Okay, here's another update! Ummm...working at my dad's office is so awesome, because Pam and Monica and Debi are just so fun and nice and I love working with them! Monica is such a joker, and Debi is too. Pam is so sweet, and she has candy stashed in her drawers that she has announced is for everyone to sneak whenever they feel the need for chocolate. I work on Tuesdays and Thursdays and sometimes on Wednesdays. I mostly just file, but I also do whatever else anyone tells me to do. Like sort papers or pull charts or run down to the hospital's cafeteria to grab someone a soda. Working at "Granath Family Medicine" (GFM) gives me a chance to blog when I get a break. I usually eat lunch while I work to make up time, since I don't work mornings and only one other day for the rest of the week. Anyway, I'm glad that everyone liked my story!
In geometry, there're more guys than girls, so even when we get a new seating chart, I'm almost always surrounded by guys! So Justin sits right behind me, and then Cody right after him and then that's the end of our row. To my left, Christian is right next to me, and then David behind him and in fron of Christian is Sean Brown. I know his last name because Mrs. Knight is always saying, "Sean Brooown!" *very high pitched* In front of me sits Tony and then to my right, Sage is right across from me and Kole is in front of her, and Adam Anderson is behind her. So anyway, for some reason, Justin decided to start calling me George. So then I was like, "Okay, well then now you can be Henry." And that's what started the whole thing. So now David is Buzz and David/Buzz calls me Charlotte even though I'm George to Justin/Henry whose name is Bill to Buzz/David. yes. It's complicated. But funny. David is funny, he's just so...I dunno. Kinda cynical, but in a funny way. Justin is funny too and-okay suffice it to say that everyone is funny. Basically. Except Christian, who's more serious-although I might just have that impression because he's also shy. He kinda reminds me of Zack McCone, but different. I don't really know Sage at all. Adam Anderson is a senior and drives Mrs. Knight crazy. Kole is hilarious, he comes up with the most hilariousest things! Mostly I know that because we're in the same English class, and his presentations are always great. Anyway, 'nuf said, I'll try to write again on Thursday!!!
have some luv and hugs from me, your favorite blogger,
Katy
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
A Short Story by Me, Katy
Hey everyone, this is the story I wrote for AP English class. I was one of ummmm...about 4 people who didn't write a grisly murder story or a romantic love story about one of the lovers dying. I sent this story to like, almost everyone I know, which is like, a lot, and since they all liked it soooo much, I'm finally giving in, so I'm gonna post my eight-page story. YAY! Anyway, here's my story. It's titled, "The Secret of Sherwood". Enjoy!
I moved through the woods stealthily, I didn’t know if any of the King’s Men might be about. I didn’t want to be caught now after I’d evaded them for this long. I laughed inwardly as I realized that I had become much like my favorite hero, Robin Hood. Was I becoming an outlaw, hiding out in the woods, stealing from the overly wealthy to help the poor and destitute? I hadn’t quite come so far as to steal from any nobles yet, though I had held up a rather haughty coach driver, who had handed over a few silver coins willingly when my blade reinforced my persuading voice. I was seven when I first learned of Robin Hood’s death. Rumors persisted for a few years, but after ten years and no more heard of him, I gave up hoping. The news shocked me. Dead? How? Why? Did he fall heroically? Perhaps fighting many hundreds of men? When I discovered that it was a prioress who had betrayed him, I was enraged and disappointed- Enraged at the prioress, disappointed in the manner of my hero’s death. How had Robin Hood let himself be deceived so easily?
I was jolted out of my reminiscing by the snapping of a twig. I held still and looked around, but there was no one, only myself. It was probably just some animal. I fought my way through a few more clumps of bushes, and then burst out unexpectedly into a hidden clearing. I was surprised that even my sharp eyes hadn’t spotted it before I tumbled into it. There, in the middle of the concealed clearing there stood a small cabin, made from logs, and cunningly disguised with branches and so covered with creeping ivy that I could barely discern it from its surroundings. A river ran through the clearing, not large or very deep, but clean and crystal clear.
The door creaked a little as I cautiously pushed it open.
“Hello?” I called, “Is there anyone here?” I walked a little farther into the room and let the door swing shut behind me. The cabin was quite nice, with a fireplace-though no fire, a small, oak table and a stool. There were two windows, in two of the walls of the little lodge, and another door was set straight in front of me, behind the table. The floor was not dirt, but oak planks. My soft-soled leather boots, though, made no sound as I walked toward the door, carefully skirting the table. The small lodge conjured up memories of the home I had left not three days ago.
A female in the house of such thieving men as my father and brothers wasn’t welcome, at least, not at first. I was only a burden, I could be no help at all, just another mouth to feed. Nevertheless, I was determined to prove them wrong. So I did. When I put on my soft-soled leather boots, black buckskin breeches, to blend into the night and the too-big, billowy shirt that disguised my sex, also black, I became a different person. I became Jack Brit, the youth who had officially joined the band a year ago. With my hair tied back and the addition of the black mask that I habitually wore to hide my girlish features, I looked like any other male thief. I was the nimblest, the supplest, the best in our band of thieves.
One night, however, three days back, I made a grave mistake. I made the mistake of believing that the guard was in a drunken stupor here on the floor, when he was not. I didn’t stop to check. Instead I walked right over him and into a trap. I suppose the lord of the house must have been angry at our frequenting his house so much, but it was really his own fault as he insisted on displaying his valuables instead of locking them up. As I took one more step, the guard’s hand shot out and clamped around my ankle like a steel vice. I struggled, but he would not let go. I made not a sound, for fear my voice would betray me to be a woman. He shouted for help, and knowing I hadn’t much time, I stomped down hard on his face with my unrestrained foot. He bellowed, but still refused to let me go, so I pounded on his wrist with my heel, and then he had to let go. I darted to the window, pulled myself up onto the flat roof, and fled. I raced over the rooftops, leaping across the wide gaps of streets until I reached the city wall where I borrowed a piece of rope from the sentry after knocking him out, and, after securely fastening it to an iron ring that appeared to be there for no other purpose than to tie a rope to, I climbed down the wall.
That was three days ago, and I was still on the run. It wasn’t hard though, I knew my way around Sherwood Forest pretty well, and food wasn’t a problem, seeing as there were many kinds of berries ripe for the picking. Since the incident when I’d come so close to being caught, everything had worked out well for me. I had escaped the Guard, the King’s Men, managed to climb safely over the city wall, I had plenty to eat, and had found comfortable places to sleep each night. For three days I had eluded capture, even close as I was to the city, and now this cabin. The owner had left it for me in perfect condition, and I was sure it would prove a snug, warm place to spend the night.
My fingers had closed on the knob to the door behind the table, and I had just begun to twist it when a steel blade was placed flat across my bared neck.
“Don’t open that.” came a low voice. Instinctively, at the touch of cold steel, I went for the sword at my hip. The sword pressed harder against my throat. I froze.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” His voice was deep, resonant. I looked up, slowly, as I raised my hands, palms outward in the traditional gesture of peace. It was a rather old man who stood in front of me, his sword at my throat. He was dressed in Lincoln green, with the same boots that I, myself wore, though his were of superior craftsmanship. Soft-soled leather boots aren’t much good for traveling over rough terrain, because their main purpose is to help the wearer remain silent and undetected. Hooded, dark brown eyes, with flecks of green and gold in them, looked me up and down contemptuously. I drew myself up to my insubstantial height; I was no beauty, but nor was I ugly- I didn’t appreciate the scornful look. His hair and beard were silvery white, and deep lines were etched into his face. Not just frown lines, there were crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. He finally spoke.
“What does tha’ want here and what be tha name?” I remained silent. ”Come! Speak now,” He said, “or I shall have to trounce tha’ and give thee a good ducking in yonder river!” I laughed at that, for he was old, and I young. His sword did not waver, his hand did not shake, nor he was not unsteady on his feet, on the contrary, his weight was forward on the balls of his feet, ready for anything. However I had no doubt that in a fight, it would be I, the quicker, faster one, who would trounce him, not the other way around. He scowled when I laughed, and said a bit grumpily, “What? Does tha’ think that tha’ could best me in a fight? I think not, young one, and tha’ wouldst be well warned not to try it.” I stopped laughing and voiced my thoughts aloud,
“Ah, but tha forgets, Old One, that I am young and you old.” He winced at the words, “Old One”.
“Well,” He cried, suddenly much more cheerful, “Let us fight, eh? It’s been quite a long time, actually since I’ve had any good practice, or given a body a good thrashing that seemed to need it so! First though, give us tha name.” I didn’t want to reveal that I was a woman just yet, so I replied,
“Jack Brit, what did that say tha name be good sir?”
“I didn’t,” He said, “and tha doesn’t want to know anyway. Now come on.” His blade sheathed without a whisper. “Oh, and by the way, we’ll be fighting with quarterstaffs, not swords. Ye might decide to behead thaself.” His jab wiped the smirk off my face. I followed him as we headed back outside. He stopped by the door to grab two oaken quarterstaffs from the corner. “Huh.” He said, thinking aloud, “Jack…that’s not a name I’ve often heard bestowed on a lass.” Raising an eyebrow, he looked at me. I wasn’t thrilled that he had discovered me so quickly. I glowered at him and said,
“All right then, my name be Sophie if it please ye, Old One.” I smiled inwardly when he flinched. Apparently satisfied with my name, he led the way out into the grass between his cabin and the river, and tossed me a quarterstaff. The throw caught me off guard, and I fumbled to catch it. “Don’t hurt thaself with that.” He muttered loudly. I scowled at him, but he just grinned and said, “Prepare thaself, lass, for a good trouncing- and believe me,” He said, moving toward me, twirling his stick menacingly above his head, “tha needs it!”
Assuming the “guard” position, I swung my stick experimentally. He was already there. Parrying my attack, he advanced upon me, raining down blow after blow. I couldn’t even block his attacks; they came too fast, and too thick. I was astounded by his strength; he looked so old, yet now it was literally painfully obvious that he was in perfect physical condition. Losing ground, I retreated rapidly backward toward the river. Then, with a kind of twist I couldn’t quite catch, he sent my staff sailing over my head and into the river. I watched it splash into the river, and then turned back to face the old man, who stood there, barely even breathing hard. He gave me a toothy smile that revealed a mouthful of pearly whites, chuckled, then shoved me hard with the butt of his staff. It was over so quickly I could hardly believe it. Pulling myself, soaking wet, out of the river, I wondered absently about who this hermit might be.
“Well,” I said, my pride injured, and not in a small way, “Tha beat me, be tha happy now?”
“Aye!” He laughed, “That I be.” I flopped down onto the grass to dry, but he caught my outstretched hand and pulled me to my feet. “Come on lass, care for some supper and perhaps a warm bed?” I was bewildered at how fast his moods changed. Surprised, maybe a little confused, I accepted and he led the way back indoors. Supper was simple, but delicious. Bread, cheese, and apples stuffed with dried fruit roasted over the fire, along with some watered down wine. I ate until I was stuffed, and it felt magnificent to eat something more substantial than berries. I can’t be sure about how the subject first came up, but we spent a good deal of time sharing stories about Robin Hood’ adventures with his band of Merry Men. I told him that Robin Hood had always been my hero, and how disappointed I’d been that he’d passed on before I’d had a chance to meet him. He chuckled when I’d finished and I asked him why he thought Robin Hood dying was funny.
“Oh, I don’t really believe that he’s dead, that’s all.” He said. I was astonished.
“Not dead?” I asked, “What can tha mean by that?”
“There’s never been any hard evidence.” He explained, “Robin Hood’s band were my heroes as well, but I’m not so inclined to let them go just yet.” I smiled, a thought like that was comforting. I fell asleep there, on my pallet in front of the fire, with a smile on my face.
Early the next morning, the old man gave me a hearty breakfast, a rather wrinkly dress and a horse that he said he’d “borrowed” from a noble’s wife awhile back. He said that if I rode back to the city as I was with a basket of berries, no one would look twice at me since the Guard was looking for a boy not a girl. I thanked him, leaped onto the horse, and urged it into a trot. I looked back but once to see his cleverly hidden cabin disappearing into the forest. He stood just outside the door, waving to me, an enigmatic smile on his face. The trees soon swallowed up the idyllic scene, river and all. I began to really wonder.
I got back to the city, to my home, to my band of brothers safe and sound, without incident. I lay low for a while, then after about a fortnight I got back to work, but this time, this time I didn’t just steal for myself. One gold coin makes 12 coppers, and 12 coppers could feed an entire poor family for a month. Each item we stole, when we gave it to the smithy to melt down and make into coins, made about 15 gold coins, give or take a few. 14 gold coins were much, much more than enough for our little band, so every month I took one gold coin and, in the dead of night, slid it under a door. I felt that I was a modern Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor. It amused me to think that the old man would’ve been pleased by my actions.
Many times I’ve looked for that old man, the hidden cabin, that secret clearing, the river too, but they are nowhere to be found. I know I couldn’t have wandered far from the city, and yet…and yet though I’ve searched and searched it is as though it was all a vision or a dream. So I wondered, I wonder. Who was the old man in the forest, so adept with his staff and sword; the hermit in green who could best me, the nimblest, the fastest, the most agile? What was in that room the old man was so keen to protect? Who could this old man be, who so easily disappeared into the forest, who knew so much of Robin Hood, and told me himself that he did not believe my hero to be dead? Was he, could it be…Robin Hood? I know my beliefs, but it’s up to you to decide for yourself.
“The Secret of Sherwood”
I moved through the woods stealthily, I didn’t know if any of the King’s Men might be about. I didn’t want to be caught now after I’d evaded them for this long. I laughed inwardly as I realized that I had become much like my favorite hero, Robin Hood. Was I becoming an outlaw, hiding out in the woods, stealing from the overly wealthy to help the poor and destitute? I hadn’t quite come so far as to steal from any nobles yet, though I had held up a rather haughty coach driver, who had handed over a few silver coins willingly when my blade reinforced my persuading voice. I was seven when I first learned of Robin Hood’s death. Rumors persisted for a few years, but after ten years and no more heard of him, I gave up hoping. The news shocked me. Dead? How? Why? Did he fall heroically? Perhaps fighting many hundreds of men? When I discovered that it was a prioress who had betrayed him, I was enraged and disappointed- Enraged at the prioress, disappointed in the manner of my hero’s death. How had Robin Hood let himself be deceived so easily?
I was jolted out of my reminiscing by the snapping of a twig. I held still and looked around, but there was no one, only myself. It was probably just some animal. I fought my way through a few more clumps of bushes, and then burst out unexpectedly into a hidden clearing. I was surprised that even my sharp eyes hadn’t spotted it before I tumbled into it. There, in the middle of the concealed clearing there stood a small cabin, made from logs, and cunningly disguised with branches and so covered with creeping ivy that I could barely discern it from its surroundings. A river ran through the clearing, not large or very deep, but clean and crystal clear.
The door creaked a little as I cautiously pushed it open.
“Hello?” I called, “Is there anyone here?” I walked a little farther into the room and let the door swing shut behind me. The cabin was quite nice, with a fireplace-though no fire, a small, oak table and a stool. There were two windows, in two of the walls of the little lodge, and another door was set straight in front of me, behind the table. The floor was not dirt, but oak planks. My soft-soled leather boots, though, made no sound as I walked toward the door, carefully skirting the table. The small lodge conjured up memories of the home I had left not three days ago.
A female in the house of such thieving men as my father and brothers wasn’t welcome, at least, not at first. I was only a burden, I could be no help at all, just another mouth to feed. Nevertheless, I was determined to prove them wrong. So I did. When I put on my soft-soled leather boots, black buckskin breeches, to blend into the night and the too-big, billowy shirt that disguised my sex, also black, I became a different person. I became Jack Brit, the youth who had officially joined the band a year ago. With my hair tied back and the addition of the black mask that I habitually wore to hide my girlish features, I looked like any other male thief. I was the nimblest, the supplest, the best in our band of thieves.
One night, however, three days back, I made a grave mistake. I made the mistake of believing that the guard was in a drunken stupor here on the floor, when he was not. I didn’t stop to check. Instead I walked right over him and into a trap. I suppose the lord of the house must have been angry at our frequenting his house so much, but it was really his own fault as he insisted on displaying his valuables instead of locking them up. As I took one more step, the guard’s hand shot out and clamped around my ankle like a steel vice. I struggled, but he would not let go. I made not a sound, for fear my voice would betray me to be a woman. He shouted for help, and knowing I hadn’t much time, I stomped down hard on his face with my unrestrained foot. He bellowed, but still refused to let me go, so I pounded on his wrist with my heel, and then he had to let go. I darted to the window, pulled myself up onto the flat roof, and fled. I raced over the rooftops, leaping across the wide gaps of streets until I reached the city wall where I borrowed a piece of rope from the sentry after knocking him out, and, after securely fastening it to an iron ring that appeared to be there for no other purpose than to tie a rope to, I climbed down the wall.
That was three days ago, and I was still on the run. It wasn’t hard though, I knew my way around Sherwood Forest pretty well, and food wasn’t a problem, seeing as there were many kinds of berries ripe for the picking. Since the incident when I’d come so close to being caught, everything had worked out well for me. I had escaped the Guard, the King’s Men, managed to climb safely over the city wall, I had plenty to eat, and had found comfortable places to sleep each night. For three days I had eluded capture, even close as I was to the city, and now this cabin. The owner had left it for me in perfect condition, and I was sure it would prove a snug, warm place to spend the night.
My fingers had closed on the knob to the door behind the table, and I had just begun to twist it when a steel blade was placed flat across my bared neck.
“Don’t open that.” came a low voice. Instinctively, at the touch of cold steel, I went for the sword at my hip. The sword pressed harder against my throat. I froze.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” His voice was deep, resonant. I looked up, slowly, as I raised my hands, palms outward in the traditional gesture of peace. It was a rather old man who stood in front of me, his sword at my throat. He was dressed in Lincoln green, with the same boots that I, myself wore, though his were of superior craftsmanship. Soft-soled leather boots aren’t much good for traveling over rough terrain, because their main purpose is to help the wearer remain silent and undetected. Hooded, dark brown eyes, with flecks of green and gold in them, looked me up and down contemptuously. I drew myself up to my insubstantial height; I was no beauty, but nor was I ugly- I didn’t appreciate the scornful look. His hair and beard were silvery white, and deep lines were etched into his face. Not just frown lines, there were crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. He finally spoke.
“What does tha’ want here and what be tha name?” I remained silent. ”Come! Speak now,” He said, “or I shall have to trounce tha’ and give thee a good ducking in yonder river!” I laughed at that, for he was old, and I young. His sword did not waver, his hand did not shake, nor he was not unsteady on his feet, on the contrary, his weight was forward on the balls of his feet, ready for anything. However I had no doubt that in a fight, it would be I, the quicker, faster one, who would trounce him, not the other way around. He scowled when I laughed, and said a bit grumpily, “What? Does tha’ think that tha’ could best me in a fight? I think not, young one, and tha’ wouldst be well warned not to try it.” I stopped laughing and voiced my thoughts aloud,
“Ah, but tha forgets, Old One, that I am young and you old.” He winced at the words, “Old One”.
“Well,” He cried, suddenly much more cheerful, “Let us fight, eh? It’s been quite a long time, actually since I’ve had any good practice, or given a body a good thrashing that seemed to need it so! First though, give us tha name.” I didn’t want to reveal that I was a woman just yet, so I replied,
“Jack Brit, what did that say tha name be good sir?”
“I didn’t,” He said, “and tha doesn’t want to know anyway. Now come on.” His blade sheathed without a whisper. “Oh, and by the way, we’ll be fighting with quarterstaffs, not swords. Ye might decide to behead thaself.” His jab wiped the smirk off my face. I followed him as we headed back outside. He stopped by the door to grab two oaken quarterstaffs from the corner. “Huh.” He said, thinking aloud, “Jack…that’s not a name I’ve often heard bestowed on a lass.” Raising an eyebrow, he looked at me. I wasn’t thrilled that he had discovered me so quickly. I glowered at him and said,
“All right then, my name be Sophie if it please ye, Old One.” I smiled inwardly when he flinched. Apparently satisfied with my name, he led the way out into the grass between his cabin and the river, and tossed me a quarterstaff. The throw caught me off guard, and I fumbled to catch it. “Don’t hurt thaself with that.” He muttered loudly. I scowled at him, but he just grinned and said, “Prepare thaself, lass, for a good trouncing- and believe me,” He said, moving toward me, twirling his stick menacingly above his head, “tha needs it!”
Assuming the “guard” position, I swung my stick experimentally. He was already there. Parrying my attack, he advanced upon me, raining down blow after blow. I couldn’t even block his attacks; they came too fast, and too thick. I was astounded by his strength; he looked so old, yet now it was literally painfully obvious that he was in perfect physical condition. Losing ground, I retreated rapidly backward toward the river. Then, with a kind of twist I couldn’t quite catch, he sent my staff sailing over my head and into the river. I watched it splash into the river, and then turned back to face the old man, who stood there, barely even breathing hard. He gave me a toothy smile that revealed a mouthful of pearly whites, chuckled, then shoved me hard with the butt of his staff. It was over so quickly I could hardly believe it. Pulling myself, soaking wet, out of the river, I wondered absently about who this hermit might be.
“Well,” I said, my pride injured, and not in a small way, “Tha beat me, be tha happy now?”
“Aye!” He laughed, “That I be.” I flopped down onto the grass to dry, but he caught my outstretched hand and pulled me to my feet. “Come on lass, care for some supper and perhaps a warm bed?” I was bewildered at how fast his moods changed. Surprised, maybe a little confused, I accepted and he led the way back indoors. Supper was simple, but delicious. Bread, cheese, and apples stuffed with dried fruit roasted over the fire, along with some watered down wine. I ate until I was stuffed, and it felt magnificent to eat something more substantial than berries. I can’t be sure about how the subject first came up, but we spent a good deal of time sharing stories about Robin Hood’ adventures with his band of Merry Men. I told him that Robin Hood had always been my hero, and how disappointed I’d been that he’d passed on before I’d had a chance to meet him. He chuckled when I’d finished and I asked him why he thought Robin Hood dying was funny.
“Oh, I don’t really believe that he’s dead, that’s all.” He said. I was astonished.
“Not dead?” I asked, “What can tha mean by that?”
“There’s never been any hard evidence.” He explained, “Robin Hood’s band were my heroes as well, but I’m not so inclined to let them go just yet.” I smiled, a thought like that was comforting. I fell asleep there, on my pallet in front of the fire, with a smile on my face.
Early the next morning, the old man gave me a hearty breakfast, a rather wrinkly dress and a horse that he said he’d “borrowed” from a noble’s wife awhile back. He said that if I rode back to the city as I was with a basket of berries, no one would look twice at me since the Guard was looking for a boy not a girl. I thanked him, leaped onto the horse, and urged it into a trot. I looked back but once to see his cleverly hidden cabin disappearing into the forest. He stood just outside the door, waving to me, an enigmatic smile on his face. The trees soon swallowed up the idyllic scene, river and all. I began to really wonder.
I got back to the city, to my home, to my band of brothers safe and sound, without incident. I lay low for a while, then after about a fortnight I got back to work, but this time, this time I didn’t just steal for myself. One gold coin makes 12 coppers, and 12 coppers could feed an entire poor family for a month. Each item we stole, when we gave it to the smithy to melt down and make into coins, made about 15 gold coins, give or take a few. 14 gold coins were much, much more than enough for our little band, so every month I took one gold coin and, in the dead of night, slid it under a door. I felt that I was a modern Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor. It amused me to think that the old man would’ve been pleased by my actions.
Many times I’ve looked for that old man, the hidden cabin, that secret clearing, the river too, but they are nowhere to be found. I know I couldn’t have wandered far from the city, and yet…and yet though I’ve searched and searched it is as though it was all a vision or a dream. So I wondered, I wonder. Who was the old man in the forest, so adept with his staff and sword; the hermit in green who could best me, the nimblest, the fastest, the most agile? What was in that room the old man was so keen to protect? Who could this old man be, who so easily disappeared into the forest, who knew so much of Robin Hood, and told me himself that he did not believe my hero to be dead? Was he, could it be…Robin Hood? I know my beliefs, but it’s up to you to decide for yourself.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
The Greek gods vs. the evil Christians (??!!!)
So for AP English class, we have to write a research paper on the gods and goddesses of Greek Mythology. This Friday we had to watch a 30 minute video from the History channel on the Greek gods, and oh...my....gosh. It was the weirdest, strangest, most offending video I've ever seen. First the narrarator went on and on about all of the gods' love affairs, and how, even though he was married to the goddess of the family and marriage, Zeus (Zoos) went out and had sex with every mortal girl he met. And then there was Ares and a whole bunch of other ones, and then...then they went on about how Aphrodite (A-fro-die-tee) was the love goddess and she became the goddess of prostitution, and she wasn't really born, but instead sprang from the bleeding testicles of some god, and it was like, "What...the heck." It was really, really weird. And then we heard about Aesculapius (Es-Klee-Pee-Us), god of healing, who had this temple and people came from all over to be healed there, and scientists found this tablet of people who had been healed miraculously of all kinds of stuff, such as the woman who'd been pregnant for FIVE YEARS and then gave birth to a five year-old boy at the temple of Aesculapius. Ummm...y'know, that's just not physically possible. At all. Whatsoever. And then the narrarator started telling about how the evil Christians came and built churches over the Greek temple, and dedicated them to healing saints, but it was basically the same thing. The SAME THING?! THE SAME THING?! They sacrificed pigs to Aesculapius, who do they think they're kidding?! This one guy was like, "Yeah, I don't think there's that much difference between the gods the Greeks worshipped and the God of Christianity." And I was like, "Excuse me?!" Not that much difference? Okay, the gods of Greek mythology went around having sex with everybody, I'd say that's a pretty big difference, not to mention that they also fought wars and killed each other, and they sacrificed pigs, bulls, and people to the Greek gods. In Old Testament times the Hebrews did sacrifice bulls and stuff, but since that practice is no longer a practice the Christians, but one of the Jews, then that's irrelevant. Anyway, it was really weird and really crude and gross, and I was seriously offended because it was supposed to be about Greek mythology, but they kept talking about "Is it really true? Were these myths based on realy events?", and they kept picking on Christians throughout the whole thing. If they wanna have a weird gross movie about Greek mythology then whatever, but then what the heck does Christianity have to do with it?! 'Nuf ranting for now.
Your so-angry/offended-she's-boiling-over-blogger,
Katy
Your so-angry/offended-she's-boiling-over-blogger,
Katy
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Yullo!
Today I just have Web Design class because it's a block day. Thursdays are odd periods and Fridays are even periods. Block days are the same length as regular days, however, because all of the classes are twice as long. So today, I had an opportunity to catch up on all of my Web Design work. YAY! And since I'm completely finished with Project 3, fifteen minutes before the bell rang, I'm going to blog. Which is what I'm doing now. Tomorrow (Friday, in case you forgot or...something) I have English (2nd per.) and Geometry (4h per.). It's kinda poopy though, because even though I get to sleep in on Thursdays since my class doesn't start till 10, on Fridays, since there isn't a 1st period class, my 2nd period class starts at 8. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! poop. sooo...yeah. must get good sleep tonight!
English is kinda strange right now. We're studying/learning about the Oddyssey, so for extra credit we're supposed to like, draw and color and then laminate some paper vase thing. And then our big paper of the quarter is a research paper. But our research paper is supposed to be on "greek god or goddess of your choice" I think doing a research paper on a mythological figure, is kinda weird. Hey, I gotta go, cuz the bell is gonna ring in five...four...three..two...one! Bye!
Your favorite blogger who's blogging from school,
Katy
English is kinda strange right now. We're studying/learning about the Oddyssey, so for extra credit we're supposed to like, draw and color and then laminate some paper vase thing. And then our big paper of the quarter is a research paper. But our research paper is supposed to be on "greek god or goddess of your choice" I think doing a research paper on a mythological figure, is kinda weird. Hey, I gotta go, cuz the bell is gonna ring in five...four...three..two...one! Bye!
Your favorite blogger who's blogging from school,
Katy
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Update
Hey everyone! Okay, it's time for an update, so here ya go!
DAD: Dad's office had an official grand opening a few weeks ago, where Dad cut a red ribbon with this ginormous pair of wooded scissors that said "Humboldt something something" on them. Dad is doing well at his new office, with 34 new OB patients. (Congratulations to all the expecting moms!) He bought himself a teeny tiny motorcycle a few months ago that his 6-foot-2 self looks absolutely ridiculous on, but he insists on roaring around the neighborhood on it. *sigh*
MOM: Mumsie Dahling is just her good ole' self. She's been homeschooling Mary and me, and working in Dad's office as the bookkeeper as well as cleaning, doing the banking at home, and cooking us all ummy yummy food. She got us signed up for CleanFlicks or CleanFilms or one of those, and that's kinda cool since now I can see lots of good movies I've been dying to see, but since they're poopy, I can't. But...since CleanFilms/Flicks cuts out all the swearing, sex, and some violence if it's extreme. It can be kinda weird tho, because someone will walk into the room, and then CleanFilms/Flicks cuts it and in the next scene there's suddenly a dead guy on the floor, and I'm like, "UUUuuuuuh. okaaay." So yeah.
BRAD: Bardypoo is working in my Dad's office as the Insurance biller/coder person and tech guy. He's graduated to wearing a dress shirt and tie to work. *ooooooooooo aaaaaaah ooooooh* Bradford is working on expanding his movie library with widescreen dvds. The widescreen part is very important; he refuses to accept any movies that aren't. He needs a haircut, but has so far eluded one. Brad's pretty excited to see the next Harry Potter movie, hoping that it will prove to be far better than the last three. Check out Brad's website at www.thebradplace.net!
PETE: Peteypoo is working at the Best Western that we were just living in several months ago. He's going to school at Great Basin Community College, and no, I don't know what grades he's getting. Pete's taking Biology *ooooo*, Criminal Justice, and Digital Photography, and probably some others I don't remember. Pete's got several sites on the internet, including a myspace. On his myspace blog you can read some of his many "hotel adventures" which are incredibly funny *cue adorable eyebrow thing* (Me www.orangepie.altpro.net just to let you know, it's not much.
MARY (AKA: MOO): Mary's homeschooling, taking Spanish, math, English, geography, and some others. She just graduated into Saxon Algebra 1 (YAY!) . Moo is taking horseriding lessons and loving it, and um...she's writing more music and recorded an AWESOME song a little while ago. Go to Mary's blog at www.ilovewashington.blogspot.com
ME: Hey, I'm good. We presented our portfolios in English yesterday, and that was cool. Trevor, Kole, Beatrice, and I had to make up for everyone else's silence. There were a couple of people who didn't say anything, they just stood up, flipped through their pages, and sat back down. We're all like, "Okaaay." Beatrice's was funny. We were supposed to have two pages of pictures in our personal section, and so Beatrice is like, "This is the best picture in the world. It's my sister picking her nose..." and the whole class just cracked up. Kole was like, "I have all A's, see my report card?" And that was funny, and then Trevor was all, "Look Kole, I have a 101%. haha" and yeah. Umm...My short story got a 99%, and I was like, "EEEEEEEEeeeeeee!" 'cause I was so happyful, and Mrs. Nachiondo said that mine and Beatrice's were the best of the class. Yes, I'm bragging, get over it. I don't never, hardly ever, brag, so this is a special treat to me. Ahem, as I was saying, my story was soooo cool. I'll have to find some way of posting it some time. We got a new seating chart in English and Geometry, so now all my newfound friends are across the room. Poo. Like Kole, Billy, JR, Terry, and Adrienne. poop. Altho I moved closer to Kole and David in Geometry, so that's good. Aaaaanyway, moving on...wait, there's not much left to move on to, so I guess I'll say "Adieu". Goodbye in French,
Your favorite blogger who is the most amazingest authoress ever,
Katy
PS: check out my movies site at: www.katy777.thebradplace.net, or for a more updated version, www.humboldt.k12.nv.us/respinola/studentpages/granathk or click here.
DAD: Dad's office had an official grand opening a few weeks ago, where Dad cut a red ribbon with this ginormous pair of wooded scissors that said "Humboldt something something" on them. Dad is doing well at his new office, with 34 new OB patients. (Congratulations to all the expecting moms!) He bought himself a teeny tiny motorcycle a few months ago that his 6-foot-2 self looks absolutely ridiculous on, but he insists on roaring around the neighborhood on it. *sigh*
MOM: Mumsie Dahling is just her good ole' self. She's been homeschooling Mary and me, and working in Dad's office as the bookkeeper as well as cleaning, doing the banking at home, and cooking us all ummy yummy food. She got us signed up for CleanFlicks or CleanFilms or one of those, and that's kinda cool since now I can see lots of good movies I've been dying to see, but since they're poopy, I can't. But...since CleanFilms/Flicks cuts out all the swearing, sex, and some violence if it's extreme. It can be kinda weird tho, because someone will walk into the room, and then CleanFilms/Flicks cuts it and in the next scene there's suddenly a dead guy on the floor, and I'm like, "UUUuuuuuh. okaaay." So yeah.
BRAD: Bardypoo is working in my Dad's office as the Insurance biller/coder person and tech guy. He's graduated to wearing a dress shirt and tie to work. *ooooooooooo aaaaaaah ooooooh* Bradford is working on expanding his movie library with widescreen dvds. The widescreen part is very important; he refuses to accept any movies that aren't. He needs a haircut, but has so far eluded one. Brad's pretty excited to see the next Harry Potter movie, hoping that it will prove to be far better than the last three. Check out Brad's website at www.thebradplace.net!
PETE: Peteypoo is working at the Best Western that we were just living in several months ago. He's going to school at Great Basin Community College, and no, I don't know what grades he's getting. Pete's taking Biology *ooooo*, Criminal Justice, and Digital Photography, and probably some others I don't remember. Pete's got several sites on the internet, including a myspace. On his myspace blog you can read some of his many "hotel adventures" which are incredibly funny *cue adorable eyebrow thing* (Me www.orangepie.altpro.net just to let you know, it's not much.
MARY (AKA: MOO): Mary's homeschooling, taking Spanish, math, English, geography, and some others. She just graduated into Saxon Algebra 1 (YAY!) . Moo is taking horseriding lessons and loving it, and um...she's writing more music and recorded an AWESOME song a little while ago. Go to Mary's blog at www.ilovewashington.blogspot.com
ME: Hey, I'm good. We presented our portfolios in English yesterday, and that was cool. Trevor, Kole, Beatrice, and I had to make up for everyone else's silence. There were a couple of people who didn't say anything, they just stood up, flipped through their pages, and sat back down. We're all like, "Okaaay." Beatrice's was funny. We were supposed to have two pages of pictures in our personal section, and so Beatrice is like, "This is the best picture in the world. It's my sister picking her nose..." and the whole class just cracked up. Kole was like, "I have all A's, see my report card?" And that was funny, and then Trevor was all, "Look Kole, I have a 101%. haha" and yeah. Umm...My short story got a 99%, and I was like, "EEEEEEEEeeeeeee!" 'cause I was so happyful, and Mrs. Nachiondo said that mine and Beatrice's were the best of the class. Yes, I'm bragging, get over it. I don't never, hardly ever, brag, so this is a special treat to me. Ahem, as I was saying, my story was soooo cool. I'll have to find some way of posting it some time. We got a new seating chart in English and Geometry, so now all my newfound friends are across the room. Poo. Like Kole, Billy, JR, Terry, and Adrienne. poop. Altho I moved closer to Kole and David in Geometry, so that's good. Aaaaanyway, moving on...wait, there's not much left to move on to, so I guess I'll say "Adieu". Goodbye in French,
Your favorite blogger who is the most amazingest authoress ever,
Katy
PS: check out my movies site at: www.katy777.thebradplace.net, or for a more updated version, www.humboldt.k12.nv.us/respinola/studentpages/granathk or click here.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Adversity and Power
"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power."
-Abraham Lincoln
Adversity, conflict, conflict with another person. What traits does adversity test? One's patience, one's cunning, perhaps one's capacity for how much you can take. It challenges your sense of jealousy, but probably most of all your self-control.
Having power will also test one's self-control, but more so your will. As your power grows, so does its hold over your mind. As power strives to corrupt one; one must fight it with force of will. This concept is perfectly illustrated by the hundreds of powerful, but corrupt men. Think about it-Stalin, Hitler, Nero, Nixon, Saddam Hussain, Alexander the Great, bin Laden, the list goes on. When we look at each one of these individuals, we can see that perhaps in the beginning, these were, if not good, not evil men.
Yet there are other examples of men who have defied poer's corruptibility. Take Winston Churchill, Franklin Roosevelt, the Pope, Constantine, and Eleanor Roosevelt for example. All of these people hld an incredible amount of power in their hands, but instead of being corrupted, they used their power to bring about good.
Yes, I agree with Lincoldn's statement, because, as you can see from the examples above, the one's who were corrected were obviously not men of charachter or integrity. However, those who remained uncorrupted were those with strong, right characters. As the Greek philosopher, Hiraclitus, said, "A man's character is his fate." How true.
your most favorite blogger,
Katy
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Stress
The mind attempting to override the body's basic desire to choke the crap out of some idiot who desperately deserves it.
So true!
Katy
So true!
Katy
Self-Control a definition
What is self-control? It's knowing that the good way is hard, and the bad way is easy, and choosing the good over the bad anyway, though it would be so much easier to do the opposite. It's keeping you're mouth shut when someone is bad-mouthing you. It's resisting the urge to slap someone when they venture too far beyond their limits and stray into yours. Self-control is being in control of yourself. It's letting the other person have their say, even when they're obiously wrong, and you're definitely right. It's ignoring those stupid grammar mistakes even though you flinch each time you read them (luv ya Mrs. Nachiondo!). Self-Control is one's heart giving over the governing of one's body to one's mind.
Your often-unfortunately-UN-self-controlled blogger,
Katy
Your often-unfortunately-UN-self-controlled blogger,
Katy
Fear
Fear is actually a human instinct God fave us to survive. Animals posses this instinct as well. When a tiger jumps out at a gazelle, the gazselle doesn't start running because it was startled by some thing jumping out at it, it runs because it doesn't want to be eaten, it wants to survive.
There are some fears that are just plain ridiculous. Like my sister, Mary for example, has a deathly fear of cats that originated for no apparent reason. And it didn't help shen some cat left a decapitated bird on our doorstep, and Mary, thinking it was one of our dog's chew toys because it was dark, picked it up. And subsequently screamed bloody murder are washed her hands for about a half hour.
But thats not really on topic, so here's a story of a somewhat ridiculous fear.
While we were on a ski vacation in Squaw Valley, my brother Brad, took me, Mary, and my other brother, Peter, up to the top of the mountain to ski a blue (intermediate) run. He'd just skiied it yesterday and it was great. And since it was a blue, we were all perfectly capable of skiing it easily.
Unbeknownst to Brad, and unfortuantely for the rest of us, the weather had changed overnight, and the great hill he'd told us about was now a sheet of ice. Now normally I don't pay too much attention to icey runs, or even hills, but this was the mother of all hills, the monster, the hill people ski down when they want to die, and it was now a sheet of...ice.
The only option was down, I mean obviously we couldn't go all the way back up, but how to get down? There are several techniques of getting yourself down this sort of hill. Firrst, you can sideslip down, turning your skiis parallel to the slope, and stepping down sideways step-by--step. It's called slideslipping because usually you take a step and slip down a foot and step down and slide and step and slide and step and slide.
On a hill like this, such a technique would be perfect, but now that it was just ice, and no snow, most likely you'd take one step and slide 20 feet before fallind over and sliding down the hill on your face.
The second technique is to take off your skies, yell, "Look out beloooow!", throuw them down first and then follow, sliding down on your butt, praying that there aren't any sharp rocks that you imght slide over.
This technique might actually work on this hill, so it was an option to keep in mind.
The third technique is to just point your skies straight down the hill and go for it. You'll hurtle down the slope at speeds that leave a trail of melted snow behind you. The people you pass will only hear the cry of terror ripping from your throat, "AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa....!!!!!" To stop yourself, you might have to throw yourself into a dsnowdrift or you might have to try to fall over without seriously injuring yourself, OR you might get luck and at the bottom of your gigantic, insane, suicidal hill, there might just be a nice, long runout. Guess what? We had a runout. Guess what else? I wasn't suicidal enough to try it.
Peter, of course, yelled, "Coowabuuungaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!" and threw himself down the side of the mountain. He made it down okay, and proceeded to fashion himself a chair out of snow to wait for the rest of uus in.
Brad, I'm sure, would've done exactly the same thing, had he not been so concerned about my and Mary's safety.
After laboring for about twenty minutes I was halfway down and thoroughly sick of that hill. Mary too, was halfway, but she looked much more terrified than sick. I had stayed with her for this long, but I was starting to get frustrated and tired of trying to convince Mary to take one more step down. Yes, were were attempted to sideslip down the mountain.
I finally became fed up with both Mary and the hill, and I pointed my skies down the mountain before my brain could scream "Waaait! You're not suicidaaaal! Remember!?" I would've been too busy screaming to hear it anyway. I actually made it down great, and it wasn't too bad. Actually it was almost fun. Almost.
Mary however, was not having as much fun. Brad, who had been below her, watched her inch-literally- down the hill for about five minutes before he hiked back up to her. By the time he reached her, She'd moved oh, about a foot and a half down the cliff. Then she froze. Not literally from cold, but she might as well have been. She was frozen from fear. Mary doesn't like heights in the first place, so being stuck waaaaaay up on an 89 degree hill, wasn't exactly fun for her.
Peter and I waited for Brad and Mary aas Brad was slowly able to coax her down another few feet. Pete and I had a snowball fight, built an igloo complete with snow furniture, dug to china, and discovered an Eskimo living several hundred feet under the snow when Brad handed Mary his helmet and began to attempt to convince her that sliding down the hill would be..."fun". Then we sat there while Mary sloooowly took off one ski, and then the other and handed them to Brad. Then she pulled out her fingers from the ice where she had clawed to stay in one place...and let go. I swear she screamed louder than me on the way down. rad skied calmly down after Mary, her skies over his shoulder. All in all, Mary sat on that hill for an hour and a half.
Your ski-maniac blogger who loves steep hills, just not icey ones,
Katy
There are some fears that are just plain ridiculous. Like my sister, Mary for example, has a deathly fear of cats that originated for no apparent reason. And it didn't help shen some cat left a decapitated bird on our doorstep, and Mary, thinking it was one of our dog's chew toys because it was dark, picked it up. And subsequently screamed bloody murder are washed her hands for about a half hour.
But thats not really on topic, so here's a story of a somewhat ridiculous fear.
While we were on a ski vacation in Squaw Valley, my brother Brad, took me, Mary, and my other brother, Peter, up to the top of the mountain to ski a blue (intermediate) run. He'd just skiied it yesterday and it was great. And since it was a blue, we were all perfectly capable of skiing it easily.
Unbeknownst to Brad, and unfortuantely for the rest of us, the weather had changed overnight, and the great hill he'd told us about was now a sheet of ice. Now normally I don't pay too much attention to icey runs, or even hills, but this was the mother of all hills, the monster, the hill people ski down when they want to die, and it was now a sheet of...ice.
The only option was down, I mean obviously we couldn't go all the way back up, but how to get down? There are several techniques of getting yourself down this sort of hill. Firrst, you can sideslip down, turning your skiis parallel to the slope, and stepping down sideways step-by--step. It's called slideslipping because usually you take a step and slip down a foot and step down and slide and step and slide and step and slide.
On a hill like this, such a technique would be perfect, but now that it was just ice, and no snow, most likely you'd take one step and slide 20 feet before fallind over and sliding down the hill on your face.
The second technique is to take off your skies, yell, "Look out beloooow!", throuw them down first and then follow, sliding down on your butt, praying that there aren't any sharp rocks that you imght slide over.
This technique might actually work on this hill, so it was an option to keep in mind.
The third technique is to just point your skies straight down the hill and go for it. You'll hurtle down the slope at speeds that leave a trail of melted snow behind you. The people you pass will only hear the cry of terror ripping from your throat, "AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa....!!!!!" To stop yourself, you might have to throw yourself into a dsnowdrift or you might have to try to fall over without seriously injuring yourself, OR you might get luck and at the bottom of your gigantic, insane, suicidal hill, there might just be a nice, long runout. Guess what? We had a runout. Guess what else? I wasn't suicidal enough to try it.
Peter, of course, yelled, "Coowabuuungaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!" and threw himself down the side of the mountain. He made it down okay, and proceeded to fashion himself a chair out of snow to wait for the rest of uus in.
Brad, I'm sure, would've done exactly the same thing, had he not been so concerned about my and Mary's safety.
After laboring for about twenty minutes I was halfway down and thoroughly sick of that hill. Mary too, was halfway, but she looked much more terrified than sick. I had stayed with her for this long, but I was starting to get frustrated and tired of trying to convince Mary to take one more step down. Yes, were were attempted to sideslip down the mountain.
I finally became fed up with both Mary and the hill, and I pointed my skies down the mountain before my brain could scream "Waaait! You're not suicidaaaal! Remember!?" I would've been too busy screaming to hear it anyway. I actually made it down great, and it wasn't too bad. Actually it was almost fun. Almost.
Mary however, was not having as much fun. Brad, who had been below her, watched her inch-literally- down the hill for about five minutes before he hiked back up to her. By the time he reached her, She'd moved oh, about a foot and a half down the cliff. Then she froze. Not literally from cold, but she might as well have been. She was frozen from fear. Mary doesn't like heights in the first place, so being stuck waaaaaay up on an 89 degree hill, wasn't exactly fun for her.
Peter and I waited for Brad and Mary aas Brad was slowly able to coax her down another few feet. Pete and I had a snowball fight, built an igloo complete with snow furniture, dug to china, and discovered an Eskimo living several hundred feet under the snow when Brad handed Mary his helmet and began to attempt to convince her that sliding down the hill would be..."fun". Then we sat there while Mary sloooowly took off one ski, and then the other and handed them to Brad. Then she pulled out her fingers from the ice where she had clawed to stay in one place...and let go. I swear she screamed louder than me on the way down. rad skied calmly down after Mary, her skies over his shoulder. All in all, Mary sat on that hill for an hour and a half.
Your ski-maniac blogger who loves steep hills, just not icey ones,
Katy
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Newsflash!
Hey guys, I got a newsflash for ya. My intenet time has been cut considerably, so I won't be able to email, or post nearly as much. Sorry! I'm writing this from Web Design class, and since the bell is going to ring in a fraction of a second, I gots to go. But luv and hugs from me, your fav blogger, right?
Katy
Katy
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