I have nearly a half an hour to type as fast as my slow, tiny fingers can type. Isn't that odd that I have tiny fingers? I'm 6 feet tall, and my hand is smaller than most people half a foot shorter. My grandma used to say that people with small hands weren't creative, and they were only meant to have children and populate the world. My hands are tiny, and I love (and am pretty good at) the arts, so I guess I prove such a statement false. So, nyah.
Well, well. Guess what I get to do after school on my b-day? I get to come in at 7:30 and stay 'till 8:30 or 9:00 pm for an orchestra competition! Now, isn't that just the height of joyous occasions? My friends in the violin section said they'd bring cake with them, and light little candles and sing me happy birthday on the wya there. I hope so, I always sorta get the raw deal.
Isn't it weird, this "sweet 16" thing? I've been 16 for nearly a year now, and I don't feel very sweet. But I noticed today how the very connotation of that age number has changed to me. 15 just seems inexperienced, 17 seems too worldly, but 16 seems to be that golden age in the teen years where a person is on the ledge of inexperience and worldliness, this perfect innocence and knowledge. Well, soon I'm gonna be 17, and I won't feel any different from 16. Maybe I'll feel different when I'm 18 or 21, or 23, or 28. But maybe the change in mentality and physicality will come so slowly and gradually that I won't notice it until I reflect back to my youth.
Oh! Guess what? I won the pirate contest, I won the pirate contest (see the previous dozen entries for details). Yep, I kicked butt. I won! I'm so 'es-cited! Happy days! Happy days... I think I get an extra-spiffy button or something, I don't know. I don't care, all I know is I WON! Arr.
Hmm, yep, yep. Oh! So, I'm sure that you have heard by now (oh informéd readers) that Britney Spears was just married and filed for an annulment 14 hours later. Well, I was watching the news in disgust yesterday when they were going over the excruciating details of what she wore and stuff, and I was thinking, "Wow, what a drunken skank-hole" when my mum walked into the room. She was watching it with me for a few moments, and she said, "Wow, what a drunken skank-hole" (no joke), and then she looked at me, "Geez, and you know she doesn't have to be like that. Look at Mandy...Mandy...Mandy..." "Moore, mum?" "Yeah, Mandy Moore. She's wholesome, and Britney Spears, well, isn't. I saw Mandy Moore on the today show, and Katie Couric was interviewing her, and she kept asking Mandy why she wasn't 'sex-ed up' like Britney, and she said, 'that's just not me'." I said, "Yeah, Mandy Moore is wholesome, and that's cool. But she's also incredibly annoying." Then my mum smiled at me, "Yeah, but do you know who she reminds me of? You. You talk just like her, maybe a little more educated, but just like her. Not that you're annoying!"
You know what, I've thought the same thing for the longest time. And I think that's the reason I really resent people as bubbly and obnoxious as Mandy Moore, because I see that in myself and I don't necessarily like it. I try not to be like that sometimes, but I just am. I'm not a ditz, but I'm a cheerful, happy go-lucky person (except for some certain times of the month), and I need to stop backing away from my personality and embrace it, instead. Yep. I guess, anyway. I think I'm a little afraid of rejection because of my cheerfulness, a lot of people dislike that in a person.
So, I was outside at lunch today. There was this freshman who was eating with us (or with my friend, Liz, I guess), and he kept saying stuff like, "I like to blow f***in' stuff up, man and all that s***" and I just kept thinking, wow, this kid is stupid. I can't help it, but cursing makes people look uneducated, especially when they blend it with words like, "dude" every other word uttered. Then he's like, "You like to read? Yeah, dude, I read Harry Potter and I f***in' cried when blah blah blah" like he was making fun of me. And as I walked away I was like, "Wow, that was an intelligent conversation. I actually read Angela's Ashes in three days, and I didn't cry, I guess he's just a wuss" (you know, Angela's Ashes is a very sad book, so no one really go the sarcasm there except me), and he looked like an idiot as he was trying to compute what I said in his tiny, pea-brain.
I love feeling superior!
I had a lot more to say, but time is dwindling down. Oh, thank you, Kelly, for the Return of the King soundtrack. I owe you so many cds now! I promise to catch up on that this weekend!
Yep, I got Return of the King's soundtrack. It's got Billy Boyd singing (oh! dear heavens, it was auspiciously brilliant, I am in love with his voice), and Viggo Mortenson singing (I love how his deep voice gets all echo-y and hollow-ish like a monk's chant), and I abs-and-pecks-alutely adore the last song. Who sings it? It sounds to me like the singer from the Cheiftains, Irish accent and all. But it is sooooooooo pretty. It makes me want to cry for 2 and a half hours all over again (the first hour wasn't so sad as the rest, but I was audibly sobbing at the very end... I'm such a loser).
I've noticed that I'm getting a lot of friends asking me for movie or entertainment news. "Hey, Amanda, who's in that SAT movie? And when does it come out?" It's called The Perfect Score, it comes out the 20th (I think), and it has Scarlett Johansen (I think...well, someone that at least looks exaclty like her). "Oh, what's she from?" Girl with a Pearl Earring, Lost in Translation, and North. Just today I contrasted the idealistic mentality of the Victorian Age of English literature to our realistic views of human nature as evident in Monster with Charlize Therron and Christina Ricci. No one in my discussion group knew what I was talking about. It's not like it was Le Fils or anything. Le Fils, by the way, is French for "the son".
Well, I have to go eat snack and work on a list of 102 less-than-interesting facts about myself (which you may soon see as a link on this page). Thank you if you voted for me in the contest!