doesn't let go until you're drowning in the grandiosity of a love that was so entirely over-the-top, so marvelously decadent in its nature--jewels of enormous size, yachts, gowns, minks, wealth, true Hollywood royalty at its finest--that it's almost unbelievable just how much you, as the reader, envy their passionate emotion.

The way it's described...there's nothing like it.

The greatest aspect of it all...or perhaps the worst...is that it's true.

Anyway, I recomment it.

And to that faceless face,

The one I wouldn't possibly try to describe,

I have something I'd like to say to send your way:

Well hello there mon ami...

I hope you leak a little smile the next time you think of me :)

Word Up Wednesday

It's Wednesday, and I haven't posted anything to my blog in approximately 43808520 years soooooo....I've decided to designate today as Official Word Up Wednesday and share some of my absolute favorite words with you all :)

insouciance: carelessness, indifference; blithe nonchalance

peripatetic: traveling from place to place; constant traveling

serendipity: knack for making desirable discoveries on accident; luck

auric: derived or made of gold

ebullience: bubbling enthusiasm

scintilla: a spark

logolepsy: an obsession with words

pulchritudinous: pretty

vade mecum: a favorite book carried everywhere

schizothemia: digression by a long reminiscence

Thanks for letting me exercise my English major on you today...

oh hey, fall

Yes, my caramel-skin-colored (and I won't even judge you if it's from a bottle) friends, fall is upon us.

Your worst nightmare is my dream-come-true, and I'm completely ecstatic that in just a couple of weeks, your skin will return to it's natural shade and we can all be one big, pasty family once again :)

Just kidding.

But as the temperature drops and the trees begin to chameleon, I get more and more excited that fall is here!!!!!!! The JMU campus is lit with red, orange, yellow, and green--a kaleidoscope of color scattered before me as I walk to class listening to N*SYNC blaring at an ear-splitting volume on my iPod. Every leaf that falls in front of me makes me feel like I'm stumbling on happiness personified. I feel like no one appreciates just how spectacular the transition of the seasons can be because they are too busy whining that they can't properly tan in 50 degree weather.

But because most of you may be mourning the loss of beach weekends, outdoor barbeques, and coping with the irrepressible urge to drench your hair in lemon juice, I have a few glass-half-full philosophies that may just change your tune.

Fall means new scenery, breezy afternoons, sweaters, football, and my favorite bright-red sweatshirt, which in turn leads to hot chocolate, snow, peppermint-flavored everything, boots, scarves, mittens, and...that's right...CHRISTMASTIME.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm filled with Christmas cheer.

It could be a little early for a few of you, but I thought I'd spread a little Christmas joy in October this year, so here you go:

It's never too early for the Season of Giving ;)