Monday, March 31, 2008

So I'm not Stupid?

I recently was given one of the most encouraging compliments of my life. She was a complete third party and had only known me for a half and hour before when she said, "You're good at math. You're a perfectionist; you want to know everything."

I was shocked. In math class every day I was feeling more and more like a dumb girl close to drop out. But I actually believed my tutor when she said I wasn't stupid like I felt.

So I studied for my upcoming math test with furiously known only to jungle beasts and consulted my teacher and others to aide me in understanding the nebulous concepts of trig identities. I accepted that the chances of me succeeding were slim, but I wanted to know that I had at least done my part to do as best as I can.

Today, when I received my score of 45%, I was actually started to laugh. The class average was 50% and the high score was 85%. These statics are a sign of poor teaching in my humble opinion, but according the the teacher (who is always right), the class was just lazy and stupid. Just like the children of Israel, we were given further punishment. Now we have to make bricks without straw, as it were. The promised 'grading on the curve' practice that would save our souls was now taken from us.

We're an honors class and apparantly that warrents us the following stipulations:
No cacluators (and we weren't informed of this until the day before)
Multiple Choice
No Curve
Homework way easier than the test

The only thing for which we should be grateful (?) is the use of a sheet listing the trig identities and a retake. If we weren't taught the first time, what is going to change?

Am I crazy to be greatful for my failing score? Actually, compared the the class, I did alright. I don't feel stupid, but rather, intelligent. I'm tired of being told that I'm not smart and that I don't deserve to be in an honors class. Math isn't easy, but our teacher makes it harder. I speak for my entire outraged class. It is unfair and we're being stripped of all hope of succeeding.

I believe she's trying to fail us.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Maniac Facts

I don't know what it is about musicals, but I'm suffering from an addiction to them.

Who in their right mind pretends to be an obsessive teenager, wear fifty year old dresses that smell like mothballs, wear curlers every night, plaster on gallons of make up, sing in a nasally voice, abstain from milk, and spend 14 hour days at school on cheese-its and easy cheese?

Well, I did, along with forty other cast members.

I hope all of my readers got to see it, but I'll be posting some photographs from it on the blog. What an experience!

I'm just going to use people's stage names to address them instead of their WP Names.

Did you know...

Many of the cast donated their own props. For instance, the slippers and hat I wore in "How Lovely to Be a Woman," are my own. Conrad's purse in the last scene is my mom's and his scarf is Mrs. Cazier. Most schools have a prop and costume bank of stuff they've been able to build up over the years, but we don't because this is the first year our school is open.

All of my dresses are my grandma's formals from high school.

Albert named his rabbit after Rosie.

The counter and the bar are the same thing, just with different covering. Her name is Tiffany.

There is a 'phantom of the auditorium' that saved Rosie from the house. Actually, when the house was being flown down (way too fast) it almost hit her square on the head. Someone yelled a warning and grabbed her out of the way, but no one admitted to being the savior. It only nicked her in the head instead of killing her.

The window grid took longer to build than almost anyother set piece and took around fifty people to help keep it straight while we lifted it up.

We are so grateful to have a pit! Suprisingly, the whole time we were practicing with it off, no one fell in. However, just a week after the play was over, someone fell in during a concert for another junior high. What are the odds?

Online Spanish

An exciting event occurred on Friday- I finished my online Spanish class.

I'd been laboring through that torture for two long years and it was about time it finished. Now don't get me wrong, a foreign language is great, but enough is enough. I spent over 180 hours on it to earn 4 semester credits. Actually, it really does equal out to be saving me time in the long run, but it didn't really feel like it.

I went through Rosetta Stone, (cleverly named after the Egyptian artifact that featured the same text in three languages, two different versions of Egyptian and Greek. This was a breakthrough because now archeologists could decode Egyptian). The program is unique, but not really. You learn the same way you learned English. Your mom pointed to her nose and says, "Nose!" in a very high pitched voice and eventually you get what a nose is. Rosetta Stone does the same thing. There are a few variations on the same lesson, but basically a word or phrase comes up along with four pictures. One of the pictures matches and you click on it. If you're right, then an encouraging bell sound ensues along with a smiley face. If you're guess is incorrect, there is a blaring horn.

I would also do speech comparisons. Somehow, the all omniscient computer could tell if my feeble attempts to speak Spanish could be decoded by a native speaker. It all sounded the same to me, but the helpful meter was kind enough to show me how close I was to getting the pronunciation right.

The biggest trial with the whole online thing was the sheer stupidity of computers. Sometimes my lesson wouldn’t show up after I completed it, and let me tell you how frustrating that is. I could spend up to an hour on a single one and to have it not count is infuriating. When a teacher doesn’t put something in the computer, you can reason with her, but a computer listens to no one but itself in such matters. At other times the internet would randomly loose connection and I would be left stranded.

There were pros, too. I could work on it at two in the morning, (although I don’t recommend it), and anywhere with internet access.

Overall, I am grateful it is over. I couldn’t have done it alone, my parents helped me a ton. If you’re considering enrolling in such a class, I hope this article helped you in your decision. And if you need any tips, hints, or suggestions, give me a ring. Just say, “¡Me puede ayudar!”

Monday, March 17, 2008

A Monologue

This is a monologue I wrote to audition for a school play:

So, there is this boy, called Todd Temple. Last week he started this crusade of flirting. I know I’m crazy, but it is totally a crusade. We learned about crusades in history.
The crusades were a long ordeal; I mean they went on for years and years. I don’t know if Todd will keep flirting with me for years and years, but he’s been acting this way for an entire week and that is a long time to be interested in a girl, especially for him.
The Europeans really only wanted fame and glory, they didn’t care a lick about saving the holy land, and everyone knows that. Todd is the same way. I don’t know what his motives are, but I’m certain their not for the right reasons. Then again, what are the right reasons to flirt anyway?
Well, Todd will be very unsuccessful; I am sure, just like the crusades were. They didn’t accomplish anything and neither will he. Okay, so maybe I flirt back. But he starts it. And he’s not going to win me over. Todd is great, but I how can I ever get over Doug Johnson?
Besides, Todd is the most disorganized flirt I have ever met. Not only does he tease me, but he also teases with Katie, Heather, and Sarah. So I can easily conclude that he isn’t sincerely sweet on just me. You’d think if he liked a girl he’d just stick to wooing her. What a player!
Most of all, this series of croqueting simply just can’t be taken seriously. I don’t know what he’s doing. He pretty much tackled me in the hall at school the other day and gave me a huge bear hug. It was almost like he wanted to kiss me!
But, you know, the truth is, I don’t think I would mind if he actually did kiss me…

Sunday, March 16, 2008


When I was fifteen, I realized with both horror and pleasure that I was in love with guys. I noticed that they were no longer 'boys'; now they were 'guys.' Up until this point in time, contact with the opposite sex had scared the living daylights out of me.
Then, suddenly, the gawky pre-teen boys transformed into handsome, mature, straight-from-a romance novel 'guys.' Suddenly, every movement was monitored, every conversation was absorbed, and every blink a guy took was counted. When I was in junior high, my friends and I were sure that our crushes noticed each stalker-like movement we made. Actually, I realize now, they were oblivious.
Shaniqua and Andrea, my two best friends, were infatuated with Boston and Toby, respectively. I took to Albert- a shy, tall, blue-eyed bass who stood behind me in choir. Boston was a loud one who was just crawling out of his class clown shell and discovering his hidden talent for flirting without the archaic techniques of pulling hair and teasing. Toby was also on the quiet side, but he was keenly aware that half the girls at the junior high were already planning their weddings with him.
To 'accidentally' run into our 'special someone' we would plan out our days' itinerary with more care than a rocket scientist computing the launch time for the next shuttle. We would arrive at school just as their bus was pulling up, get a drink from the fountain right outside their first period class, position ourselves directly in their line of sight at lunch, hire our older sisters to drive us past their house, make shrines for them in our room, and call them only to hang up the phone when they answered. To put it bluntly, we were in 'like'.
Yet we hardly ever came in direct contact with our idols. When we did, it was taken down in a notebook we jointly shared. The conversation was recorded verbatim next to date and time, a detailed description of the clothing he was wearing at the time of incident, facial expression and body language, and a through analysis of the conversation's inner meaning. The dates of specific advances in the crusade were lauded and made into national holidays.
Our moments of trepidation came when we were convinced that the guys were catching on to our intents.
"Did he see me blush?"
"I was staring at him too much."
"We started laughing right as he walked past. If he doesn't know now then he never will."
Shaniqua was right. They never would. Their oblivion would only be broken by a blatent confession of enamoration, and even then they would still be clueless. That was two years ago, and I daresay that Toby and Albert still have no idea. Boston, on the other hand, was informed, of course, two years after Shaniqua's obsession passed. I told him, and the funny thing was he never even had a clue!