Boarders of Imagination
Among the stacks of movies, magazines, and endless novels
adventures are found, like in childhood games of make believe.
We wander through shelves, our fingers caressing the spines of books,
laughing at absurd subjects and wondering how that got published?!
Reading Dr. Seuss out loud, and comics about death,
sometimes just sitting in silence, looking.
Looking for something to capture our attention,
something to make us laugh until we cry.
The hours are wasted away on lazy Sundays,
minutes tick by without notice, until we decide we NEED coffee.
Friendship built in the pages of imagination,
like a knight rescuing a princess from an evil sorceresses.
20 November 2008
Old People Dancing :/
The moment I hear that we are going downtown, a pulse starts to rush through me. “Oh-my-God!” I think. “This is better than Christmas!” Every year when I am in Florida with my grandparents, I always look forward to this life-altering event: going downtown to the square to watch old people dance.
Of all the exciting things in my life, this has to be THE best. As we get in the Lincoln, I start to get excited. I listen to my iPod, with the anticipation coursing through my body. I’m so giddy with excitement I can hardly contain myself- it’s like a 3-year-old having to use the bathroom. The fifteen minute drive seems to take years.
When we finally get downtown and find a parking spot, I know I am about there. From the parking lot, I get the first glimpse into my ever-so-close, amazing future: I can hear a polka! From here, I can just imagine the 80-year-olds dancing. We walk into town, and I am uber-excited. The thrill is definitely overwhelming to me. As we walk through the crowd, I try to find a seat close to all the action.
A new song begins as we find seats, close to the stage. Lady in Red. NOW THE EXCITEMENT BEGINS!! I sit in my plastic green chair- the same chairs year-after-year- and I think to myself what a wonderful world. Seriously. This is bliss.
Now, I am sure you would never think of doing a line dance to Lady in Red, but these old farts know their shit, and believe me, they line dance to this song. This is where the fun begins. Another song starts, this time Man! I Feel Like a Woman! Okay, this song is more of a line dance, so I begin to pay close attention to the singing, since I need to know what I’m getting myself into.
Each night there is a DJ downtown. Some of them are absolutely fantastic, while others couldn’t sing any better than that Asian dude who sang She Bangs on American Idol. These people were terrible, which made it so much more fun! “Oh, yeah,” I say to myself, “this will be great!” So I sit and listen to the terrible singing- great she just hit a high note!- and begin to imagine a cow dying. Then, the old people dance their way into my imagination. So here we have some lady who can’t sing to save her life (hence, the dying reference) and old people dancing around her. I’m sorry, but this is hilarious.
An old guy dances right past me. I just sit there and watch. He’s definitely a pimp, going after all the old ladies. I feel like I’m at a club. He must be single. Oh wait, now he’s going over to a younger blonde lady who looks like Barbie. Ha! We have a regular Hugh Hefner over here folks! He kisses her, and yeah, eww… Old people making out… :/ Enough said…
So I sit there laughing at what I am watching. I have three glorious hours of this amazingness. I decide to get a drink- it’s happy hour after all, and alcohol only brightens the experience. As I make my way to the concession stand, I notice Hugh and Barbie. “Wow, they should really get a room,” I think.
I go back to my seat after I have my drink in hand, and begin to get back into observer mode. The song has changed again, this time to something more modern- the Cupid Shuffle. I practically pee myself this is so funny. I can’t believe that 70 and 80 year olds are dancing to this- and what makes it so much better is that they know it! This is just great; it’s turning out to be a spectacular evening!
Throughout the course of the evening, I observe many more wonderful old folks, some who even have their grandchildren with them. There are many people my parent’s age as well, who must be visiting relatives. They all get in on the action. Now, nothing bothers me more than people who don’t know what they’re doing. Granted the old people may not really know what they’re doing, but the younger folks should just stop. Trying to imitate the old people is NOT cool in my book. They just look retarded.
So to make sure my evening ends on a good note, I continue to observe my older friends. Sometimes, the people sitting next to me try and make small talk. I reply, but this is too much for me to handle, being that it just so happens to be Hugh Hefner and Barbie (they are engaged, so apparently she’s a gold digger).
They tell me the story of how they fell in love and how I will meet a nice girl someday, and I just laugh. “Dude,” I say to him. “I’m not getting any older than thirty.” He just laughs. He again gets up and decides to dance with Barbie.
The evening begins to draw to a close, and we get up to leave. I walk back to the car carrying memories of old people dancing, some not-so-lovely music, and Hugh Hefner guy and his Barbie doll, who have apparently found their happiness. I get in the car, put my iPod on, and we drive back home, and I get ready for bed.
I lie there, reflecting again on my wonderful evening. Most people may be bored out of their minds if they were to go downtown with me, but I know that this is not my case. As I fall to sleep, I have, not visions of sugarplum fairies dancing in my head, but visions of Hugh Hefner, his blonde Barbie, polkas and bad karaoke. Ah, bliss…
Of all the exciting things in my life, this has to be THE best. As we get in the Lincoln, I start to get excited. I listen to my iPod, with the anticipation coursing through my body. I’m so giddy with excitement I can hardly contain myself- it’s like a 3-year-old having to use the bathroom. The fifteen minute drive seems to take years.
When we finally get downtown and find a parking spot, I know I am about there. From the parking lot, I get the first glimpse into my ever-so-close, amazing future: I can hear a polka! From here, I can just imagine the 80-year-olds dancing. We walk into town, and I am uber-excited. The thrill is definitely overwhelming to me. As we walk through the crowd, I try to find a seat close to all the action.
A new song begins as we find seats, close to the stage. Lady in Red. NOW THE EXCITEMENT BEGINS!! I sit in my plastic green chair- the same chairs year-after-year- and I think to myself what a wonderful world. Seriously. This is bliss.
Now, I am sure you would never think of doing a line dance to Lady in Red, but these old farts know their shit, and believe me, they line dance to this song. This is where the fun begins. Another song starts, this time Man! I Feel Like a Woman! Okay, this song is more of a line dance, so I begin to pay close attention to the singing, since I need to know what I’m getting myself into.
Each night there is a DJ downtown. Some of them are absolutely fantastic, while others couldn’t sing any better than that Asian dude who sang She Bangs on American Idol. These people were terrible, which made it so much more fun! “Oh, yeah,” I say to myself, “this will be great!” So I sit and listen to the terrible singing- great she just hit a high note!- and begin to imagine a cow dying. Then, the old people dance their way into my imagination. So here we have some lady who can’t sing to save her life (hence, the dying reference) and old people dancing around her. I’m sorry, but this is hilarious.
An old guy dances right past me. I just sit there and watch. He’s definitely a pimp, going after all the old ladies. I feel like I’m at a club. He must be single. Oh wait, now he’s going over to a younger blonde lady who looks like Barbie. Ha! We have a regular Hugh Hefner over here folks! He kisses her, and yeah, eww… Old people making out… :/ Enough said…
So I sit there laughing at what I am watching. I have three glorious hours of this amazingness. I decide to get a drink- it’s happy hour after all, and alcohol only brightens the experience. As I make my way to the concession stand, I notice Hugh and Barbie. “Wow, they should really get a room,” I think.
I go back to my seat after I have my drink in hand, and begin to get back into observer mode. The song has changed again, this time to something more modern- the Cupid Shuffle. I practically pee myself this is so funny. I can’t believe that 70 and 80 year olds are dancing to this- and what makes it so much better is that they know it! This is just great; it’s turning out to be a spectacular evening!
Throughout the course of the evening, I observe many more wonderful old folks, some who even have their grandchildren with them. There are many people my parent’s age as well, who must be visiting relatives. They all get in on the action. Now, nothing bothers me more than people who don’t know what they’re doing. Granted the old people may not really know what they’re doing, but the younger folks should just stop. Trying to imitate the old people is NOT cool in my book. They just look retarded.
So to make sure my evening ends on a good note, I continue to observe my older friends. Sometimes, the people sitting next to me try and make small talk. I reply, but this is too much for me to handle, being that it just so happens to be Hugh Hefner and Barbie (they are engaged, so apparently she’s a gold digger).
They tell me the story of how they fell in love and how I will meet a nice girl someday, and I just laugh. “Dude,” I say to him. “I’m not getting any older than thirty.” He just laughs. He again gets up and decides to dance with Barbie.
The evening begins to draw to a close, and we get up to leave. I walk back to the car carrying memories of old people dancing, some not-so-lovely music, and Hugh Hefner guy and his Barbie doll, who have apparently found their happiness. I get in the car, put my iPod on, and we drive back home, and I get ready for bed.
I lie there, reflecting again on my wonderful evening. Most people may be bored out of their minds if they were to go downtown with me, but I know that this is not my case. As I fall to sleep, I have, not visions of sugarplum fairies dancing in my head, but visions of Hugh Hefner, his blonde Barbie, polkas and bad karaoke. Ah, bliss…
The Story Of A Marshmallow
Another day dawns and as I wake from my sleep, I find myself wondering what will become of me; me, a poor, defenseless marshmallow, crammed with my fellow comrades in this condensed space called a “bag.” I find myself thinking back to the good old days, the days where I could frolic and play with my buddies at the place of our birth, the luxurious marshmallow factory. Those were the days where nothing could harm me; now, as I wake from my sleep, I find myself longing to go back to those days instead of sitting here in the dark, next to a lonely jar of peanut butter.
Since my days in the factory, it has been a long, hard journey, an emotional roller coaster that does nothing but make one reminisce about what once was. I have gone from playing with my chums, to being put in this bag, to sitting on the shelf in a supermarket, and finally, my last stop: a small, dark space where my bag sits, not knowing what will become of me.
Every now and again, something will come along that lets the light in. Sometimes the peanut butter will go, and other times it will be the bread. Each and every time I sit here dreading the moment the bag I am in is picked up and I see my friends taken and dropped into a hot, dark, milky brown liquid, referred to as hot chocolate, by an unknown figure. I have lost many friends like this, and I hear it is a hard way to go. I know I must be strong, though I cannot help but wonder what awaits me when it is my turn to go.
I go about my day as normally as possible. I used to be a carefree marshmallow, only worrying about not making time for all of my friends, and picking and choosing what to do with the ones I would see. These days, however; these are hard times. Sitting and awaiting one’s fate does not make one optimistic. A few hours pass, and suddenly, light is let in.
“Is it me they want?” I ask myself. My bag is taken from this dark place, and again, my friends are gone. I am left here, towards the bottom of an already half-empty bag, for another time.
I find myself strategizing about ways to escape this bag and my hot chocolate fate, occasionally letting others in on my plan.
“You’ve always been a rebel,” is all I get in response. So many marshmallows who feel we have nothing left to do but die. Though as I can’t help but think about what once was, I also cannot help but think of how I can have it all again, and what I can do to achieve my goal.
The next time someone comes for us, I will jump out of the bag and make a run for it, I think to myself, eluding whatever it is that removes us from this dark hell. I will hide away until I can figure out a way to come back for my friends, to save whatever’s left of them. But days go by, and no one comes for us. I cannot be released from the bag without it being opened by whomever or whatever opens it for me. As much as they need me, for whatever purpose that may be, I need them as well, and I must be ready at any moment.
I lie in wait until the next time I see the light. Again, the bag is taken from the dark, and marshmallows are taken in the blink of an eye. This time I am taken from the bag, stuck together to one of the other marshmallows, but it is a run through for my master plan, and I unstick myself and work my way back to the bottom of the bag. The next time is when I will make a break for it.
On my trip into the unknown, I noticed many things. I have plenty of obstacles I must overcome, and the one that scares me the most is a loud, furry yellow creature I have never seen before. I need to find a hiding spot, especially from the creature, so I can work out any kinks I may need to make once I am able to escape. Though I know it will be a long way down, I saw a shiny flat surface, many feet down, and I would be able to crawl under something into the dark until it is safe. As long as I can get out of my bag, I will be safe.
Again, I lie in wait at the bottom of the bag, resting up for what will come the next time the bag is reached for. Days go by again, and nothing happens. I keep thinking to myself, running my plan over in my head hundreds of time, confiding in no one of how I will escape because no one will listen.
What seems like years goes by, and again, the light comes. As I work my way forward and stick to another marshmallow, which has become increasingly easier because of the many fatalities my bag has endured, I feel myself whisked out of the bag, into a tight grip from whatever is releasing me. I unstick myself from the other marshmallow, and I find release from a crack, between two long things, and I anticipate a quick, hard fall to the shiny surface I had seen before.
As I am falling to the surface, I cannot help but wonder what will become of me. The idea ran so smoothly in my head, but if I am noticed, it could end in disaster. I notice my surroundings: the furry, yellow creature playing with a ball; two figures, one bigger than the other, sitting in a chair reading a paper, the other running around chasing the furry creature with a ball. I know this will be a long, tough road, and once I hit the surface, I have to think quickly.
I hit with a thud, though the fall was not as I had anticipated. I land hard on my feet, and I quickly scurry around trying to find a hiding spot. The obstacles are plentiful, though I know I have to be brave, or I will perish like my fellow comrades. I take a second to look around, and find the place: a small, dark line of space under something that looks exactly like where my marshmallow bag is kept, though it is on the same shiny surface I am.
I make my way towards the hiding place, but the furry yellow creature is running towards me. I stand still, hoping it won’t notice me. It looks away, then back, and directly towards me. I stand frozen, not knowing or expecting this flaw in the plan. It is now coming towards me, and I begin to sweat. The creature starts to sniff at me. I become even more scared than I was. Then, a wet, red object comes out of the creature, and I am scooped up again into the dark. I know that this is the end of me.
As I am enclosed in the wet darkness, something hard comes down, and I lose a huge portion of my body. As it is about to come down again, I begin to lose consciousness, and I flashback on memories of my life, from frolicking with my marshmallow friends until this moment in the wet darkness. I know that everything is over, and I am proud for not going down without a fight.
Since my days in the factory, it has been a long, hard journey, an emotional roller coaster that does nothing but make one reminisce about what once was. I have gone from playing with my chums, to being put in this bag, to sitting on the shelf in a supermarket, and finally, my last stop: a small, dark space where my bag sits, not knowing what will become of me.
Every now and again, something will come along that lets the light in. Sometimes the peanut butter will go, and other times it will be the bread. Each and every time I sit here dreading the moment the bag I am in is picked up and I see my friends taken and dropped into a hot, dark, milky brown liquid, referred to as hot chocolate, by an unknown figure. I have lost many friends like this, and I hear it is a hard way to go. I know I must be strong, though I cannot help but wonder what awaits me when it is my turn to go.
I go about my day as normally as possible. I used to be a carefree marshmallow, only worrying about not making time for all of my friends, and picking and choosing what to do with the ones I would see. These days, however; these are hard times. Sitting and awaiting one’s fate does not make one optimistic. A few hours pass, and suddenly, light is let in.
“Is it me they want?” I ask myself. My bag is taken from this dark place, and again, my friends are gone. I am left here, towards the bottom of an already half-empty bag, for another time.
I find myself strategizing about ways to escape this bag and my hot chocolate fate, occasionally letting others in on my plan.
“You’ve always been a rebel,” is all I get in response. So many marshmallows who feel we have nothing left to do but die. Though as I can’t help but think about what once was, I also cannot help but think of how I can have it all again, and what I can do to achieve my goal.
The next time someone comes for us, I will jump out of the bag and make a run for it, I think to myself, eluding whatever it is that removes us from this dark hell. I will hide away until I can figure out a way to come back for my friends, to save whatever’s left of them. But days go by, and no one comes for us. I cannot be released from the bag without it being opened by whomever or whatever opens it for me. As much as they need me, for whatever purpose that may be, I need them as well, and I must be ready at any moment.
I lie in wait until the next time I see the light. Again, the bag is taken from the dark, and marshmallows are taken in the blink of an eye. This time I am taken from the bag, stuck together to one of the other marshmallows, but it is a run through for my master plan, and I unstick myself and work my way back to the bottom of the bag. The next time is when I will make a break for it.
On my trip into the unknown, I noticed many things. I have plenty of obstacles I must overcome, and the one that scares me the most is a loud, furry yellow creature I have never seen before. I need to find a hiding spot, especially from the creature, so I can work out any kinks I may need to make once I am able to escape. Though I know it will be a long way down, I saw a shiny flat surface, many feet down, and I would be able to crawl under something into the dark until it is safe. As long as I can get out of my bag, I will be safe.
Again, I lie in wait at the bottom of the bag, resting up for what will come the next time the bag is reached for. Days go by again, and nothing happens. I keep thinking to myself, running my plan over in my head hundreds of time, confiding in no one of how I will escape because no one will listen.
What seems like years goes by, and again, the light comes. As I work my way forward and stick to another marshmallow, which has become increasingly easier because of the many fatalities my bag has endured, I feel myself whisked out of the bag, into a tight grip from whatever is releasing me. I unstick myself from the other marshmallow, and I find release from a crack, between two long things, and I anticipate a quick, hard fall to the shiny surface I had seen before.
As I am falling to the surface, I cannot help but wonder what will become of me. The idea ran so smoothly in my head, but if I am noticed, it could end in disaster. I notice my surroundings: the furry, yellow creature playing with a ball; two figures, one bigger than the other, sitting in a chair reading a paper, the other running around chasing the furry creature with a ball. I know this will be a long, tough road, and once I hit the surface, I have to think quickly.
I hit with a thud, though the fall was not as I had anticipated. I land hard on my feet, and I quickly scurry around trying to find a hiding spot. The obstacles are plentiful, though I know I have to be brave, or I will perish like my fellow comrades. I take a second to look around, and find the place: a small, dark line of space under something that looks exactly like where my marshmallow bag is kept, though it is on the same shiny surface I am.
I make my way towards the hiding place, but the furry yellow creature is running towards me. I stand still, hoping it won’t notice me. It looks away, then back, and directly towards me. I stand frozen, not knowing or expecting this flaw in the plan. It is now coming towards me, and I begin to sweat. The creature starts to sniff at me. I become even more scared than I was. Then, a wet, red object comes out of the creature, and I am scooped up again into the dark. I know that this is the end of me.
As I am enclosed in the wet darkness, something hard comes down, and I lose a huge portion of my body. As it is about to come down again, I begin to lose consciousness, and I flashback on memories of my life, from frolicking with my marshmallow friends until this moment in the wet darkness. I know that everything is over, and I am proud for not going down without a fight.
Holy Women
Their bosoms remain untouched for all eternity
Until, one day, Jesus calls them home.
.......................Nuns..................................................
Until, one day, Jesus calls them home.
.......................Nuns..................................................
13 March 2008
Britney Spears and Amy Lowell: Destined BFFL's?
I am a very big Britney Spears fan (though I am sure no one could ever guess that), and I feel that Amy Lowell had some kind of time machine that allowed her to have some sort of insight into Britney's life when she wrote her poem "Opal" in 1919. First of all, Lowell talks about ice and fire, which is in a Britney Spears song "Hot As Ice." Britney says "cold as fire, baby hot as ice." Lowell says "the touch of you burns my hands likes snow." Therefore, they are basically saying the same thing and they were totally on the same wave length.
Another point is that I think this poem totally represents Britney's relationship with Kevin Federline. Kevin basically brainwashed Britney, and I believe he drugged her like that stupid boyfriend she just got rid of. Just like in the poem, when Britney was with Kevin her "heart is a frozen pond." Britney was (and still is) such a sweet girl. She's gone through a lot of dramatic things in the past few years, losing her aunt, being brainwashed and drugged obviously... It's just so hard, and Kevin only made things worse. I truely believe that Lowell and Britney should be BFFL's...
All-in-all, what the world needs now is not love, sweet love, it's love for Britney Spears, and they should definitely support her while she endures these hardships. Please, as Chris Crocker once said, "leave Britney alone" unless you are going to help her out and support her during this hard time.
*Scroll to the end of the page to view Chris Crocker's infamous video!*
Another point is that I think this poem totally represents Britney's relationship with Kevin Federline. Kevin basically brainwashed Britney, and I believe he drugged her like that stupid boyfriend she just got rid of. Just like in the poem, when Britney was with Kevin her "heart is a frozen pond." Britney was (and still is) such a sweet girl. She's gone through a lot of dramatic things in the past few years, losing her aunt, being brainwashed and drugged obviously... It's just so hard, and Kevin only made things worse. I truely believe that Lowell and Britney should be BFFL's...
All-in-all, what the world needs now is not love, sweet love, it's love for Britney Spears, and they should definitely support her while she endures these hardships. Please, as Chris Crocker once said, "leave Britney alone" unless you are going to help her out and support her during this hard time.
*Scroll to the end of the page to view Chris Crocker's infamous video!*
29 February 2008
Cows
Okay, so the Robert Frost poem "The Pasture" was my favorite because it was about a cow in the second half of the poem. First of all, in the beginning of the poem, I wouldn't go with Frost to clean the pasture. That seems boring. I would go to see the cow, because cows are fun, and I somehow get a feeling that he doesn't like the cow. Why would he go fetch it? I seriously think that he wants to make the little cow into a hamburger. I could be wrong, obviously because there is nothing more to the poem than going to fetch the cow, but come on, what purpose would he have with it?
Maybe I think this because of everything that happened to his family, though this was written before that. Usually when people fetch cows, though, it's to get milk or kill them, and this cow is still a baby, so I think it would be to kill him. However, I would go with Frost, as I said, to save the baby cow. And if he tries to kill him, I'll throw Frost in the leaves he raked while cleaning the pasture.
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