Discover came today, so my next two hours are all planned out.

Tonight I have a spring concert. I will beat all hell out of my timpanis, and I will sing all hell out of the descant in our Latin song. My friend Sarah-with-an-H and I have a duet during the jazz song for chorus. I'm nervous. I'm not the performing kind.

Discover calls.

I got some plastic cowboys and Indians at Wal-Mart. This war gets weirder all the time.

On a totally unrelated note, we were talking about Alcoholics Anonymous in algebra today. We started listing all its little copycats: Sexaholics Anonymous, Families Anonymous, Cleptomaniacs And Shoplifters Anonymous, etc. My math teacher announced that he thought they should have a self-help group for confused classes.

We all thought he'd made an almost unnoticeable error (we thought he meant "confusing classes.") Unfortunately, he didn't. He proceeded to quip:

"Hello, my name is Algebra II, and I have problems."

I almost groaned just typing that.

I keep a constant battle going on my card table. I have two companies of army men (tan and green, of course), and they're always set up fighting on my table. Every once in awhile, I knock a couple of them down at random. Sometimes my cat gets in and his clumsiness (and penchant for stealing small things from my room) decides the victor. Once one side has fallen, I set everybody back up and start the battle over again.

Today I bought a bagful of plastic dinosaurs at Wal-Mart. The war is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

It's hard to get used to the fact that I drive a nicer car than my boss. Sure, my boss drives a beat-up, uber-rusted 1980something Dodge Omni, but I drive a nicer car than my boss.

Person from my hometown cable ISP: I know you're here. It appears as though you've bookmarked the site. Could you just tell me who you are so that I can take everything off lockdown? It would be much appreciated.

I had never noticed that there is a tendon or something along the inner arch of your foot. There must be, for I seem to have injured one of mine (left? right? ask again later) rather grievously. It has been paining me since the return from Chicago. I must have pulled it somehow during the trip. I have a feeling it's from all the strenuous pedal-adjusting of my timpanis. You have no idea what a few inches of movement will do to your foot. Timpanis are like drill sergeant personal trainers for your feet.

My feet are constantly working out (I don't want them to get flabby). Sometimes, when I drive, my ankles become so overtaxed that I have to pull over to the side of the road to allow them a breather. Other times, I simply set cruise control. Both options are rather problematic when driving in cities, but I must heed my barking dogs.

Once again, I have proven beyond all doubt that I don't know when to shut up. I am a master of taking jokes that weren't really funny to begin with and dragging all hell out of them until everyone around me wants to stage an impromptu bludgeoning. But I like attempting to comedically tell long, elaborate, unfunny stories...

The horse is dead, Al. Let it go.

I am ridiculously absentminded. I forgot that I drove to school, so I walked home. Yep. I didn't even notice it until my dad got home asked me where my car was. I then had to walk back to school to rescue the Breeze. So, if anyone asks about it, I do have an alibi.

I killed the Pope.

And I'm not even sorry.

Good news: I found my camera cord. My lazy self downloaded Mozilla (sweet relief). My dog went to the groomer's yesterday for his summer shearing and came back with bows on his ears. I heart my new shoes--did I mention those? They're dead sexy. I got my hands on Modest Mouse's new album, Good News For People Who Love Bad News. All in all, I feel...cheery. Cheery scares me; it needs to stop.

Anyway, pictures. And my pictures this time. I took 78, and nine made the final cut, so I may add more of the non-specific time/date ones in the future.


My friend Amber gives the obvious response when Someone tries to take a candid shot of her on the bus. I gotta hand it to her--she's a quick one.


I have a terrible habit of Taking Pictures of People I Don't Know. I just think they're interesting.


I also have a habit of looking for the dreaded "elements of art" in things. I've had some overzealous art teachers in my time. I took this one because of the lines the smokestack and the contrail made.


Action shot! I'd like to quote our fourth chair trumpet here, who saw this and exclaimed, "I didn't know people still actually rode on trains!" Is it any wonder she's a cheerleader?


Oy. Mecca. Of course, we couldn't actually go there; no, that would have been far too much excitement for my delicate little head.


This was just a snapshot on the shore of the Chicago River, but it ended up being kind of pretty. I don't know--I like it.


A rather unflattering shot of my friend Sarah on the ferry. And I quote: "I'm with the band!" God, we're such losers.


An experiment in the time delay feature on my camera. I still don't know how I did this, but I'm going to print it, pass it off as modern art, and make a million dollars.


This one's my favorite. It was intended to just be a photo of random people walking down the street, but I fell in love with the billboard and had to get a shot of it. I like how the little woman walking across the bottom looks like she's leaning against the string of jewels. This one came out cooler than I'd anticipated; I like color.

Sorry I haven't been posting...life is hectic, to say the least. I still can't find my camera cord, but Cal sent me some of her pictures, so I'll post a few of hers instead. It looks like I may have to redo all my photos, as hpphoto will no longer be allowing its "Create Link for Auction" feature after April 26. I don't know if this means that it will screw up all photos posted, or just ones after the 26th. Eh, we'll soon find out.

(Disclaimer: Most of these include our friend Bob, as he is a camera whore.) Anyway:


First off, a photo of Bob enjoying the fruits of my digital photographic labors (which, sadly, you don't get to see yet). The Euro-pale hands in the Army dress uniform jacket sleeves are mine.


My hair after a bunch of bored and vindictive band geeks got through with it. Note to self: never mock-insult people with whom you are trapped on a Greyhound.


Another bus photo. Yes, this is how Bob sleeps.


This is Cal and Bob doing their Corey Hart impressions in Cal and my hotel room. See the person in the burgundy jacket on the edge of the photo? That's totally me.


Another Bob photo. I told you he was a camera whore. You can't really see it (blame Cal), but he's under the wheel of a tractor. We got homesick, so we reenacted a decidedly South Dakotan activity while we were at the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry. Really dumb farm accident deaths: we're number one!

Lastly, a real photo with me in it:

This is Bob, Cal, and me feeling goofy at Navy Pier. I don't know why I look so snarky, and I don't know why I look like I'm seven years old. This photo doesn't really look much like me at all (and I'm not just saying that). Perhaps it's because I'm ridiculously sleep-deprived in this picture. In my defense, I never told you I was photogenic (because I'm not). By the way, note the stylish band shirts they forced us to wear. I'm rebelling and covering mine up. It was 80 degrees that day, so I'm a dedicated band rebel.

I'm choking on the wood glue fumes, but my bridge is looking pretty bridgelike. It's a mess of glue and wood and clamps right now. I'm scared to see what it will look like without the clamps. I can't touch it; it will probably break if I do. It doesn't look very strong. Tomorrow I will fix the trouble spots, and then this godawful project will be over.

My St. Louis friend is emailing with increasing frequency. I get a kick out of the guy. What can I say? After you skip arm in arm down the fourth floor hallway of a Hilton with someone you've just met, you get kind of attached. He's a really cool guy. I'm glad I met him; I'm very comfortable talking to him.

I made Chantel a valentine today. I like making people valentines, but only when it's not Valentine's Day. It's unexpected that way. She seemed sad when I talked to her on the phone, so I have done my friend duty and will be on call to cheer her up tomorrow.

Her valentine has got blue and yellow polkadots on the front with a little word bubble with a big red heart in it. The inside opens up, and the left side is a little cartoon of a desk, a tray of paper, and a hand grabbing a sheet of paper; it reads "I stole this paper" at the bottom (I did indeed--sorry, art room). The right side is a cartoon of a tiger's face. The words "hang" and "tough" are written in white as reflections in the tiger's eyes, the comma is in black on the nose, and the mouth has the word "tiger" in it. I'm rather proud of it. It's rare that I take on any remotely artistic endeavor, so I enjoy it.

You'll get Chicago pictures tomorrow. I took 78 photos, so before I go to bed, I'm going to go through them and decide which ones to upload.

My bridge beckons.

Ok...what the hell. Since when am I ever too busy to post as promised? Grr. No pictures today either. They will come, I promise, but first I've got to finish that balsa wood bridge. Thursday, ok, kidlets? We'll shoot for Thursday.

In random news, today was busy. I went to school. I worked on a balsa wood bridge. I went to Brookings, where Chantel, Sara (I was wrong before; there's no 'h') and I went to the library and hung out at Sara's house. Sara tried on prom dresses, and we picked one for her to borrow. It was cool.

After that, Chantel and I went to the bagel shop, where we met a 17-year-old professional magician who's a senior at Brookings High School. It was...interesting.

I got home, finished installing OS X on my iMac, and checked my email. The St. Louis Boy emailed me again, and I emailed him back. I have a new friend, and it didn't even take any introductions. I did it all by myself (which is really something if you know how shy I usually am). Yay me.

I have OS X now. It's exciting, although rather intimidating at first. Everything's pretty, but I've got to download Safari or something before Internet Explorer drives me crazy.

I'm tired, and I have another math contest tomorrow. It's an all-day affair and we leave at 6:45, so I must be off to bed. Pictures by Thursday, I swear!

Sorry, but the pictures aren't coming up today. I've been busy, and somehow it got really late. Tomorrow. I will try tomorrow.

Today was exceptionally boring at school. After school, I drove over to Brookings to visit Chantel, and I met her friends Sarah and Trish. We barbecued and chatted, and a good time was had by all.

I came home early from Brookings to start my new job. I am now officially a typesetter for my hometown newspaper. It just got a new owner, and my dad got promoted to editor. The new owner stopped me and talked to me about it when I went to see Dad today, and I took the job. It will only be two or three hours a week to start out, but it's six bucks an hour. It might become a real job when their intern leaves. I like having these things handed to me; I've never had to do an actual job hunt. I guess that's part of the advantage of living in a small town.

Anyway, I spent an hour typing up local news, and then I came home. I checked my e-mail, and one of the St. Louis prep school boys e-mailed me. I sent a rather long reply; I'm still sleep-deprived, and I tend to ramble when I'm tired.

I will try again tomorrow.

Chicago was awesome. Tomorrow I will post pictures. Tonight, I will not give you a very detailed recap. Suffice it to say that we stayed in a Ghetto Hilton, saw Lucky Stiff at a dinner theater, went to the top of the Sears tower, hung out at Navy Pier, crashed and burned at the Heritage Music Festival, visited the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry, and had a blast at Medieval Times. It was a busy weekend.

I am crazy-tired. I slept very little this weekend. I'm terrible at sleeping in buses, and I don't do well sharing small beds. I didn't sleep at all last night (yay for St. Louis prep school boys and free three-hour in-hotel phone calls). I was roaming the hotel by 5:30 this morning (with aforementioned St. Louis fellows).

I will post pictures tomorrow, along with a more detailed summary (if I'm even awake).

Today was uneventful in the extreme.

Tonight, however? Tonight I depart for Chicago. Tonight I board a Greyhound bus with forty-two other bleary-eyed high school students. Tonight I prepare myself to spend quality time with my friends' and not-friends' chaperoning parents and my 22-year-old band instructor. Tonight, we embark on The Band Trip.

At approximately 11:59 p.m., I will hop aboard a bus, suitcase and carry-on in tow, and I will make my mark on that venerable institution of a high school career in band geekitude. I will stick my timpani mallets in my jacket pocket, I will tuck my pitchpipe in the kangaroo pouch of my red-hooded sweatshirt, I will plaster a pair of headphones to my ears, and I will stare dully out a window for sixteen hours. Joy of joys.

From Thursday afternoon to Sunday morning, I shall wreak havoc on the Windy City. It will feel my wrath. I will tour its museums, I will take its ferry rides, I will pretend to jump off its highest buildings. I will spy on its residents, and I will flip off the ones that bug me. (I will probably get myself shot.) I will take photos of my band director looking confused in Chicago's restaurants. I will catalog my walks along its lakeshore streets. My teenage apathy shall know no bounds, and Illinois shall be my target.

This trip will either be really interesting, or it will be the longest four days of my life. Considering the fact that my only company will be my fellow band geeks, I'm guessing it'll be closer to the latter. Take care; I'll see you Monday.

My friend Chantel and her family (mom and two brothers) are no longer living with her mother's boyfriend. Said boyfriend beat her mother, breaking her nose, and kicked them out. The boyfriend is in jail, and they're all living with Chantel's godfather in Brookings now. She's enrolled at Brookings High School and starts tomorrow.

I don't even know how to react to that; what worries me most is how used to it Chantel seems. Yesterday she was pretty shaken up, but today she seemed mostly unfazed. I guess she's good at faking her way through.

I'm kind of at a loss for words.

Out of college, money spent, see no future, pay no rent. All the money's gone; nowhere to go.

Nowhere to go.

Oh, that magic feeling: nowhere to go.

Onetwothreefourfivesixseven, allgoodchildrengotoheaven.

Tomorrow I'm going to try to exist peacefully. Wish me luck.

Sorry, kids, but we're on lockdown. The archives (especially those of the last three weeks) aren't going to make any sense for awhile. Sorry about that.

Hey, Person from My Hometown's Cable ISP: Identify yourself!

Life sucks, people suck, Blogger sucks. I don't know why the picture on the sidebar won't load anymore. I don't know why Blogger ate the post I tried to put up yesterday. I don't know why it won't let me publish when I use Netscape. I'm stuck on IE, and I loathe Explorer.

My parents and brother abandoned me to see friends in Minnesota. I couldn't go because of this stupid balsa wood bridge I'm supposed to be building right now--I'm way behind schedule. I can kind of see why they left; as my mother puts it, "You're always sad on holidays."

I feel like an awful person. I somehow scared away Monster, I've yelled at Chantel twice in one weekend, and even my family doesn't want to be around me. I'm lazy, irresponsible, and easily frustrated, and have been for the last two weeks. This needs to stop.

I'm just so goddamn frustrated with everything.

It's gone from 70 degrees on Monday to snow on Friday. In South Dakota, we pretend that we have four seasons, but we really don't. Either that, or my black-and-white thinking has convinced me that we don't.

I do not think in shades of grey. Things are bad or good. Events are happy or sad. It is winter or summer. I do not think in shades of autumn.

It is summer and it is snowing and somehow that seems entirely too appropriate.

Operation: Salvage. Stage 2.

Ground control to Monstrosity. "Your circuit's dead; there's something wrong." Can you hear me, Monstrosity? I repeat, ground control to Monstrosity.

...

Destruction imminent. Mission: aborted.

It feels like the world is ending and I'm the only one who knows it.

Either that, or I'm the only one who cares.

Look at me and tell me you don't care if the world is ending.

Apparently the FDA is regulating ephedra now. That's probably old news, but I'm a little out of touch lately.

I was listening to the radio this morning, and a commercial came on about ephedra. It was a 30-second spot of a woman talking, saying things like, "I'm a busy mom, and sometimes I just need a pick-me-up. I can't do it all. Ephedra only thing that helps, but as of [insert date here], it will be regulated." I think she said something about "by prescription only." I wasn't really paying attention.

The whole thing just reminded me of the stories you hear about amphetamoms. Specifically, I recalled this episode of ER. Is "amphetamoms" some catchy tidbit of Oprah lingo that I'm remembering, or did I make that up? It should be a word. I hereby declare it a word.

Today I feel: lucid.

Life sucks. Tra la la.

My religion is freaking crazy. The Pope needs to die. There, I said it.

I'm back.

The last few days have been rough. I don't know why. It's just been a bad week. I have been sleeping more than I should, and I am having a hard time gettting interested in anything. I am apathetic to the extreme.

On Monday, I came home from school and went to bed, not bothering to get up until the next morning. I did the same thing Tuesday. On Wednesday, I came home, set my alarm, and went to bed. I got up at 6:00 p.m., went to my CCD kids' Stations of the Cross service, posted briefly, and went back to sleep.

Thursday was the day before the prom. All the juniors were required to go to the gym after school and help decorate. Being the good little child that I am, I did so. I ended up being deputized to make a glitter-and-lightbulb run to Brookings. I got back at 8:30, and didn't get to come home until 9:45. I went to bed at 10:30.

And now I suppose I should tell you about the prom. As you know, I wasn't going to go. I didn't want to go. But when a bunch of girls show up at your house the night before toting dresses, what are you supposed to say? They were girls I didn't even know cared (including a girl who I know for a fact hates me). Most of them weren't even my friends. They showed up around 10:00, and they wouldn't leave until I had tried on the dresses and grudgingly agreed to attend. They chose the green dress of the ones they brought, and I agreed just to get them to leave.

Of course, I worry about their reasons for forcing me. Did they pity me? I hope not. I don't think so. They all knew damn well that I was going under protest; the prom just isn't my thing. But then, am I to assume that the action of a small-town girl not attending the prom rocked their little worlds that much? Did it really affect them so much that they felt the need to make me go? That's sad if it's true. Or, on a more pleasant thought, do they just like me more than I thought? I don't know which option it is. They insisted that "it wouldn't be the same" if I didn't go, and that I was "such an important part of our class." I don't know. Teenage girls are manipulative almost by definition.

By the way, who got to name our prom? Who was asked by the Prom Nazis (a.k.a. the Heathers, a.k.a. the Popular Girls) to choose a name from submitted suggestions? Who ended up throwing out another choice and having it picked? Yes, indeed, it was yours truly. The one girl who didn't care about the damn thing ended up naming it. The theme was "Paris at night," and they had decided that "A Night in Paris" was too trite. They were correct. They wanted the name to be translated into French, and they asked me to do it. I received suggestions from several other girls, and I dutifully Google-translated "April in Paris," "A Walk through Paris," and "Paris in the Springtime." On a lark, I threw in "On the Outskirts of Paris," the title of a Van Gogh painting. Much to my surprise, "Sur les Périphéries de Paris" was the unanimous favorite. I win.

On Friday, we got out of class to decorate for the damn thing. I built cardboard lampposts and helped write and cut out the title lettering. I spraypainted, taped, and did all kinds of useful things.

I did indeed go to the prom last night, and it wasn't awful. It wasn't great, but it wasn't mind-numbingly horrible either. I went stag, so I had to do a lot of mingling and idle joke-making. I managed to start 13 mock-fights, and I have 13 people to beat up on Monday (mostly guys). I hung out with Chantel and her date, Cal and hers, and Bob and his. I spent time talking to a couple of my former coworkers. Number Four and I argued about the duties of sophomore representatives. I complimented Rachel's date, a boy from a different school, on his shoes (black Chuck Taylors), and he seemed quite interested that I had the same ones. I talked to him for awhile longer. I also complimented his suspenders (yes, he wore suspenders). I even got to snap a suspender, which I probably enjoyed more than I should have.

I went to the after-prom part out of necessity, since my parents hadn't told the organizers that I could leave. If your parents don't tell the Prom Schutz-Staffel that you can leave, the SS assumes you're out drinking. The SS calls the sheriff, and the sheriff calls your parents to make sure you're at home. Rather than deal with that, I just went to the party. I won handsome amounts of fake money at blackjack. I also won drawings for McDonald's, Godfather's, Dairy Queen, and, rather ironically, a free haircut. I got home at 4:00 a.m., and I went to bed.

I wish I could care more about the things I do. I just don't. Things suck lately. Chantel is cruel without realizing it. Cal is distant. Jessie is a diet-obsessed bitch. Monster appears to have fallen off the face of the earth. Decorating for prom includes a lot of being yelled at by shrill teenage girls who don't like you. I'm planning on dropping my independent study art class that I scheduled for next year. A semi in front of me threw a rock and now my windshield is cracked. Gasoline is expensive as hell. My balsa wood bridge needs building. My English teacher says that my writing for her has "an excellent command of grammar and spelling, but lacks any interesting style." I can't seem to care about anything right now.

I also had a small epiphany this week that I've been thinking about a lot. I've decided what I am going to do with my life. I think that I will honestly go to college as long as I can, get into debt so that I can get a Masters degree in business or the like, and get a desk job. I want to work in a big corporation and make lots of money. I'll settle for less, live in a yuppieville, and keep nonfiction best-sellers on my coffee table. I think that that kind of existence is probably better than spending a lifetime trying to do something you'll never accomplish. It's less wasteful in a lot of ways.

I am bothered by this fact: I am good at things I don't like to do, and I enjoy things for which I have no talent.

Right now I feel very young and childish.