Well, I suppose we all knew this day would come some time....
Wait, Harold Camping got it wrong? Again? This guy has already messed up once. Awesome. I guess this means I have to go back to writing my paper.
Showing posts with label Intelligent People. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Intelligent People. Show all posts
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Get Off Of My Cloud.
Today I was talking with my mom on the phone on the third floor of the JSB when a girl looked up from her reading and asked me to keep it down.
Oh sure, darlin'. I'll do that for ya. Cause this is the library, where I am compelled to be quiet. Wait...
Hey! You! Get off of my cloud!
It's no problem, I'm just developing an eternal relationship with my mother. Carry on. Hope you get a lot of reading done.
Just cause you feel so good, do you have to drive me out of my head?
This is not a venomous overreaction. I have heard this same girl make requests of others to keep it down on several other occasions. It's time for her to find another study spot. She should get her own cloud.
Don't hang around cause two's a crowd on my cloud, baby.
Oh sure, darlin'. I'll do that for ya. Cause this is the library, where I am compelled to be quiet. Wait...
Hey! You! Get off of my cloud!
It's no problem, I'm just developing an eternal relationship with my mother. Carry on. Hope you get a lot of reading done.
Just cause you feel so good, do you have to drive me out of my head?
This is not a venomous overreaction. I have heard this same girl make requests of others to keep it down on several other occasions. It's time for her to find another study spot. She should get her own cloud.
Don't hang around cause two's a crowd on my cloud, baby.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Incredibly Average Vernon Parsons
"You know, if we were song writers, now would be the time that we would write a song."
Ironic. Without her knowing it, my cousin had hit the nail on the head. Poetry and songs have always been one of life's greatest pleasures for me. They voice the feelings that I cannot, they give expression to what I cannot fully comprehend. There are times when I want to be a poet or to write the perfect song because, frankly, I have a lot of emotions to sort through (I'm a teenage girl, duh). But, I am not a songwriter. I am not a poet. Instead, I am one of the masses who steps back and is awed. Even the places where I feel I have some control over expression, such as music I play that others have written or prose writing, there is something that I lack.
I once told my dad that I was not the best at anything. And he responded that he has never been the best at anything. He just does his best. Yeah, okay. But I don't want to just do my best, I want to be the best (I attended high school, I can't help but think this way).
I have come into contact with many people who are good at what they do--and they know it. There is nothing wrong with that. ...No wait, there is something wrong with that. It's annoying. Almost unbearably annoying. It is possible to be good at something, to be very good at something, and still have humility. See General Authority.
It makes me wonder if that is one of the reasons why such an incredible poet as John Keats did not do well during his lifetime. He needed humility (and boy oh boy did he get it). Other artists such as Vincent Van Gogh and Mozart died in poverty, despite their undeniable genius. Wow, I feel a lot better. I guess it's okay to not be all that great. I could get used to this.
Yet, there are times when I cannot help but compare myself. I know I am not the best, and frankly I never will be. However, I do know that I do the best that I can (...most of the time). And I also know that I will learn to be okay with that--even if I'm still working on that right now.
Incredibly Average may be all that I am, but at least I got the hospital grant and didn't have to go to Korea. (Take that, Hawkeye.)
Ironic. Without her knowing it, my cousin had hit the nail on the head. Poetry and songs have always been one of life's greatest pleasures for me. They voice the feelings that I cannot, they give expression to what I cannot fully comprehend. There are times when I want to be a poet or to write the perfect song because, frankly, I have a lot of emotions to sort through (I'm a teenage girl, duh). But, I am not a songwriter. I am not a poet. Instead, I am one of the masses who steps back and is awed. Even the places where I feel I have some control over expression, such as music I play that others have written or prose writing, there is something that I lack.
I once told my dad that I was not the best at anything. And he responded that he has never been the best at anything. He just does his best. Yeah, okay. But I don't want to just do my best, I want to be the best (I attended high school, I can't help but think this way).
I have come into contact with many people who are good at what they do--and they know it. There is nothing wrong with that. ...No wait, there is something wrong with that. It's annoying. Almost unbearably annoying. It is possible to be good at something, to be very good at something, and still have humility. See General Authority.
It makes me wonder if that is one of the reasons why such an incredible poet as John Keats did not do well during his lifetime. He needed humility (and boy oh boy did he get it). Other artists such as Vincent Van Gogh and Mozart died in poverty, despite their undeniable genius. Wow, I feel a lot better. I guess it's okay to not be all that great. I could get used to this.
Yet, there are times when I cannot help but compare myself. I know I am not the best, and frankly I never will be. However, I do know that I do the best that I can (...most of the time). And I also know that I will learn to be okay with that--even if I'm still working on that right now.
Incredibly Average may be all that I am, but at least I got the hospital grant and didn't have to go to Korea. (Take that, Hawkeye.)
Thursday Night
It's late at night. I really should be in bed. But, I'm sitting on the windowsill in my kitchen with some roommates, just talking. Suddenly there is a huge thump on the window. At first, we ignore it. There are crabapples all over Heritage and the boys in my ward love to throw them at our windows--real mature, I know. But, the thumping gets louder and more persistent. Finally, I stand up and pull up the blinds.
And there it is: a severed head.
There is a severed head outside my window. How am I supposed to process this? It's not exactly a normal occurrence. Someone has taken the head of a mannequin, painted the base of its neck with stage blood, and stuck it on a pole. And now it is moving across the outer ledge of my kitchen window.
Julie and Sarah jump back in alarm. Katy steps into the kitchen, and immediately runs out: "Oh! My! Gosh! AHHHHH!" She is just a little freaked out. While Katy is under her bed trying to prevent herself from hyperventilating, I open the window.
"Nice job guys. That was really clever. You scared one of us. Wow. I'm impressed." The guy standing at the base of the window walks away looking like the sheepish idiot that he is. About two hundred people (okay, maybe less) are hiding behind the dumpster and recycling bins, and they all look just as disappointed as the kid who actually had the nerve to hold up the head. That'll teach them to act stupid when they should be asleep or doing homework.
And there it is: a severed head.
There is a severed head outside my window. How am I supposed to process this? It's not exactly a normal occurrence. Someone has taken the head of a mannequin, painted the base of its neck with stage blood, and stuck it on a pole. And now it is moving across the outer ledge of my kitchen window.
Julie and Sarah jump back in alarm. Katy steps into the kitchen, and immediately runs out: "Oh! My! Gosh! AHHHHH!" She is just a little freaked out. While Katy is under her bed trying to prevent herself from hyperventilating, I open the window.
"Nice job guys. That was really clever. You scared one of us. Wow. I'm impressed." The guy standing at the base of the window walks away looking like the sheepish idiot that he is. About two hundred people (okay, maybe less) are hiding behind the dumpster and recycling bins, and they all look just as disappointed as the kid who actually had the nerve to hold up the head. That'll teach them to act stupid when they should be asleep or doing homework.
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