oh horror of all horrors, my poor, dillusional, misguided sister has gone out and purchased the now 7 cd. and she's become quiet the avid aaron carter fan.

back from atlantic city, which was relaxing and calming as it always is.

six days before the chaos that is school will begin and six days till i lose self-control as i drown myself within a swamp of college aps, homework, and scholarship essays. throw in some strenuous tennis playing and you've got one tiring, laggard first two months of senior year. i imagine within the next few weeks there will be at least one occasion upon which i'll throw myself to my knees, clutch my hair in strained grasps, look up to the heavens, and adamantly demand, "why god, why?!?".

and did i mention that i can't take ap english due to a small schedule conflict? i'm still heartbroken. damn physics.

i have yet to figure out how to add links to the side frame where it says "links" (duh). I've read the blogger help tutorials - nothing. i searched the edit page - nothing. same with the template page - zilch of course.

so do i have a new obsession? try three: my newly purchased rocky horror soundtrack, michelle branch's the spirit room, and alicia key's remarkable debut.

each so unique in their own right:

rocky horror pushes the limits of the musical bill for..well, a musical. the most satisfying mix of raunch, ruccus, and ridiculously hideous characters. an elongated twlight zone episode, just with added bursts into song spitter-spattered throughout the whole thing. and a lot more sex.

michelle branch - melissa etheridge minus the brown hair, extra fifteen years, and homosexuality. marit and marion with better lyrics. so so *so* talented and smart. she emotes the most genuine feel of feeling ever since travis. you get me is beautiful, as are the rocking guitar riffs of everywhere. i love her gutsy, stripped down look and also the fact that she's not another carbon copy of bleached blonde, silicone-injected anatomical perfection armed with long-last mascara and plunging necklines.

and finally - alicia keys. can you say best new artist at this year's grammy's? Wait - scratch that. The grammy's would never give something to alicia keys, because alicia keys is damn good music, and the grammy's seem to be celebrating the most filtered and altered these days rather than the most raw and utterly genuine (can you read my bitterness and unadulterated disgust?). anyway, back to my original point: a girl with a voice and a piano can be a deadly thing. her perfectly sultry, soulful voice layered over effective piano playing makes for one heck of a debut. perfect music to listen to on one of those drab, grey days when rain cries down endlessly from the angry heavens and all you want to do is curl up on the sofa with a cup of java (two sugars, and lite milk), and just stare pointlessly out the window at the watery world out yonder, its earthy smell resurfacing to permeate the humid atmosphere, its deserted streets slick with moisture, its endless pitter patter rain song refusing to cease.

i said good-bye to peter today. called him, actually, i didnt get to see him. the poor kid is nervous but i know he's gonna be just fine because he's a strong person already simply from what he's already gone through and what he's had to admit to the world. i wish him all the luck, in school and in love, in the world.

good night young chaps. may pleasant dreams of dewy-faced boys and sticky-sweet lollipops dance in your heads while the most beautiful strings of melody play on in the background.

i never thought i'd go on such a wide hiatus before i updated this blog again. granted it was only a mere two weeks or so, an eye's blink compared to how long it takes me to update my livejournal, but still. i had intended to keep this at least an every-other-day kinda thing, but nevertheless, here i am now to blog myself to death.

amidst all of this college-preparation madness, while we flurry around the country, touring different universities, crack open those blasphemous SAT books, do summer assignments at the last minute (current torture: Doctor Faustus), i hit a roadblock within myself for what seems like the thirtieth time. before it used to frustrate me, but now it's so recurring that i tend not to stress over it anymore. as corny as it may sound to you: who exactly am i?

after all the incessant analyzing of myself, or what I believe to be myself, i've come to this conclusion: no more worrying. no more stressing. no more wondering what my purpose is. because it's not going to come to me right away out of the blue. i'm just going to make this my most productive year. my senior year - the end before the beginning. i'm going to learn, to grow, both intellectually and emotionally, as much as i possibly can, while at the same time, enjoying myself. i want to see if medicine is really what i want to do without wanting to gouge my eyes out with spoons first.

taken from Baolu's blog:
i need to figure out what in me has changed, what can be selected and cultivated, what fulfills me intellectually and spiritually, what makes every day of this quantified existence worthwhile.

so this is what I'm going to do. I'm going to find what thrills me, satisfies me, leaves me content, excites me, mystifies me, puts me at awe. I'm going to experiment, I'm going to explore, I'm going to fiddle, analyze, inquire, opinionate, express, delve, examine, probe, and emote like i never have before. I'm going to finally learn guitar. and what's more, i'm going to be content.

i bid adieu to george today. easier said than done. i'm going to miss him, miss speeding down broadway in his jeep while he blasted his cd's. i'm gonna miss him calling me whenever teen people called him or emailed him about an upcoming event or get together. i'm gonna miss his cooky sense of humor, his crooked grin, his stark white teeth, his uniquely placed earrings, his irritating blondness, his hair that's at least six different shades of blond, his wardrobe that positively screams abercrombie & fitch and h&m i'm gonna miss everything about him that simply makes him george, someone whose been such a good, selfless friend ever since i met him in ceramics class in tenth.

i didn't cry when i hugged him good-bye. i didn't cry on the way home from the mall. i cried standing on my porch, my keys dangling in my hand, my shoulders drooped, a block of heavy remorse landed heavy in the pit of my stomach, as i watched his jeep turn the corner and speed away.

stay gold, georgie.

i miss the kitchen window in my grandmother's old apartment. more specifically, the window where i used to sit on lonely winter evenings, gazing out at the perfect, pristine whiteness that the earth was coated in, and wondering if it was possible for anything to look any more beautiful than what the world looked like at that moment. pen in aching hand and notebook carefully balanced on my bare lap, the edges of my flimsy nightgown hanging down over the sides of my chair, i would sit, aware of my breath forming misty little clouds on the shut window in front of me. i'd watch as the world dissolved into a big white blur, and scribble down poems that I thought to be profound, thought-provoking, and mature. but now that i look back and think about them, i realize that they'd only be recognizable as the work of a third grader, the age that I was when I actually believed I wrote decent poetry.

and the age when i actually sat at that window, watching fleecy snowflakes waft down to cover the earth in its frigid white velvet, the site never ceasing to strike awe within the depths of my stomach, never ceasing to bring me an aloof sort of peace of mind.

I have just stumbled upon a newfound source of perfection. Midis with strings. Like "Imagine" on this little site here.

ive been thinking quite a bit about quinnipiac university, undoubtedly my first choice college that I've visited so far. Which I really shouldn't judge because I've only seen three universities, but nevertheless. it's so beyond pretty there, and pretty much everything I need in a school. the area is a little quiestionable, though. i fear ill be bored to death from the lack of activity that thrives there. the gentle throws of massapequa to hamden is like what manhatten is to some unknown, unnamable town situated within the depths of utah.

i'm also scared to death that my first two years of college are gonna be made entirely up of changing majors, not finding what i want till my junior year. i'd have wasted two good years. more credits. a possible extended time in school. summer courses. i can feel myself start to perspire even now.

we'll see though.

everything will work out fine.

or at least i try to tell myself that.

theres a segment in this video documentary i have about john lennon's life after the beatles, one of those horribly addicting Behind the Music episodes, actually, and for a few breif moments yoko ono, after they show the whole account on how john was assassinated, talks about john. her words are simple, seemingly cliched of any woman who's lost her husband, but theres some sort of elegant air hovering about her as she speaks. she's seated in an ill-lit, dank-looking room with ashe-gray walls wearing a stark black v-neck blouse, her hair pulled back to show the creases in her face, heavy from the past weight of the world's accusations burdened upon her. the beatles' breakup was one of the inevitable sort, methinks, something that would've happened whether or not yoko had come into john's life. the people, and perhaps the beatles themselves, just wanted someone to blame for the cause of it, for the split of their precious, perfect, bubbly-fresh boys, whose growth since their plane first touched down at Kennedy airport in 1964 till 1970 was remarkably visible both physically and musically. hell, all good things indeed come to an end.

getting back to my original point, the few seconds that yoko is gracing the screen are surprisingly calming. Her statement is not of the upmost profoundness, but nevertheless, "He was my husband, he was my lover, He was my friend, my partner...and he was an old soldier that..fought with me..." is something that no matter how many times I hear it, and I know who its directed to, chills spring up and down my spine and roll down my arms. watching yoko on screen, looking downright painstakingly beautiful and calm has some sort of relaxing effect over me. I think its awe. i admire yoko for emoting with such grace and dignity, for not completely cracking on what must have been one of the hardest things for her to deal with.

granted she is not the most attractive person in all of history, I find that she looked stunning as she said those words, her face lit up in a sublime glow, her eyes regaining some of that seemingly lost, or perhaps just buried, sparkle, the corners of her lips curving into the most delicate of grins.