The short skates are today and I've been dumped.
Why did I let him kiss me? He only pitied me and now he dumped me for who knows what. I knew from the start no one could ever really love me. I mean, look at my parents. I had my older sister, Laura, to overshadow me. She was practically perfect, even when she was imperfect. When Lisette was born, I went completely unnoticed. While she was the light of my life, she also managed to pull the light away from me and keep it there.
It wasn't like I was perfect like Laura either. I had my own issues, such as having nocturnal epilepsy. They scolded me for wetting the bed when I had a seizure, but they never did anything like that to Lisette when she wasn't able to get to a toilet. After I tried to drink myself to death at the age of eleven, they dragged me to a psychiatrist loaded me up with drugs that made me feel insane. I only took my meds to please my parents, but this "treatment" replaced my numbness with rage.
At the same time, I was to blame for my actions. I had "friends" that taught me that I should solve my problems with violence rather than constructive means like using the voice I had to sing. The choir director hated my voice because it was better for rock songs. Instead of saying "Screw it" and using my voice, I let my anger fester infect me. Since our group skate is the reprise of Dead Girl Walking, it gave me the opportunity to look back on what I did and realize how lucky I was to have lived and become a better person.
To put it simply, there was a girl who had everything in the world, another who needed the world, and a boy whose soul drowned fighting the resulting tide. I will put my presentation on the ice today and head off to Mineplex High School to tell it in words. Given the climate at Mineplex, I'm surprised that nothing happened there yet. Students are at each other's throats all the time and none of the teachers really seem to care.
I'm skating after Phillip; the sudden mood rotation will allow me to get the audience's attention. I heard name and I skated out to the sound of a song to tell my story.
Thursday, November 16, 2017
Monday, October 30, 2017
Odds and Ends (Emmeline)
I'm singing Odds and Ends for my senior showcase and it seems that it was only yesterday that I learned to love the sound of my voice. I wished Caitlin were here to see me sing, but maybe she'll hear me in spirit. When I talked with her, I confessed that I hated my voice. I was in choir at the time and the director kept trying to hide my voice, but it always managed to stick out like a sore thumb. Did the choir director hate me or my voice?
The choir director called my voice the most unpleasant, grating sound that she had ever heard. As hard as I tried to sing classically, it wouldn't work. She told me I was straining, but this was just how my voice sounded. I tried persuading her to let me sing in the way that felt natural for me, but the choir director always told me that my voice was unfit for human ears.
It was then that my sister introduced me to Vocaloid and suggested that I sing from that genre. But would anyone take me seriously if I suggested it? She helped me with my first set of English lyrics and, when I sang, everyone said I was talented. I left choir and joined drama where my voice was actually wanted. I sang as much Vocaloid as my heart desired, examining the themes of each song. By that, I don't mean AP lit style analysis, but something deeper and more meaningful. Regardless of who sang it, the song was mine to sing and I would sing accordingly.
If I keep going the way I'm going, I'll graduate as valedictorian, athlete of the year, and musician of the year. I should be excited and ready to conquer the world, right? On the contrary, I'm terrified. I only know how to excel within a system. I only learned how to make myself look better. All I can do is uphold a system, not shape or invent one. What happens when I can't break from a system if I find it cruel or unjust? Caitlin warned me about this, but I didn't listen. The damage has been done and I fall apart bit by bit each day, into odds and ends.
The choir director called my voice the most unpleasant, grating sound that she had ever heard. As hard as I tried to sing classically, it wouldn't work. She told me I was straining, but this was just how my voice sounded. I tried persuading her to let me sing in the way that felt natural for me, but the choir director always told me that my voice was unfit for human ears.
It was then that my sister introduced me to Vocaloid and suggested that I sing from that genre. But would anyone take me seriously if I suggested it? She helped me with my first set of English lyrics and, when I sang, everyone said I was talented. I left choir and joined drama where my voice was actually wanted. I sang as much Vocaloid as my heart desired, examining the themes of each song. By that, I don't mean AP lit style analysis, but something deeper and more meaningful. Regardless of who sang it, the song was mine to sing and I would sing accordingly.
If I keep going the way I'm going, I'll graduate as valedictorian, athlete of the year, and musician of the year. I should be excited and ready to conquer the world, right? On the contrary, I'm terrified. I only know how to excel within a system. I only learned how to make myself look better. All I can do is uphold a system, not shape or invent one. What happens when I can't break from a system if I find it cruel or unjust? Caitlin warned me about this, but I didn't listen. The damage has been done and I fall apart bit by bit each day, into odds and ends.
Saturday, October 14, 2017
Reflections on Rightness (Steve)
Here I am at home with only a healing punctured lung and Lisette is at orchestra with probably the worst psychological wounds she will ever suffer in her lifetime. It's hard enough living with a disability of her nature and even harder to be doxxed over innocent Tweets. I can't imagine what life is like for her after all of this, especially since I brought her and some other students into this situation in the first place.
I have no feelings of hatred towards Masumi Shoji, the main perpetrator. Am I angry? Am I appalled? Yes. But I don't hate her. I refuse to do so. Hate is the popular response. Hate gives people allies. But I don't want allies. I want to do the right thing. My dog licked my fingers and settled in a position where I could pet him. I did so. Ever since my time in the hospital, my life came to a crashing halt. I'm not particularly religious, but maybe some higher power needed to force me to stop and reflect.
Landon sent me another video of his skating progress and, speaking of Landon, I've been considering ending my relationship with him. My intentions weren't true and my judgment wasn't clear when I decided to pursue the relationship. The shock of losing Caitlin had caused me to act in ways I wouldn't otherwise act. I kept comparing my previous relationship with this one and never quite got over it. I'm worried that, if I continue down this route, we'll both get hurt. It's like preventing an infection with alcohol. Both of us need to deal with the initial sting in order to prevent agony down the road.
But the question is: Should I tell him? I'd hate to crush his spirit with something like this, especially since what happened at the Desert Violin Convention affected him just as much as it affected me. However, at the same time, I need to tell him. I can't keep putting it off pretending everything's alright when it's not. I thought I need to love someone else in order to distract myself from my grief, but it just occurred to me that I need to learn how to love and be honest with myself.
I have no feelings of hatred towards Masumi Shoji, the main perpetrator. Am I angry? Am I appalled? Yes. But I don't hate her. I refuse to do so. Hate is the popular response. Hate gives people allies. But I don't want allies. I want to do the right thing. My dog licked my fingers and settled in a position where I could pet him. I did so. Ever since my time in the hospital, my life came to a crashing halt. I'm not particularly religious, but maybe some higher power needed to force me to stop and reflect.
Landon sent me another video of his skating progress and, speaking of Landon, I've been considering ending my relationship with him. My intentions weren't true and my judgment wasn't clear when I decided to pursue the relationship. The shock of losing Caitlin had caused me to act in ways I wouldn't otherwise act. I kept comparing my previous relationship with this one and never quite got over it. I'm worried that, if I continue down this route, we'll both get hurt. It's like preventing an infection with alcohol. Both of us need to deal with the initial sting in order to prevent agony down the road.
But the question is: Should I tell him? I'd hate to crush his spirit with something like this, especially since what happened at the Desert Violin Convention affected him just as much as it affected me. However, at the same time, I need to tell him. I can't keep putting it off pretending everything's alright when it's not. I thought I need to love someone else in order to distract myself from my grief, but it just occurred to me that I need to learn how to love and be honest with myself.
The Road to Recovery (Jordan)
I've taken matters into my own hands and now it's time to place them in someone else's.
I'm waiting to meet with a counselor about whatever's going on with Alex. She keeps insisting that she's fat and disgusting when that couldn't be further from the truth. Lately, she's taken to eating rather hastily, not talking to me about her day, and cutting friends off with very little warning. Her personality made a 180 from where it originally was and part of me thinks I'm to blame. Looking back, I probably indirectly drove her into the overachiever mindset by way of my use of language which places emphasis on achievement rather than intrinsic value. The pediatric psychologist, Dr. Eugenia Liu, helped me to see that. She has been a great help for both of us.
Not only that, Dr. Liu helped Alex pinpoint one of the sources of her distorted body image. She told me that part of it had to do with her old vocal teacher's suicide. Alex told us that she felt like she wasn't good enough for Caitlin, one of the key positive female role models in her life, to stay around. She blamed herself and even said that she thought Caitlin would have stayed if she were thinner.
We're also meeting with a nutritionist, a family counselor, and her doctor. I've never had so many people fighting specifically for Alex since her birth. After she grew from a baby to a child, everyone sort of left. I was too stubborn and proud to ask for help, so I tried to do everything on my own. I don't know how, but I managed until now. I tried to get Alex to eat something, but she either didn't eat enough or wouldn't eat altogether. Rewards didn't work and neither did explaining the consequences of starving herself.
Alex is still in bed because she doesn't have the energy to do much else. One can only hope that she can rise above all of this and somehow make it through life as a semi-decent person. But I've never been one to settle for semi-decent and neither has Alex. She's young and can recover; it's just a matter of when and how. If it means I have to go a week without even glancing at a sword, so be it. Alex needs me, not what I can do, but me.
I'm waiting to meet with a counselor about whatever's going on with Alex. She keeps insisting that she's fat and disgusting when that couldn't be further from the truth. Lately, she's taken to eating rather hastily, not talking to me about her day, and cutting friends off with very little warning. Her personality made a 180 from where it originally was and part of me thinks I'm to blame. Looking back, I probably indirectly drove her into the overachiever mindset by way of my use of language which places emphasis on achievement rather than intrinsic value. The pediatric psychologist, Dr. Eugenia Liu, helped me to see that. She has been a great help for both of us.
Not only that, Dr. Liu helped Alex pinpoint one of the sources of her distorted body image. She told me that part of it had to do with her old vocal teacher's suicide. Alex told us that she felt like she wasn't good enough for Caitlin, one of the key positive female role models in her life, to stay around. She blamed herself and even said that she thought Caitlin would have stayed if she were thinner.
We're also meeting with a nutritionist, a family counselor, and her doctor. I've never had so many people fighting specifically for Alex since her birth. After she grew from a baby to a child, everyone sort of left. I was too stubborn and proud to ask for help, so I tried to do everything on my own. I don't know how, but I managed until now. I tried to get Alex to eat something, but she either didn't eat enough or wouldn't eat altogether. Rewards didn't work and neither did explaining the consequences of starving herself.
Alex is still in bed because she doesn't have the energy to do much else. One can only hope that she can rise above all of this and somehow make it through life as a semi-decent person. But I've never been one to settle for semi-decent and neither has Alex. She's young and can recover; it's just a matter of when and how. If it means I have to go a week without even glancing at a sword, so be it. Alex needs me, not what I can do, but me.
Monday, October 2, 2017
The Desert Violin Convention (Landon)
"You need to come with me right now." A rink attendant came up to me just as I was about to practice my quad axel again. If not for the makeup, all color on her face would have vanished. "Get Mark too." What was going on? I skated over to Mark and called his name. Confused, we put on our skate guards and moved past the other skaters as quickly as we could. I still had my skates on, but I put on my guards. We followed the attendant and she sat us down.
"There was a shooting at the Desert Violin Convention."
"Does it involve anyone we know?" Mark always knew what questions to ask. I felt like there was tape over my mouth. Lisette had messaged me for days on end about how excited she was for the convention. Is she okay? Is she alive? I was the one who suggested that she go to the violin convention. The last thing I need is more blood on my hands.
"The good news, Landon, is that your sister is okay. She somehow managed to escape with only a few scrapes. However, she still needs your full support as she just survived the worst mass shooting since Havencraft." She was okay. That was all I needed to hear. She went on to mention some Mineplex students who attended the convention. One was shot in the leg. Another had injuries from falling on a broken violin. But that didn't matter. Lisette was okay.
"Any bad news?"
"Steve was shot in the back and one of his lungs was punctured. The surgeons have worked very hard and his recovery is going smoothly." My stomach started churning. No. No. No. "He protected your sister. If you want to visit, he would probably like that, but you probably want to practice that quad axel again."
When I got up, my legs would not support my weight. I had to lean on Mark for support, both physical and mental. I didn't feel right skating, not now. I called Phillip to tell him about what happened at the Desert Violin Convention and that I wouldn't be able to practice today. I managed to choke out a few words before vomiting in a trashcan. I'm the one who deserves to be injured in a shooting, not Steve, not after all he's done for everyone.
"There was a shooting at the Desert Violin Convention."
"Does it involve anyone we know?" Mark always knew what questions to ask. I felt like there was tape over my mouth. Lisette had messaged me for days on end about how excited she was for the convention. Is she okay? Is she alive? I was the one who suggested that she go to the violin convention. The last thing I need is more blood on my hands.
"The good news, Landon, is that your sister is okay. She somehow managed to escape with only a few scrapes. However, she still needs your full support as she just survived the worst mass shooting since Havencraft." She was okay. That was all I needed to hear. She went on to mention some Mineplex students who attended the convention. One was shot in the leg. Another had injuries from falling on a broken violin. But that didn't matter. Lisette was okay.
"Any bad news?"
"Steve was shot in the back and one of his lungs was punctured. The surgeons have worked very hard and his recovery is going smoothly." My stomach started churning. No. No. No. "He protected your sister. If you want to visit, he would probably like that, but you probably want to practice that quad axel again."
When I got up, my legs would not support my weight. I had to lean on Mark for support, both physical and mental. I didn't feel right skating, not now. I called Phillip to tell him about what happened at the Desert Violin Convention and that I wouldn't be able to practice today. I managed to choke out a few words before vomiting in a trashcan. I'm the one who deserves to be injured in a shooting, not Steve, not after all he's done for everyone.
Friday, September 15, 2017
Better (Steve)
Okay, what just happened?
We were fine a week ago and then everything went to pot. It looks like morale is down. Due to the temperature controls being broken, our spleef game was cancelled and I had the Mindcrack band entertain the audience for an hour and a half. Good call, right? Wrong.
Even though everyone got up and left, I made the mistake of making my band play longer. I thought someone would stay, but no. Everyone left. My students have a right to be mad at me, but that's no excuse for their shoddy marching. I had them run the drill again. Unsatisfactory run after unsatisfactory run followed. Why can't they do anything right? I taught them well, didn't I?
I told Chloe to do more micro-runs since those are at lease pseudo-productive. Rehearsal went down the drain. All of us are tired and bitter. Why did I keep them playing when the audience wasn't there? And why did they keep following me? I'm glad they followed me, but I'm still frustrated, both with them for the lack of productivity and with myself for not being a better band teacher.
Mark's band mastered all their sets and mine's struggling to get by. We only have one song. Our sets are simple. We've done it before, so why can't we do it again? My band did a reasonably successful full run, so I had them run it again. That run was a train wreck, but no one died. Rehearsal time ran out, so I released them rather than cutting into their passing period. In the Mindcrack band, respect is bilateral. If I don't respect my students' time, who am I tell them to respect mine?
I got to replacing the end pin on a school cello. Since that old end pin has snapped and been glued together too many times for it to be good for the cellist playing it, I repaired it. My students deserve better. My TV audience deserves better. The world's eyes are on me for many things: guidance, familiarity, and comfort. It never occurred to me until now that my presence on TV is a comfort, like I'm right there reaching out to millions of people just by sitting in front of a camera.
Landon deserves better. He's training for the ice show and gearing up for his first presentation at none other than Mineplex High School. I don't know if Mark bugged the staff into letting him present with surreal memes, but I'm still happy for him nonetheless. Why can I not be there for him more often? Why did he choose me? I've already failed Caitlin. If anyone deserves a second chance at a meaningful relationship, it's not me. I've already played with too many girls' emotions for it to sit well with my conscience. Even so, I feel guilty for missing her. I've already started another relationship. Isn't it time to move on?
Why can't the world have someone better?
We were fine a week ago and then everything went to pot. It looks like morale is down. Due to the temperature controls being broken, our spleef game was cancelled and I had the Mindcrack band entertain the audience for an hour and a half. Good call, right? Wrong.
Even though everyone got up and left, I made the mistake of making my band play longer. I thought someone would stay, but no. Everyone left. My students have a right to be mad at me, but that's no excuse for their shoddy marching. I had them run the drill again. Unsatisfactory run after unsatisfactory run followed. Why can't they do anything right? I taught them well, didn't I?
I told Chloe to do more micro-runs since those are at lease pseudo-productive. Rehearsal went down the drain. All of us are tired and bitter. Why did I keep them playing when the audience wasn't there? And why did they keep following me? I'm glad they followed me, but I'm still frustrated, both with them for the lack of productivity and with myself for not being a better band teacher.
Mark's band mastered all their sets and mine's struggling to get by. We only have one song. Our sets are simple. We've done it before, so why can't we do it again? My band did a reasonably successful full run, so I had them run it again. That run was a train wreck, but no one died. Rehearsal time ran out, so I released them rather than cutting into their passing period. In the Mindcrack band, respect is bilateral. If I don't respect my students' time, who am I tell them to respect mine?
I got to replacing the end pin on a school cello. Since that old end pin has snapped and been glued together too many times for it to be good for the cellist playing it, I repaired it. My students deserve better. My TV audience deserves better. The world's eyes are on me for many things: guidance, familiarity, and comfort. It never occurred to me until now that my presence on TV is a comfort, like I'm right there reaching out to millions of people just by sitting in front of a camera.
Landon deserves better. He's training for the ice show and gearing up for his first presentation at none other than Mineplex High School. I don't know if Mark bugged the staff into letting him present with surreal memes, but I'm still happy for him nonetheless. Why can I not be there for him more often? Why did he choose me? I've already failed Caitlin. If anyone deserves a second chance at a meaningful relationship, it's not me. I've already played with too many girls' emotions for it to sit well with my conscience. Even so, I feel guilty for missing her. I've already started another relationship. Isn't it time to move on?
Why can't the world have someone better?
Wednesday, September 6, 2017
Group Chats!
Chat Name: Older Brother Problems
Landon LaCoste: Help.
Phillip Evans: Yes?
LL: I have a problem related to being an older brother.
PE: What is it:
LL: First off, bear with me as this is quite awkward for me to discuss.
PE: I can deal with awkward.
LL: I have a younger sister, Lisette.
PE: What is she like?
LL: A little shy, but she's actually fairly gutsy. She has two YouTube channels. But I'm worried about her.
PE: Is it about you and Steve dating?
LL: ...She's actually fine with it and drew this lovely fanart of us. *shows the fanart* No smut, though. She isn't drawing smut.
PE: That's good. So what's the problem?
Everan Thenath joined the group chat.
ET: What's happening:
LL: I'm worried about my sister.
ET: Be glad she's still here.
LL: That's what I'm worried about! She's totally inundated with anxiety.
ET: What grade?
LL: Sophomore.
ET: My younger sister was murdered when she was young.
LL:...Okay, I'm sorry, but you're not really helping.
ET: Helping? Every high school student has "anxiety".
LL: She's been bullied for being related to me, received death threats, been doxxed, and, on top of it, she's worried that she'll end up like me.
ET: End up a talented musician and dancer? A guy who actually managed to get his life back on track?
LL: You don't get it, do you? Because I went and shot up my school like an idiot, my little sister has to live with that stigma when she wasn't involved in any of the events.
ET: Maybe it's her problem for not dealing with the stigma well.
LL: No. This is my problem too because I brought all of this on her and now she's afraid that she'll end up turning into a mass murderer.
PE: ...That escalated quickly...
LL: She says her stomach is hurting worse and worse and her heart is beating faster and faster every day. And I don't understand. Why don't I just off myself? I'm sure she wouldn't miss me if I did.
PE: You're wrong. She would miss you. I think, more than anything, she looks up to you even more.
LL: Lisette? No. She's not the edgy Tumblr type...as far as I'm aware.
PE: Well, what about all your ballet fans?
LL: They like my legs, not my personality. There's even a Tumblr fandom dedicated to my legs.
ET: A Tumblr fandom...for your legs
LL: Yeah, that's a long story.
PE: Well, regardless of all of that, just...be there for Lisette. Sophomore year is tough for a lot of people and feel free to ask if she needs chemistry help.
LL: THANK YOU. Good night.
ET: Good night.
PE: Good night.
Landon LaCoste: Help.
Phillip Evans: Yes?
LL: I have a problem related to being an older brother.
PE: What is it:
LL: First off, bear with me as this is quite awkward for me to discuss.
PE: I can deal with awkward.
LL: I have a younger sister, Lisette.
PE: What is she like?
LL: A little shy, but she's actually fairly gutsy. She has two YouTube channels. But I'm worried about her.
PE: Is it about you and Steve dating?
LL: ...She's actually fine with it and drew this lovely fanart of us. *shows the fanart* No smut, though. She isn't drawing smut.
PE: That's good. So what's the problem?
Everan Thenath joined the group chat.
ET: What's happening:
LL: I'm worried about my sister.
ET: Be glad she's still here.
LL: That's what I'm worried about! She's totally inundated with anxiety.
ET: What grade?
LL: Sophomore.
ET: My younger sister was murdered when she was young.
LL:...Okay, I'm sorry, but you're not really helping.
ET: Helping? Every high school student has "anxiety".
LL: She's been bullied for being related to me, received death threats, been doxxed, and, on top of it, she's worried that she'll end up like me.
ET: End up a talented musician and dancer? A guy who actually managed to get his life back on track?
LL: You don't get it, do you? Because I went and shot up my school like an idiot, my little sister has to live with that stigma when she wasn't involved in any of the events.
ET: Maybe it's her problem for not dealing with the stigma well.
LL: No. This is my problem too because I brought all of this on her and now she's afraid that she'll end up turning into a mass murderer.
PE: ...That escalated quickly...
LL: She says her stomach is hurting worse and worse and her heart is beating faster and faster every day. And I don't understand. Why don't I just off myself? I'm sure she wouldn't miss me if I did.
PE: You're wrong. She would miss you. I think, more than anything, she looks up to you even more.
LL: Lisette? No. She's not the edgy Tumblr type...as far as I'm aware.
PE: Well, what about all your ballet fans?
LL: They like my legs, not my personality. There's even a Tumblr fandom dedicated to my legs.
ET: A Tumblr fandom...for your legs
LL: Yeah, that's a long story.
PE: Well, regardless of all of that, just...be there for Lisette. Sophomore year is tough for a lot of people and feel free to ask if she needs chemistry help.
LL: THANK YOU. Good night.
ET: Good night.
PE: Good night.
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
My True Self (Yuuto)
Well, we're supposed to give statements about what our program music means to us.
I just got into the college of my dreams where I'm studying English education and music therapy. The professors are all very nice, which is quite the change from high school. I attended Havencraft High School after they rebuilt the school, but it was hardly a haven. I always felt like I had to do more and be more in order to make up for the events of the shooting.
Even after I vomited on my homework during an algebra lesson, my parents still wouldn't pull me out. They said this environment would be good for me to develop some "grit", but all I got was feeling sick and shaky all the time. Eventually, I learned how to hide it, but I still cried during my classes. Even worse, I had an unsympathetic English teacher. After school, she made me do extra "work" claiming that it would help me improve my handwriting. I wrote affirming statements and she ripped them up and threw them in the trash.
The school counselor told me to do the same thing and hang them on the wall, but I ended up throwing those away too. If my grades were okay, I was okay. If my grades were declining, I was lazy. I tried to compete with my peers, but I could never outdo them. I'm hopelessly clumsy. My only hope was figure skating, but my parents said my grades weren't high enough. They made me quit skating and, after that, I felt the worst I've ever felt.
They pulled me out eventually, but only after I tried to slit my wrists in a practice room. After that, I was transferred to DesiredCraft High School for the second semester of my sophomore year onwards. It was then that I discovered my idol, Steve. He looked so confident, like solid Teflon, like nothing could touch him. I remembered his girlfriend. She had a genuine, kind heart and, when I heard that she killed herself, I broke down in tears.
I mulled over what some things that she said and even made one of her Tweets my senior quote ("People are different. That means success is not the same for everyone."). I don't have to be something I'm not. I can let my personality shine through and be myself. But what is my personality? After a lifetime of copying everyone around me and meeting their needs, I've long forgotten what my own are. That's why I'm skating to Copycat for my free skate.
And Intermezzo? That shows off the little bit of my true self that I have.
I just got into the college of my dreams where I'm studying English education and music therapy. The professors are all very nice, which is quite the change from high school. I attended Havencraft High School after they rebuilt the school, but it was hardly a haven. I always felt like I had to do more and be more in order to make up for the events of the shooting.
Even after I vomited on my homework during an algebra lesson, my parents still wouldn't pull me out. They said this environment would be good for me to develop some "grit", but all I got was feeling sick and shaky all the time. Eventually, I learned how to hide it, but I still cried during my classes. Even worse, I had an unsympathetic English teacher. After school, she made me do extra "work" claiming that it would help me improve my handwriting. I wrote affirming statements and she ripped them up and threw them in the trash.
The school counselor told me to do the same thing and hang them on the wall, but I ended up throwing those away too. If my grades were okay, I was okay. If my grades were declining, I was lazy. I tried to compete with my peers, but I could never outdo them. I'm hopelessly clumsy. My only hope was figure skating, but my parents said my grades weren't high enough. They made me quit skating and, after that, I felt the worst I've ever felt.
They pulled me out eventually, but only after I tried to slit my wrists in a practice room. After that, I was transferred to DesiredCraft High School for the second semester of my sophomore year onwards. It was then that I discovered my idol, Steve. He looked so confident, like solid Teflon, like nothing could touch him. I remembered his girlfriend. She had a genuine, kind heart and, when I heard that she killed herself, I broke down in tears.
I mulled over what some things that she said and even made one of her Tweets my senior quote ("People are different. That means success is not the same for everyone."). I don't have to be something I'm not. I can let my personality shine through and be myself. But what is my personality? After a lifetime of copying everyone around me and meeting their needs, I've long forgotten what my own are. That's why I'm skating to Copycat for my free skate.
And Intermezzo? That shows off the little bit of my true self that I have.
Friday, August 18, 2017
High School Never Ends (Mark)
What have all these teaching classes shown me?
It's shown me that high school never ends. Even the teachers have the cool kids (adults?), the geeks, the jocks, and the pretty ones.
Interesting enough, the teachers tend to resemble the students. At Mineplex, half the English department is obviously stoned or high and the PE teachers all get in altercations with each other off campus. The language teachers either hate Despacito with a passion or love it and the math and science teachers have no social lives and/or are plotting world domination. Even with the fine arts department, I'm the class clown, the choir teacher takes herself too seriously, and the orchestra teacher, to put it nicely, is a narcissist.
At Mindcrack, Steve managed to wedge himself in between a social rock and a hard place. On one hand, the other teachers at Mindcrack all think the fine arts department has subpar intelligence. On another, the rest of the arts teachers resent Steve for being famous. We've taken to texting each other during our lunch breaks since they happen to line up. I'm glad this is the case.
He slayed the Ender Dragon, found love reinvented himself, found love again, and now his band program is going swimmingly. And me? No decent woman will even look in my direction, let alone talk to me. The news is all about who's with who, just like high school. Everyone has their own cliques unless they're one of those people who doesn't fit one archetype. I'm one of those people.
Even within various arts niches, the pattern still persists. All the band directors are either flute or trumpet players, the saxophones end up getting nothing but jazz gigs, and the violins all compete to see who played the best concerto. The clarinets are intellectuals and the flugelhorns make the dankest memes (or is that just me)? Everyone competes to see who has the best horn, the fastest double tonguing, the band with the most trophies, or whatever skill du jour is trending.
High school never ends.
It's shown me that high school never ends. Even the teachers have the cool kids (adults?), the geeks, the jocks, and the pretty ones.
Interesting enough, the teachers tend to resemble the students. At Mineplex, half the English department is obviously stoned or high and the PE teachers all get in altercations with each other off campus. The language teachers either hate Despacito with a passion or love it and the math and science teachers have no social lives and/or are plotting world domination. Even with the fine arts department, I'm the class clown, the choir teacher takes herself too seriously, and the orchestra teacher, to put it nicely, is a narcissist.
At Mindcrack, Steve managed to wedge himself in between a social rock and a hard place. On one hand, the other teachers at Mindcrack all think the fine arts department has subpar intelligence. On another, the rest of the arts teachers resent Steve for being famous. We've taken to texting each other during our lunch breaks since they happen to line up. I'm glad this is the case.
He slayed the Ender Dragon, found love reinvented himself, found love again, and now his band program is going swimmingly. And me? No decent woman will even look in my direction, let alone talk to me. The news is all about who's with who, just like high school. Everyone has their own cliques unless they're one of those people who doesn't fit one archetype. I'm one of those people.
Even within various arts niches, the pattern still persists. All the band directors are either flute or trumpet players, the saxophones end up getting nothing but jazz gigs, and the violins all compete to see who played the best concerto. The clarinets are intellectuals and the flugelhorns make the dankest memes (or is that just me)? Everyone competes to see who has the best horn, the fastest double tonguing, the band with the most trophies, or whatever skill du jour is trending.
High school never ends.
Tuesday, August 15, 2017
A Little Reinvention (Steve)
Well, no one got killed by a bass drum yet, so that's good.
The Mindcrack band is well on their way to being a great marching band. No one got run over during the formations and, aside from unevenness in some of the steps, everything went very well. Chloe and Diana are doing well as drum majors while Nathan is taking care of organizing stuff. Despite the bad press from the suicide crisis, Nathan Takeda chose to attend Mindcrack. Despite my offering him a spot on the field, Nathan said he was content just printing drill and playing in the pit.
Ayako won the award and she's the clarinet section leader. She hasn't told me of any plans of what she wants to do with her life, but high school is too early for that. I wanted to be a professional athlete, but I got injured and had to go through with my backup plan: music education. I also didn't plan on doing social commentary, but such is the life of a TV star. Well, even if I didn't get injured, I'd still have a problem as a professional athlete.
I have an intersex condition that gave me female parts and, thus, I have periods. I wouldn't be able to play on men's or women's teams without a lot of public outcry and controversy. I got good at hiding it and explaining why I had blood on my pants. (I had to be inventive with that one.) I may tell my students sometime, but not yet. No one else knows besides my doctor and some other people, so I'll tell my closest friends first to see how that goes.
My phone chimed. It was Mark and Landon. They started singing something familiar, something my students like to sing under their breaths. Yes, the insanely cool Mark Navoa is my friend. I honestly don't know why he chose to put up with me from the start, but he did and I'm more than grateful for that. I don't know how he does it, always smiling and joking his way through life. It's like he doesn't feel any pain.
The Mindcrack band is well on their way to being a great marching band. No one got run over during the formations and, aside from unevenness in some of the steps, everything went very well. Chloe and Diana are doing well as drum majors while Nathan is taking care of organizing stuff. Despite the bad press from the suicide crisis, Nathan Takeda chose to attend Mindcrack. Despite my offering him a spot on the field, Nathan said he was content just printing drill and playing in the pit.
Ayako won the award and she's the clarinet section leader. She hasn't told me of any plans of what she wants to do with her life, but high school is too early for that. I wanted to be a professional athlete, but I got injured and had to go through with my backup plan: music education. I also didn't plan on doing social commentary, but such is the life of a TV star. Well, even if I didn't get injured, I'd still have a problem as a professional athlete.
I have an intersex condition that gave me female parts and, thus, I have periods. I wouldn't be able to play on men's or women's teams without a lot of public outcry and controversy. I got good at hiding it and explaining why I had blood on my pants. (I had to be inventive with that one.) I may tell my students sometime, but not yet. No one else knows besides my doctor and some other people, so I'll tell my closest friends first to see how that goes.
My phone chimed. It was Mark and Landon. They started singing something familiar, something my students like to sing under their breaths. Yes, the insanely cool Mark Navoa is my friend. I honestly don't know why he chose to put up with me from the start, but he did and I'm more than grateful for that. I don't know how he does it, always smiling and joking his way through life. It's like he doesn't feel any pain.
Wednesday, August 9, 2017
Q and A (Landon)
Title: Ask Landon: Q and A Time!
Uploader: LandonLakesMilk
Well, this my first audience Q and A video. I've been wanting to do this for a long time, but I didn't really have the guts to do it, so here goes!
This is from Radfem Anita: What makes you think you have the right to make commentary on the Havencraft shooting? You must hate the survivors enough to speak over them. I hope you die.
Well, thank you, Radfem Anita. I've been wanting to answer this question for a while and I'm glad you asked. I believe that, when things like this happen, it helps to understand all perspectives and I'm giving mine as a way of paying it forward and making myself a better person. And no, I don't hate the survivors. I owe them my take on things. I uploaded my vlogs for them...and for others. If I hated them, I certainly wouldn't make commentary videos like mine. If you think my take is skewed, it probably is because *gasp* I'm speaking from my own perspective about what I did.
From landy-longlegs: WOW I wish everyone else could see how talented you are! How do I show that I'm a fan of your current content and not some wacko who condones the shooting?
Aww, now you're making me blush! Well, just refer to me as your favorite dancer or singer. Referencing videos helps and, by the way, I'm going to be participating in an ice show in the near future, so stay tuned for that. I can't give any other specifics about the ice show because of their policies, but I'll inform you guys as much as I can. As for the latter part of your question, just explain that I'm a content creator and that you like my content. You don't need to say why.
From catcatcat12: You're such a good horn player! I loved your solo in your Yuri on Brass concert! How do I sound like you?
Well, thank you. It takes lots of practice. Lots. Of. Practice. I do lip slurs and scales every day. On that note, every instrumentalist has their own individual sound and you should focus first and foremost on getting your best sound from your instrument.
From I Couldn't Think of a Good Username: How do you...ah...keep everything contained when you dance?
Two words: Dance belt. *holds one up for the camera* Please comment if you want a tutorial on how to wear one of these. I wish I had one.
And *scrolls*...that's a bot. Don't click on that.
From landen4353: hi my name is landen it's the same as yours only it's spelled kind of differently. i have a bit of a problem. you see, my parents want me to go to havencraft (i'm going into high school), but i'm worried that i'm going to be bullied because of my name. they won't listen to me and i was wondering if you could offer me some advice.
Well, Landen, first of all, Hi! I never thought I'd meet someone with the same name. *waving intensifies*
Well, first of all, just go in. Hold your head up high and create your own reputation. It's been several years since the shooting took place, so no student survivors currently attend the school. Not only that, the school itself was totally rebuilt and updated with new technology and things. Join a club or try to make one of your own. Keep your grades up, but not too high and I know everyone says this, but just be yourself. Be the best Landen you can be and you will be successful. That's what I did by starting my many YouTube channels. If you go and feel genuinely unsafe, like you think someone's going to hurt you, please tell your parents to pull you out. I wish I had done that. It would have saved so many lives.
I'd also like to note that--and this goes for everyone--if you start to feel like nothing's making you happy, like you're in a never-ending rut, please (I'M BEGGING YOU) go to a counselor, a teacher, or your parents. Even if it's "not that bad", just do it anyway. Getting the help you need early on will save lives whether that's your life or other peoples' lives. Not a day goes by that I don't wish that I could go back and start my life over again. Not only that, but, if your school ever takes disciplinary or legal action just from you talking about homicidal ideation in the absence of you making threats or attempting to act on it, they're in the wrong. Any school that really cares about preventing future shootings will not make a "display of force" (force being petty authoritarianism) as I call it and thus and drive the student away from asking for and receiving help. In short, just be your best self, get help when you need it, and let your parents know if you genuinely feel unsafe in any way.
That's all for today and I hope you enjoyed my video. I'll definitely do more Q and As in the future, but why don't you guys check out my other channels in the meantime? It's really been a pleasure to get to know my audience and I'll even have a survey out in the near future.
Bye~
Uploader: LandonLakesMilk
Well, this my first audience Q and A video. I've been wanting to do this for a long time, but I didn't really have the guts to do it, so here goes!
This is from Radfem Anita: What makes you think you have the right to make commentary on the Havencraft shooting? You must hate the survivors enough to speak over them. I hope you die.
Well, thank you, Radfem Anita. I've been wanting to answer this question for a while and I'm glad you asked. I believe that, when things like this happen, it helps to understand all perspectives and I'm giving mine as a way of paying it forward and making myself a better person. And no, I don't hate the survivors. I owe them my take on things. I uploaded my vlogs for them...and for others. If I hated them, I certainly wouldn't make commentary videos like mine. If you think my take is skewed, it probably is because *gasp* I'm speaking from my own perspective about what I did.
From landy-longlegs: WOW I wish everyone else could see how talented you are! How do I show that I'm a fan of your current content and not some wacko who condones the shooting?
Aww, now you're making me blush! Well, just refer to me as your favorite dancer or singer. Referencing videos helps and, by the way, I'm going to be participating in an ice show in the near future, so stay tuned for that. I can't give any other specifics about the ice show because of their policies, but I'll inform you guys as much as I can. As for the latter part of your question, just explain that I'm a content creator and that you like my content. You don't need to say why.
From catcatcat12: You're such a good horn player! I loved your solo in your Yuri on Brass concert! How do I sound like you?
Well, thank you. It takes lots of practice. Lots. Of. Practice. I do lip slurs and scales every day. On that note, every instrumentalist has their own individual sound and you should focus first and foremost on getting your best sound from your instrument.
From I Couldn't Think of a Good Username: How do you...ah...keep everything contained when you dance?
Two words: Dance belt. *holds one up for the camera* Please comment if you want a tutorial on how to wear one of these. I wish I had one.
And *scrolls*...that's a bot. Don't click on that.
From landen4353: hi my name is landen it's the same as yours only it's spelled kind of differently. i have a bit of a problem. you see, my parents want me to go to havencraft (i'm going into high school), but i'm worried that i'm going to be bullied because of my name. they won't listen to me and i was wondering if you could offer me some advice.
Well, Landen, first of all, Hi! I never thought I'd meet someone with the same name. *waving intensifies*
Well, first of all, just go in. Hold your head up high and create your own reputation. It's been several years since the shooting took place, so no student survivors currently attend the school. Not only that, the school itself was totally rebuilt and updated with new technology and things. Join a club or try to make one of your own. Keep your grades up, but not too high and I know everyone says this, but just be yourself. Be the best Landen you can be and you will be successful. That's what I did by starting my many YouTube channels. If you go and feel genuinely unsafe, like you think someone's going to hurt you, please tell your parents to pull you out. I wish I had done that. It would have saved so many lives.
I'd also like to note that--and this goes for everyone--if you start to feel like nothing's making you happy, like you're in a never-ending rut, please (I'M BEGGING YOU) go to a counselor, a teacher, or your parents. Even if it's "not that bad", just do it anyway. Getting the help you need early on will save lives whether that's your life or other peoples' lives. Not a day goes by that I don't wish that I could go back and start my life over again. Not only that, but, if your school ever takes disciplinary or legal action just from you talking about homicidal ideation in the absence of you making threats or attempting to act on it, they're in the wrong. Any school that really cares about preventing future shootings will not make a "display of force" (force being petty authoritarianism) as I call it and thus and drive the student away from asking for and receiving help. In short, just be your best self, get help when you need it, and let your parents know if you genuinely feel unsafe in any way.
That's all for today and I hope you enjoyed my video. I'll definitely do more Q and As in the future, but why don't you guys check out my other channels in the meantime? It's really been a pleasure to get to know my audience and I'll even have a survey out in the near future.
Bye~
Monday, August 7, 2017
Changes (Mark)
I don't know how to tell my students about this.
I'm getting multiple procedures done during the school year and, though I've been looking forward to the changes they entail, I've been putting them off because I don't want my personal life to interfere with my professional life. If I keep demanding that my students put in the work by showing up on time, isn't it fair that I do that too? What am I saying by getting a ton of surgeries that aren't technically necessary? I mean, I still experience a lot of dysphoria, but it's not like my life is in imminent danger because of it.
Not only that, I don't want anyone to think that I necessarily promote being trans. I'd give an arm and a leg to be a cis man or even a woman. Now that my gender is interfering with my teaching, it's a reason for schools to not hire transgender teachers. I don't even know if any of my students or the parents have caught on that I'm trans, but I'm sure someone has. Either way this news is received, I'll do my best with regards to approaching in the issue in a way that isn't melodramatic or excessively political.
On the other hand, this is going to force me to be more honest about myself with my students. I keep encouraging them to talk to me when they have issues, but I think part of the reason why they don't talk to me about certain things is that I don't open up much myself. I know I'm supposed to be "professional" about this, but when has that ever been my style? Now, to find a meme that conveys this issue.
On a totally unrelated note, Pyware decided to eat Steve's drill, so I'm helping him rewrite it. He sent me screenshots of some pretty weird stuff, so we're totally reinventing the show. At first, he protested when I added some back marching, but he later agreed to incorporate it since he's having them back march anyway. Despite a few snafus, the Mindcrack marching band is catching on pretty quickly. They'll be better than Mineplex in no time.
I think I'll tell him about this sooner or later, but, first, I'm telling him that his band needs to do some sight singing. It'd really help with their tuning problems.
I'm getting multiple procedures done during the school year and, though I've been looking forward to the changes they entail, I've been putting them off because I don't want my personal life to interfere with my professional life. If I keep demanding that my students put in the work by showing up on time, isn't it fair that I do that too? What am I saying by getting a ton of surgeries that aren't technically necessary? I mean, I still experience a lot of dysphoria, but it's not like my life is in imminent danger because of it.
Not only that, I don't want anyone to think that I necessarily promote being trans. I'd give an arm and a leg to be a cis man or even a woman. Now that my gender is interfering with my teaching, it's a reason for schools to not hire transgender teachers. I don't even know if any of my students or the parents have caught on that I'm trans, but I'm sure someone has. Either way this news is received, I'll do my best with regards to approaching in the issue in a way that isn't melodramatic or excessively political.
On the other hand, this is going to force me to be more honest about myself with my students. I keep encouraging them to talk to me when they have issues, but I think part of the reason why they don't talk to me about certain things is that I don't open up much myself. I know I'm supposed to be "professional" about this, but when has that ever been my style? Now, to find a meme that conveys this issue.
On a totally unrelated note, Pyware decided to eat Steve's drill, so I'm helping him rewrite it. He sent me screenshots of some pretty weird stuff, so we're totally reinventing the show. At first, he protested when I added some back marching, but he later agreed to incorporate it since he's having them back march anyway. Despite a few snafus, the Mindcrack marching band is catching on pretty quickly. They'll be better than Mineplex in no time.
I think I'll tell him about this sooner or later, but, first, I'm telling him that his band needs to do some sight singing. It'd really help with their tuning problems.
Sunday, July 30, 2017
Slower and Slower (Steve)
I watched a video of Alex's dance showcase. Not only did Alex dance beautifully, she did so in a way that made her look like another dancer. Marked by maturity and poise, she made music with her body. Every step and turn flowed into the next with ease. Clearly on her last leg, Alice slept to me. The world is weird that way. The best and the worst moments of two peoples' lives can take place at the same time when neither knows the other well.
Not only that, but the good and the bad are intertwined like different-colored fibers of a rope. Lisette got doxxed by Avenge Havencraft just for speaking about the Mindcrack suicide crisis--and this was before she implied that they were the ones who tried to kill me with a needle cookie. As a celebrity, I try not to stir controversy over any given topic because that can get me killed or doxxed. However, as a teacher, I'm still going to stick to my convictions and say if something is right or wrong because that's what my students deserve. If nothing else, I can teach my students how to do the right thing in the face of adversity--and that's better than any music.
Alice's hand began to feel cold against mine. I tried saying a few things to her, but she didn't respond. If she was dying, at least she was dying peacefully. She groaned; I adjusted her pillow. Alice blinked, her eyes full of tears. I heard that this was normal when people die, but this all seemed so surreal. Sunlight streamed in from the window while the monitors ran. The footage of Alex played as she danced the ensemble number. I saw a blood stain spreading on Alex's slipper as Alice's breathing rate increased.
Even though it became apparent that someone had slipped glass into her slipper, Alex danced and showed no trace of pain on her face. Alice breathed normally and her breathing became slower and slower as the tempo of the music increased. Having had a part in both these girls' lives was the highest honor and privilege I could have ever received. Though they are different in many ways, they are alike in dignity in resilience.
Alice's skin turned blue. Alex left a clear trail of blood as she moved across the stage. She collapsed in an older girl's arms as I noticed something peculiar about Alice's breathing.
The telltale "death rattle" was as clear as the toll of a bell. Each breath sounded more labored than the last. I took this moment to say something to Alice, something I should have said more often.
"I know I say it all the time, but I love you." Alice's breathing slowed even more. Life was a battle for her and I aided in her fight. Still, it hurt to see her like this, worse than any other pain.
Alice's breathing tapered off getting quieter and quieter, slower and slower. Her last breath was barely perceptible. When I withdrew, it all seemed so surreal. The sun shined as it always did. I looked down at my phone to discover that Landon got two gigs: a presentation at Mineplex High School and an opportunity to perform at an ice show. He was already preparing for the latter.
But why am I not angry at his selfishness? The nurses covered Alice's head and wheeled her body to the morgue. I should be angry. I should be livid. But I'm not. As a nurse approached me, I felt a cramp and an all too familiar slimy sensation. I excused myself to use the restroom. If anyone knew about my condition, it'd be all over the news and exploited for TV ratings. The blood soaked all the way through my pants. How am I going to explain this? And why am I even thinking this when my child just died before my eyes?
I don't know what I'll tell Landon. I mean, springing two serious issues on someone at once normally doesn't bode well for the listener.
Not only that, but the good and the bad are intertwined like different-colored fibers of a rope. Lisette got doxxed by Avenge Havencraft just for speaking about the Mindcrack suicide crisis--and this was before she implied that they were the ones who tried to kill me with a needle cookie. As a celebrity, I try not to stir controversy over any given topic because that can get me killed or doxxed. However, as a teacher, I'm still going to stick to my convictions and say if something is right or wrong because that's what my students deserve. If nothing else, I can teach my students how to do the right thing in the face of adversity--and that's better than any music.
Alice's hand began to feel cold against mine. I tried saying a few things to her, but she didn't respond. If she was dying, at least she was dying peacefully. She groaned; I adjusted her pillow. Alice blinked, her eyes full of tears. I heard that this was normal when people die, but this all seemed so surreal. Sunlight streamed in from the window while the monitors ran. The footage of Alex played as she danced the ensemble number. I saw a blood stain spreading on Alex's slipper as Alice's breathing rate increased.
Even though it became apparent that someone had slipped glass into her slipper, Alex danced and showed no trace of pain on her face. Alice breathed normally and her breathing became slower and slower as the tempo of the music increased. Having had a part in both these girls' lives was the highest honor and privilege I could have ever received. Though they are different in many ways, they are alike in dignity in resilience.
Alice's skin turned blue. Alex left a clear trail of blood as she moved across the stage. She collapsed in an older girl's arms as I noticed something peculiar about Alice's breathing.
The telltale "death rattle" was as clear as the toll of a bell. Each breath sounded more labored than the last. I took this moment to say something to Alice, something I should have said more often.
"I know I say it all the time, but I love you." Alice's breathing slowed even more. Life was a battle for her and I aided in her fight. Still, it hurt to see her like this, worse than any other pain.
Alice's breathing tapered off getting quieter and quieter, slower and slower. Her last breath was barely perceptible. When I withdrew, it all seemed so surreal. The sun shined as it always did. I looked down at my phone to discover that Landon got two gigs: a presentation at Mineplex High School and an opportunity to perform at an ice show. He was already preparing for the latter.
But why am I not angry at his selfishness? The nurses covered Alice's head and wheeled her body to the morgue. I should be angry. I should be livid. But I'm not. As a nurse approached me, I felt a cramp and an all too familiar slimy sensation. I excused myself to use the restroom. If anyone knew about my condition, it'd be all over the news and exploited for TV ratings. The blood soaked all the way through my pants. How am I going to explain this? And why am I even thinking this when my child just died before my eyes?
I don't know what I'll tell Landon. I mean, springing two serious issues on someone at once normally doesn't bode well for the listener.
Saturday, July 29, 2017
The Showcase (Alex)
The showcase is today.
No one else is doing vocals and dance, at least not to my knowledge. Elizabeth and I are doing solos and we're doing three ensemble numbers: one with the pre-pointe class, one with the pointe class, and one with all of us. The older girls are all so talented, especially Natasha Lebedev. When we joined the pointe class for practice, I always wanted to watch Natasha. I hope she's soloing. If anyone deserves to solo, it's her.
I don't even know why I'm soloing. I'm not long and graceful. I've put on some weight and I'm on the taller end. Maybe I shouldn't have had that sweetroll; I can already feel it sticking to my sides. I sprayed my hair again and got my carrot on a stick ready. I hope I don't break the pig's back. I had my tea with only enough honey to prime my vocal cords for the vocal showcase.
After getting off the pig's back, I made my way to the dressing room. I felt the extra weight on my frame. Every lump on my body showed under the leotard. I felt disgusting. I didn't have the lean lines the audience expected. No wonder pointe was hard for me. How was I supposed to support all of this weight on my toes? I hid my gut under my tutu and retouched my hair.
I was painfully aware of the judgmental eyes fixed on my rotund features. I danced well enough, but the only thing I felt was the jiggling of fat as I landed my jumps. My weight is technically healthy, but it's not enough to be healthy. I need to be beautiful. I need to impress the audience. I need to grow up. Elizabeth is a natural. Why can't I have her perfect golden locks and slender limbs? I have the build of an iron golem in a tutu, but with fat instead of muscle.
I sat through Elizabeth's solo. Her extension was flawless. I could only dream of having her turnout. The sleek, sophisticated costume showcased her perfect body. Her perfect body. The one I could never have. After taking her bow, I made my way onstage and got into position.
The music started and I realized something: I didn't need to look the part. I just needed to play the part. I imagined my old vocal teacher's voice belting out the high notes as I pirouetted like never before. My foot felt odd...like something was stabbing me. I ignored it. Natasha must hate the fact that she has to share the stage with someone like me. I'm as awkward and unballetic as it gets. Why am I soloing? I shouldn't have even set foot on a dance floor.
During the mass number, the stabbing pain returned full force, but I didn't wince. Natasha leapt gracefully in front of me. I tried to do the same, but I collapsed. The last thing I remembered from that dance was Natasha asking if I was okay.
No one else is doing vocals and dance, at least not to my knowledge. Elizabeth and I are doing solos and we're doing three ensemble numbers: one with the pre-pointe class, one with the pointe class, and one with all of us. The older girls are all so talented, especially Natasha Lebedev. When we joined the pointe class for practice, I always wanted to watch Natasha. I hope she's soloing. If anyone deserves to solo, it's her.
I don't even know why I'm soloing. I'm not long and graceful. I've put on some weight and I'm on the taller end. Maybe I shouldn't have had that sweetroll; I can already feel it sticking to my sides. I sprayed my hair again and got my carrot on a stick ready. I hope I don't break the pig's back. I had my tea with only enough honey to prime my vocal cords for the vocal showcase.
After getting off the pig's back, I made my way to the dressing room. I felt the extra weight on my frame. Every lump on my body showed under the leotard. I felt disgusting. I didn't have the lean lines the audience expected. No wonder pointe was hard for me. How was I supposed to support all of this weight on my toes? I hid my gut under my tutu and retouched my hair.
I was painfully aware of the judgmental eyes fixed on my rotund features. I danced well enough, but the only thing I felt was the jiggling of fat as I landed my jumps. My weight is technically healthy, but it's not enough to be healthy. I need to be beautiful. I need to impress the audience. I need to grow up. Elizabeth is a natural. Why can't I have her perfect golden locks and slender limbs? I have the build of an iron golem in a tutu, but with fat instead of muscle.
I sat through Elizabeth's solo. Her extension was flawless. I could only dream of having her turnout. The sleek, sophisticated costume showcased her perfect body. Her perfect body. The one I could never have. After taking her bow, I made my way onstage and got into position.
The music started and I realized something: I didn't need to look the part. I just needed to play the part. I imagined my old vocal teacher's voice belting out the high notes as I pirouetted like never before. My foot felt odd...like something was stabbing me. I ignored it. Natasha must hate the fact that she has to share the stage with someone like me. I'm as awkward and unballetic as it gets. Why am I soloing? I shouldn't have even set foot on a dance floor.
During the mass number, the stabbing pain returned full force, but I didn't wince. Natasha leapt gracefully in front of me. I tried to do the same, but I collapsed. The last thing I remembered from that dance was Natasha asking if I was okay.
Friday, July 14, 2017
The Weight of the Universe (Landon)
Steve and I sat in a waiting room awaiting the oncologist's news. From what I heard, even the most aggressive treatment regimens weren't helping. Alice's condition declined more and more as each day passed. She didn't want to eat or drink lately, much less engage in conversation. She sleeps most of the time and, though neither of us can really do anything, we kept showing up.
Steve's hand moved towards mine. Saying he looked anxious was an understatement. His eyes darted around as if he were waiting for someone to stab him in the back. A panic attack was imminent. All I could do was sit here and wait for everything to hit the fan. When was the nurse coming back? It's 1:00 AM. We're both tired. I have a presentation gig to start, five videos to work on, and a documentary idea to pitch. I peered at an outdated magazine. It was all celebrity gossip. I felt my stomach growl. How long did I go without eating? My head throbbed. I made my way to the vending machine, but Steve stopped me saying that I needed to wait.
"Why though?"
"Because Alice needs us."
"We're not even seeing her. We're waiting for the oncologist to give us at least a scrap of information."
"So we need to be here." I could sense the impatience in his voice.
"Why do I need to be here? Why do either of us need to be here? The oncologist can just send a text or an E-mail."
"But we need to be here. For Alice."
"Maybe you do, but I. Certainly. Don't." I stormed out. It's been a while since I've felt this angry. I just wanted the world to burn and feel my wrath. Why did Alice have to have cancer? Why did I even consider a relationship with Steve? Why are any of us even here? It's like we're some sadistic teenage girl's playthings, all part of some ill thought-out fanfiction.
Pro tip: When scoping out hospital food, go for something simple, preferably something that isn't dripping with sauce. I picked up a few roast beef sandwiches and some Dr. Pepper. They were dry, but I was okay with that. I needed fuel. The thing with helpful types is that they'll bear the weight of the world for you, but will expect you the bear the weight of the universe in return.
Wait, no. What was I thinking? I splashed my face with water and tried to leave the building when someone stopped me.
"Who are you?" I turned around ready to fight.
"I'm Suk-ja Park. I'm the hospital counselor. Are you here with anyone?" This woman is good. "Yes. I'm here with my boyfriend, Steve. I'm sure you've seen his face before." She nodded as if this was normal and took me back the waiting room.
"And you are here with Alice?"
"Yes."
"Would you like to speak privately first?"
"Sure." She directed me to her office.
After talking some more, it turned out that many other people feel the way I do. I wasn't alone in this. She took Steve aside and left me. The oncologist arrived and asked where he was.
"He's with the counselor."
"Which one?"
"Suk-ja Park."
"Well, I have good news and bad news."
"Tell me the bad first." I took in a shaky breath and braced myself.
"Alice is entering the final weeks of her life." I kept my hand over my mouth. It was the only thing preventing me from bursting onto tears right then and there.
"And...the good news?" I can't be crying. Not now. Not here. I need to be strong.
"Her misery will end soon. We can move her to a hospice facility or we can keep her here. The hospice facility is more comfortable and is better equipped to handle situations like yours." After taking a fact sheet about hospice care, Steve came back and practically ran to my side.
"So what is it?" I relayed the information to him.
"The oncologist said Alice is entering the final weeks of her life." I wiped a stray tear from my eye. "I don't know what we're going to do." Burying my face in Steve's shirt, I wept profusely. He put an arm around me and, at that point, I knew why we we decided to fight this battle.
Steve's hand moved towards mine. Saying he looked anxious was an understatement. His eyes darted around as if he were waiting for someone to stab him in the back. A panic attack was imminent. All I could do was sit here and wait for everything to hit the fan. When was the nurse coming back? It's 1:00 AM. We're both tired. I have a presentation gig to start, five videos to work on, and a documentary idea to pitch. I peered at an outdated magazine. It was all celebrity gossip. I felt my stomach growl. How long did I go without eating? My head throbbed. I made my way to the vending machine, but Steve stopped me saying that I needed to wait.
"Why though?"
"Because Alice needs us."
"We're not even seeing her. We're waiting for the oncologist to give us at least a scrap of information."
"So we need to be here." I could sense the impatience in his voice.
"Why do I need to be here? Why do either of us need to be here? The oncologist can just send a text or an E-mail."
"But we need to be here. For Alice."
"Maybe you do, but I. Certainly. Don't." I stormed out. It's been a while since I've felt this angry. I just wanted the world to burn and feel my wrath. Why did Alice have to have cancer? Why did I even consider a relationship with Steve? Why are any of us even here? It's like we're some sadistic teenage girl's playthings, all part of some ill thought-out fanfiction.
Pro tip: When scoping out hospital food, go for something simple, preferably something that isn't dripping with sauce. I picked up a few roast beef sandwiches and some Dr. Pepper. They were dry, but I was okay with that. I needed fuel. The thing with helpful types is that they'll bear the weight of the world for you, but will expect you the bear the weight of the universe in return.
Wait, no. What was I thinking? I splashed my face with water and tried to leave the building when someone stopped me.
"Who are you?" I turned around ready to fight.
"I'm Suk-ja Park. I'm the hospital counselor. Are you here with anyone?" This woman is good. "Yes. I'm here with my boyfriend, Steve. I'm sure you've seen his face before." She nodded as if this was normal and took me back the waiting room.
"And you are here with Alice?"
"Yes."
"Would you like to speak privately first?"
"Sure." She directed me to her office.
After talking some more, it turned out that many other people feel the way I do. I wasn't alone in this. She took Steve aside and left me. The oncologist arrived and asked where he was.
"He's with the counselor."
"Which one?"
"Suk-ja Park."
"Well, I have good news and bad news."
"Tell me the bad first." I took in a shaky breath and braced myself.
"Alice is entering the final weeks of her life." I kept my hand over my mouth. It was the only thing preventing me from bursting onto tears right then and there.
"And...the good news?" I can't be crying. Not now. Not here. I need to be strong.
"Her misery will end soon. We can move her to a hospice facility or we can keep her here. The hospice facility is more comfortable and is better equipped to handle situations like yours." After taking a fact sheet about hospice care, Steve came back and practically ran to my side.
"So what is it?" I relayed the information to him.
"The oncologist said Alice is entering the final weeks of her life." I wiped a stray tear from my eye. "I don't know what we're going to do." Burying my face in Steve's shirt, I wept profusely. He put an arm around me and, at that point, I knew why we we decided to fight this battle.
Saturday, July 8, 2017
Stealth Killer (Jordan)
"...So, is Brittany entering any competitions?"
"No, but she's performing at the showcase."
"I saw what she's performing to. Her dance teacher picked the worst choreography. Elizabeth would have been a better fit for her routine." Pretending not to hear, I diverted my attention to the list of diamond engraving tools. I needed a new laser to make diamond swords since mine either won't turn on or keeps adjusting itself to random power settings.
The two dance moms kept yapping on about how their daughters were superior to the others while I bought my laser with Bitcoin. Speaking of Bitcoin, Alex made enough money to buy a T shirt. She also made headway on her academic work and is already up to doing pre-algebra. I use a program that treats learning math like a game and, with that game, Alex learns more math than she ever can in a classroom. Not only that, she can be trusted to straighten out her own sword, something not many of her peers can do.
Speaking of her peers, Alex made some new friends from her pre-pointe class: Daria Sadovskaya, Cadence Laskas, and Hanako Kuranaga. Daria was pulled out of Mindcrack because of the recent suicide crisis while Hanako was forced to remain in the school despite her wishes to not attend. Cadence attends Snapcraft Middle School. The four of them like exchanging tips and talking about their experiences in dance and life in general.
I saw another Desert Tribune report on how MNN (Minecraft News Network) threatened to dox a Mindcrack student for talking about the Mindcrack suicide crisis on her YouTube and Twitter. The Tweets she was doxxed over were the following:
Let's remember that the #MindcrackClassOfNever included kids who didn't live to blow out their 13th birthday candles.
The #MindcrackClassofNever should not be forgotten. Suicide is a common problem and the fact that no one seems to care is very disturbing.
MNN publicly released information about her home address, class schedule, and cell phone number after she refused to apologize for her Tweets. She claimed that "everyone wants [her] to do the right thing, so that's what [she] did."
So there you have it. MNN doxxed this teen for talking about her school's problems, not because she said anything disrespectful, but because she happened to say something on the wrong day: March 20th. She was accused of hijacking a day dedicated to remembering the victims of the Havencraft High School massacre. After some criticism, she responded with this:
I said nothing about Havencraft nor did I imply that it was less tragic of an event than the Mindcrack suicide crisis.
Get your heads out of the ground. Societal pressure is a stealth killer and we all know it.
Just as I finished reading the report and the bulk of the pre-pointe class came walking through the door, I heard some moms make catty comments about Alex. While I understand that girls her age can be cruel, they can't possibly be any worse than dance moms.
"You know that girl with red hair? She really needs to lose weight."
"Alex?"
"If this were my ballet studio, that beached whale would be out in a heartbeat."
"Well, I know how to help her shed a few pounds" That's it. Make all the digs you want at me. Call me odd. Call me antisocial. Go so far as to call me a misanthropist, but my daughter is off limits.
"I'm not having my daughter develop an eating disorder just so she can please some lowlife like you." I pretended to turn my phone off to activate a recording feature. She's given me a lot of flack Alex, mostly about things she cannot control. From calling her natural red hair 'unprofessional' to suggesting that she get plastic surgery, she obviously has some kind of beef with herself and feels the need to take it out on a young girl.
"It's not an 'eating disorder'. It's called maintaining the figure expected of a ballerina. No company is going to want some blubber mass on their stage." How do you know that Alex's ultimate goal as a dancer is to dance in a company? She could very well be a singer, instrumentalist, teacher, or even caregiver if she so desires. I took another glance at her shirt, which had #AvengeHavencraft written across her rather wide chest. She questioned me about why I was studying her shirt, but she said that "any decent person would avenge the 91 students that died that day" and stalked off with Elizabeth at her side.
If she is so interested in avenging the 91 students who died in an anomaly event, then why is she so intent on sending a stealth killer after my daughter?
"No, but she's performing at the showcase."
"I saw what she's performing to. Her dance teacher picked the worst choreography. Elizabeth would have been a better fit for her routine." Pretending not to hear, I diverted my attention to the list of diamond engraving tools. I needed a new laser to make diamond swords since mine either won't turn on or keeps adjusting itself to random power settings.
The two dance moms kept yapping on about how their daughters were superior to the others while I bought my laser with Bitcoin. Speaking of Bitcoin, Alex made enough money to buy a T shirt. She also made headway on her academic work and is already up to doing pre-algebra. I use a program that treats learning math like a game and, with that game, Alex learns more math than she ever can in a classroom. Not only that, she can be trusted to straighten out her own sword, something not many of her peers can do.
Speaking of her peers, Alex made some new friends from her pre-pointe class: Daria Sadovskaya, Cadence Laskas, and Hanako Kuranaga. Daria was pulled out of Mindcrack because of the recent suicide crisis while Hanako was forced to remain in the school despite her wishes to not attend. Cadence attends Snapcraft Middle School. The four of them like exchanging tips and talking about their experiences in dance and life in general.
I saw another Desert Tribune report on how MNN (Minecraft News Network) threatened to dox a Mindcrack student for talking about the Mindcrack suicide crisis on her YouTube and Twitter. The Tweets she was doxxed over were the following:
Let's remember that the #MindcrackClassOfNever included kids who didn't live to blow out their 13th birthday candles.
The #MindcrackClassofNever should not be forgotten. Suicide is a common problem and the fact that no one seems to care is very disturbing.
MNN publicly released information about her home address, class schedule, and cell phone number after she refused to apologize for her Tweets. She claimed that "everyone wants [her] to do the right thing, so that's what [she] did."
So there you have it. MNN doxxed this teen for talking about her school's problems, not because she said anything disrespectful, but because she happened to say something on the wrong day: March 20th. She was accused of hijacking a day dedicated to remembering the victims of the Havencraft High School massacre. After some criticism, she responded with this:
I said nothing about Havencraft nor did I imply that it was less tragic of an event than the Mindcrack suicide crisis.
Get your heads out of the ground. Societal pressure is a stealth killer and we all know it.
Just as I finished reading the report and the bulk of the pre-pointe class came walking through the door, I heard some moms make catty comments about Alex. While I understand that girls her age can be cruel, they can't possibly be any worse than dance moms.
"You know that girl with red hair? She really needs to lose weight."
"Alex?"
"If this were my ballet studio, that beached whale would be out in a heartbeat."
"Well, I know how to help her shed a few pounds" That's it. Make all the digs you want at me. Call me odd. Call me antisocial. Go so far as to call me a misanthropist, but my daughter is off limits.
"I'm not having my daughter develop an eating disorder just so she can please some lowlife like you." I pretended to turn my phone off to activate a recording feature. She's given me a lot of flack Alex, mostly about things she cannot control. From calling her natural red hair 'unprofessional' to suggesting that she get plastic surgery, she obviously has some kind of beef with herself and feels the need to take it out on a young girl.
"It's not an 'eating disorder'. It's called maintaining the figure expected of a ballerina. No company is going to want some blubber mass on their stage." How do you know that Alex's ultimate goal as a dancer is to dance in a company? She could very well be a singer, instrumentalist, teacher, or even caregiver if she so desires. I took another glance at her shirt, which had #AvengeHavencraft written across her rather wide chest. She questioned me about why I was studying her shirt, but she said that "any decent person would avenge the 91 students that died that day" and stalked off with Elizabeth at her side.
If she is so interested in avenging the 91 students who died in an anomaly event, then why is she so intent on sending a stealth killer after my daughter?
Thursday, June 29, 2017
Oh, Yoko (Mark)
After working on drill and posting a few things to Twitter, I got away from my computer and opened my pantry. Some halo-halo would be good right about now, but, since I can't be bothered to put time or effort into what I eat, I just dumped some fruit cocktail into a bowl and plunked some ube ice cream on top of it. Now you know how to make halo-halo for lazy people.
My phone buzzed. Aside from a few Twitter notifications, I found a call from my mom. It's been a while since I've talked to her. During our last interaction, I had a total mental breakdown and said some things I shouldn't have. I don't remember exactly what either of us had said, but she stopped speaking to me for three years. Ever since then, I've been thinking less about my family than I should have, especially since I want to have one of my own.
I don't know if it's a subconscious form of rebellion against my mother, but I've always wanted the pleasure of fathering my own children. You see, I was forced to be a pageant girl from a very young age. I wasn't ever sure why, but I did remember my mother telling me "Don't ever get pregnant because it will ruin your body/take time away from your career" or something along the lines of that. If anyone was ever a stage mom, my mother Yoko Watanabe would have fit the bill.
However, as time progressed, the sweetness of the beauty pageant sickened me. I didn't feel any pleasure. I started faking sick whenever pageants came. Was I just burned out? Did I need to keep pushing through? Or was it something more? For one, I was sick of my appearance being picked apart as if I didn't have feelings. I had it better than some of the other girls, though. Some of them had to endure spray tanning sessions whereas I just had to go outside to get tan enough.
Some time during my teenage years, I really started to notice that something was off, not just with the lifestyle, but with myself. I felt disgusted by these...things on my chest. To make matters worse, I couldn't hide them. I had to be a pageant girl at every hour on every day. There was no way I could smile unless I was performing. Needless to say, I performed all the time. It continued like that until my senior year of high school when I participated in my last pageant. Although my mother wanted me to do ballet, I decided to do a flamenco routine. She claimed I looked better in a ballet tutu than a Spanish dress, but, on that day, I donned a Spanish dress as an act of rebellion.
All the curling iron burns? Stomp them into the ground.
Jealousy of my peers? Stomp that into the ground.
My mom and her quixotic standards? Stomp that into the ground.
The one thing that kept bouncing back was the feeling that my body wasn't right. I hated my curves and the dress only served to accentuate them. I hated the way my hair moved and the feeling of caked-on makeup. It wasn't me. As the music intensified, I tried harder and harder to stomp it into the ground. It didn't work, though. I shook my castanets in sync with my feet, played a bit of trumpet, and placed third in the pageant. It wasn't bad and I was incredibly proud of myself for working hard, but my mother always knew how to shatter my pride.
"Mallory, that was disgraceful. All those years of investment and that's how you perform?" I cried so hard that my supposedly waterproof makeup streamed down my face. After that, I decided I had enough. Fed up with being paraded around like a doll, I shoved everything off my vanity, hacked my hair off with a sword, hastily threw some clothes into a bag, and got out of the house.
After a week of de facto homelessness, I found my pill bottle and swallowed everything inside of it. I got checked into a mental hospital after getting my stomach pumped. In my time at the mental hospital, my mother somehow found me and visited.
"...Hi." I didn't know what she would say. I wrapped my chest in so many Ace bandages I felt like I was choking.
"Why did you do this, Mallory? Don't you love me?" I completely fell apart. I started building my identity as "M" and then "Mark" and my mother had the nerve to completely shatter it. I cut my hair, starved myself so I wouldn't have my period, and worked out like I was training for a marathon. What do I have to do to be a man in her eyes?
"You loved me as your daughter, but I'm your son now." After that, I screamed some things that I now regret. I was tempted to hang up, but I reconsidered it. I am not who I was in that hospital. I've grown, changed, and evolved into someone completely different.
I picked up the phone and said "This is Mark."
My phone buzzed. Aside from a few Twitter notifications, I found a call from my mom. It's been a while since I've talked to her. During our last interaction, I had a total mental breakdown and said some things I shouldn't have. I don't remember exactly what either of us had said, but she stopped speaking to me for three years. Ever since then, I've been thinking less about my family than I should have, especially since I want to have one of my own.
I don't know if it's a subconscious form of rebellion against my mother, but I've always wanted the pleasure of fathering my own children. You see, I was forced to be a pageant girl from a very young age. I wasn't ever sure why, but I did remember my mother telling me "Don't ever get pregnant because it will ruin your body/take time away from your career" or something along the lines of that. If anyone was ever a stage mom, my mother Yoko Watanabe would have fit the bill.
However, as time progressed, the sweetness of the beauty pageant sickened me. I didn't feel any pleasure. I started faking sick whenever pageants came. Was I just burned out? Did I need to keep pushing through? Or was it something more? For one, I was sick of my appearance being picked apart as if I didn't have feelings. I had it better than some of the other girls, though. Some of them had to endure spray tanning sessions whereas I just had to go outside to get tan enough.
Some time during my teenage years, I really started to notice that something was off, not just with the lifestyle, but with myself. I felt disgusted by these...things on my chest. To make matters worse, I couldn't hide them. I had to be a pageant girl at every hour on every day. There was no way I could smile unless I was performing. Needless to say, I performed all the time. It continued like that until my senior year of high school when I participated in my last pageant. Although my mother wanted me to do ballet, I decided to do a flamenco routine. She claimed I looked better in a ballet tutu than a Spanish dress, but, on that day, I donned a Spanish dress as an act of rebellion.
All the curling iron burns? Stomp them into the ground.
Jealousy of my peers? Stomp that into the ground.
My mom and her quixotic standards? Stomp that into the ground.
The one thing that kept bouncing back was the feeling that my body wasn't right. I hated my curves and the dress only served to accentuate them. I hated the way my hair moved and the feeling of caked-on makeup. It wasn't me. As the music intensified, I tried harder and harder to stomp it into the ground. It didn't work, though. I shook my castanets in sync with my feet, played a bit of trumpet, and placed third in the pageant. It wasn't bad and I was incredibly proud of myself for working hard, but my mother always knew how to shatter my pride.
"Mallory, that was disgraceful. All those years of investment and that's how you perform?" I cried so hard that my supposedly waterproof makeup streamed down my face. After that, I decided I had enough. Fed up with being paraded around like a doll, I shoved everything off my vanity, hacked my hair off with a sword, hastily threw some clothes into a bag, and got out of the house.
After a week of de facto homelessness, I found my pill bottle and swallowed everything inside of it. I got checked into a mental hospital after getting my stomach pumped. In my time at the mental hospital, my mother somehow found me and visited.
"...Hi." I didn't know what she would say. I wrapped my chest in so many Ace bandages I felt like I was choking.
"Why did you do this, Mallory? Don't you love me?" I completely fell apart. I started building my identity as "M" and then "Mark" and my mother had the nerve to completely shatter it. I cut my hair, starved myself so I wouldn't have my period, and worked out like I was training for a marathon. What do I have to do to be a man in her eyes?
"You loved me as your daughter, but I'm your son now." After that, I screamed some things that I now regret. I was tempted to hang up, but I reconsidered it. I am not who I was in that hospital. I've grown, changed, and evolved into someone completely different.
I picked up the phone and said "This is Mark."
Monday, June 26, 2017
Footlifters and Weaponized Foods (Steve)
What should my band play?
The Footlifter sounds like a good one for a fall concert. I have some rising percussionists that would sound great on this piece and it has a lot of unisons, but the tempo will keep everyone on their toes. The dynamic contrasts will keep audience and musician alike engaged. Aliyah's piccolo playing would sound great on this piece, but I'm not sure she can get soft enough on the quieter passages. Piccolo is a beast of an instrument and it takes a certain kind of person to control the beast.
Not only that, I'm getting them started on marching and it's so overwhelming. Seeing that I can barely operate my own feet, how am I going to get the feet of around 50 students to stay in time? I scrolled through a list of marching standards. Not liking any of them, I found an arrangement of Bad Apple, decided it was good, and went with that. Now, to design drill. How do I make eight to fives and basic turns look visually interesting without overwhelming a population of new marchers? I opened Pyware to find out.
My phone buzzed to remind me that I have to make another media appearance in about two hours. Dashing out the door, I took my usual route to the studio. When I reached the jungle portion of my route, Alex crossed my path and greeted me. She carried a duffel bag with a plastic ballet slipper charm on one of the zippers.
"I have an exam today." Alex looked more subdued than usual. She handed me an invitation and moved along on her way. Looks like I'll have to clear my schedule.
When I got to the studio, I found my room and got camera-ready. When it was time, I made my way to my seat. I would be live in three...two...one.
What am I supposed to say? Oh, right. I'm supposed to explain how schools are supposed to prevent needle cookie problems because I fell victim to one at the end of the year concert. Someone, presumably a band mom, personally offered me a cookie. The cookie was very sweet, but I felt a prick in my cheek and on my tongue and tasted something metallic. I spit it out to find a telltale red streak and a needle.
Naturally, I felt shocked as to why someone would offer me a needle cookie at a concert. The act had to have been intentional because no one carelessly slips one needle into a cookie on accident. Even worse, if I didn't eat it, a student would have. In that regard, I was glad that it was my tongue that got pricked. I Tweeted my bloody cookie mess with the following text:
Did anyone else get a needle in their cookie?
I got a few student responses.
@little_lise: No, I have not. Is this a part of the #AvengeHavencraft thing that's been going around?
@kenjisugihara: No. Why?
@aliyah-the-piglet: That is terrible! Are you okay?
@engelhardt.han: No. I'll be sure to ask others, though.
Among those responses, I also got this gem.
Land0nLakesButter: haha u deserved that go kys fagot mindcrack is next
LandonLakesButter: Do you have anything better to do with your life than misspell "faggot" and make pathetic, trite threats @Land0nLakesButter?
Until we catch the guilty party and find out her motivations, Mindcrack will only allow prepackaged, commercially sourced goods with intact ingredient labels and aforementioned packaging. It's the one alternative to a cookie ban that will keep my students and myself from falling victim to weaponized from food items. This will allow for some debate on whether schools should allow parents to bring homemade confections to school functions, but I just don't want anyone else to get suffer any injuries related to weaponized food.
The Footlifter sounds like a good one for a fall concert. I have some rising percussionists that would sound great on this piece and it has a lot of unisons, but the tempo will keep everyone on their toes. The dynamic contrasts will keep audience and musician alike engaged. Aliyah's piccolo playing would sound great on this piece, but I'm not sure she can get soft enough on the quieter passages. Piccolo is a beast of an instrument and it takes a certain kind of person to control the beast.
Not only that, I'm getting them started on marching and it's so overwhelming. Seeing that I can barely operate my own feet, how am I going to get the feet of around 50 students to stay in time? I scrolled through a list of marching standards. Not liking any of them, I found an arrangement of Bad Apple, decided it was good, and went with that. Now, to design drill. How do I make eight to fives and basic turns look visually interesting without overwhelming a population of new marchers? I opened Pyware to find out.
My phone buzzed to remind me that I have to make another media appearance in about two hours. Dashing out the door, I took my usual route to the studio. When I reached the jungle portion of my route, Alex crossed my path and greeted me. She carried a duffel bag with a plastic ballet slipper charm on one of the zippers.
"I have an exam today." Alex looked more subdued than usual. She handed me an invitation and moved along on her way. Looks like I'll have to clear my schedule.
When I got to the studio, I found my room and got camera-ready. When it was time, I made my way to my seat. I would be live in three...two...one.
What am I supposed to say? Oh, right. I'm supposed to explain how schools are supposed to prevent needle cookie problems because I fell victim to one at the end of the year concert. Someone, presumably a band mom, personally offered me a cookie. The cookie was very sweet, but I felt a prick in my cheek and on my tongue and tasted something metallic. I spit it out to find a telltale red streak and a needle.
Naturally, I felt shocked as to why someone would offer me a needle cookie at a concert. The act had to have been intentional because no one carelessly slips one needle into a cookie on accident. Even worse, if I didn't eat it, a student would have. In that regard, I was glad that it was my tongue that got pricked. I Tweeted my bloody cookie mess with the following text:
Did anyone else get a needle in their cookie?
I got a few student responses.
@little_lise: No, I have not. Is this a part of the #AvengeHavencraft thing that's been going around?
@kenjisugihara: No. Why?
@aliyah-the-piglet: That is terrible! Are you okay?
@engelhardt.han: No. I'll be sure to ask others, though.
Among those responses, I also got this gem.
Land0nLakesButter: haha u deserved that go kys fagot mindcrack is next
LandonLakesButter: Do you have anything better to do with your life than misspell "faggot" and make pathetic, trite threats @Land0nLakesButter?
Until we catch the guilty party and find out her motivations, Mindcrack will only allow prepackaged, commercially sourced goods with intact ingredient labels and aforementioned packaging. It's the one alternative to a cookie ban that will keep my students and myself from falling victim to weaponized from food items. This will allow for some debate on whether schools should allow parents to bring homemade confections to school functions, but I just don't want anyone else to get suffer any injuries related to weaponized food.
Saturday, June 17, 2017
Someone to Smile For (Alice)
I don't want to fight anymore.
There's nothing to live for but hospital treatments. I have no real family and no real friends. I just have a teacher whose time I'm wasting just by existing. I don't know why he's lying to me. He keeps telling me I'm beautiful, but all of my hair fell out and the rest of me isn't all that attractive. He keeps telling me I'm strong, but I can hardly lift a finger most days. He keeps telling me I'm brave, but I'm the one living off the kindness of others.
Everything's still going according to plan, so the nurses say. The radiation treatments left my skin burning and blistered; the lotion they provided helped a lot. I was in too much pain to do much of anything except languish and complete what I could of my schoolwork. I don't know if I'm getting any better or worse. I can hardly eat, but the nurses want me to keep up my strength.
"Alice, you have a visitor." Huh? A thin, tall man with the brightest red hair I've ever seen followed the nurse.
"Hi." He pulled up a chair and sat next to me. "It's Landon. If you're wondering why Steve's not visiting like he normally does, it's because he had a panic attack. On live TV."
"That's not good." I shifted. My back was sore from lying down. "Is he okay?"
"Yeah. He'll need to sleep it off. So, how are you?" Isn't that obvious? I look like a stick with bulging eyes. I threw up twice this morning. My skin is still sore. I have no desire to get better because I have nothing to look forward to.
"How do you think I am?"
The worst part of all of this is not the treatments or the nausea, or fatigue. Seeing the other kids' parents come and go that brings me more pain than any illness ever could. Some come more frequently than others. Most of the kids manage a smile for their parents despite their circumstances. I have no one to smile for. Rose liked me because I was a good worker in a bad situation, not because I was me. She never came to visit despite all of her "Alice-I-care-about-you"s. So much for that.
"I want you to know that I'll be there for you." A nurse came by wearing protective gloves. He ordered Landon to stay back. I felt the chill of alcohol and the familiar initial burn. "Don't you have any family?"
"My mom is probably glad I'm like this."
"I've heard. And your dad?"
"He's apathetic at best. I mean, he's happy for me when I achieve stuff, but only when I achieve stuff."
"That's no family." He put a hand on my shoulder.
"It's all I have."
"Since Steve's your father, I want a share in that too. I'm all in, no exceptions."
There's nothing to live for but hospital treatments. I have no real family and no real friends. I just have a teacher whose time I'm wasting just by existing. I don't know why he's lying to me. He keeps telling me I'm beautiful, but all of my hair fell out and the rest of me isn't all that attractive. He keeps telling me I'm strong, but I can hardly lift a finger most days. He keeps telling me I'm brave, but I'm the one living off the kindness of others.
Everything's still going according to plan, so the nurses say. The radiation treatments left my skin burning and blistered; the lotion they provided helped a lot. I was in too much pain to do much of anything except languish and complete what I could of my schoolwork. I don't know if I'm getting any better or worse. I can hardly eat, but the nurses want me to keep up my strength.
"Alice, you have a visitor." Huh? A thin, tall man with the brightest red hair I've ever seen followed the nurse.
"Hi." He pulled up a chair and sat next to me. "It's Landon. If you're wondering why Steve's not visiting like he normally does, it's because he had a panic attack. On live TV."
"That's not good." I shifted. My back was sore from lying down. "Is he okay?"
"Yeah. He'll need to sleep it off. So, how are you?" Isn't that obvious? I look like a stick with bulging eyes. I threw up twice this morning. My skin is still sore. I have no desire to get better because I have nothing to look forward to.
"How do you think I am?"
The worst part of all of this is not the treatments or the nausea, or fatigue. Seeing the other kids' parents come and go that brings me more pain than any illness ever could. Some come more frequently than others. Most of the kids manage a smile for their parents despite their circumstances. I have no one to smile for. Rose liked me because I was a good worker in a bad situation, not because I was me. She never came to visit despite all of her "Alice-I-care-about-you"s. So much for that.
"I want you to know that I'll be there for you." A nurse came by wearing protective gloves. He ordered Landon to stay back. I felt the chill of alcohol and the familiar initial burn. "Don't you have any family?"
"My mom is probably glad I'm like this."
"I've heard. And your dad?"
"He's apathetic at best. I mean, he's happy for me when I achieve stuff, but only when I achieve stuff."
"That's no family." He put a hand on my shoulder.
"It's all I have."
"Since Steve's your father, I want a share in that too. I'm all in, no exceptions."
Saturday, June 3, 2017
Silverfish In My Home (Landon)
A/N: This is another vlog transcript.
Title: TWITTER IMPERSONATOR and More
Uploader: LandonLakesMilk
Heeeey, guys.
This is going to be a different kind of video from what I usually do. I won't plug my other channels because...it just doesn't feel right. I've been on here since my 16th birthday (link's in the description) and this is my home. It really is...and I feel like there are silverfish in my home, so let's address a few things.
First off, there's a troll on Twitter whose URL resembles mine. This person's URL is Land0nLakesButter. That's my Twitter URL LandonLakesButter with a zero instead of an O. As much as trolls bug me in general, this one gets to me more because they're pretending to be me in order to promote some outright horrific stuff. I know that there are many parody, satire, and other accounts that use my name such as the-real-landon, EdgyLandon, and landon_lakes_cheesecurls, but these guys are just funny and don't cause any problems. This one, however, causes lots of problems.
First off, they're a raging homophobe--and I know you guys know that I don't use that term lightly. Especially since this is pride month and all that, I feel very disturbed that someone would say things like "I'll bomb your school's LGBT acceptance events. #homophobepride". They even went so far as to say "Havencraft needs to happen again since I didn't succeed in wiping the homos out the first time." Being gay myself, I would never say something like that. So...yeah. I have a homophobic impersonator. In light of it being pride month and all, I've done a little research on this person and they're also a pedophile YouTuber. I don't mean someone who thinks 16 and 19 year olds should be able to be in a relationship. I mean that they advocate having sex with children. Their channel name is Taylor E., so go report them on YouTube as well. Some of my fandub videos have been taken down due to "copyright issues", but content like this is still up. What the *censored*, YouTube? WHAT THE *CENSORED*?
Now that you know about fake Landon, let's move onto something that's affected me very deeply even though it's not directly related to me.
*pause for awkward movements*
You guys, I can't keep dredging up stuff about Havencraft, talking about gay stuff, or practicing my presentation skills and have this go ignored. This is something that happened on a larger scale than Havencraft and I think it deserves to be discussed because it brings light to a lot of issues that I find important. Ready? Here we go. *deep breath.*
Mindcrack Middle and High School had a suicide crisis. Around 200 total students were found dead, usually in the bathrooms. A former student told me that the bathrooms looked like war zones and that they were being cleaned out half the time because a lot of them were vomiting as a result of intentional overdose. And guess what? The administration did nothing until Steve, the band and now orchestra teacher at Mindcrack, confronted them along with others who were not with the school. The fact that the same people who banded together after Havencraft are the same people who are willfully ignoring Mindcrack's problem.
Anyone who's ever lost someone to suicide knows that it's absolutely devastating. I can't imagine how their parents, the surviving students, and the empathetic staff feel. The fact that this issue isn't being brought up and addressed bothers me to say the least. One suicide is one thing, but when the corpses of deceased students are littering the bathrooms, something is terribly wrong with the school. I don't have anything else against Mindcrack, just the fact that this has gone on for too long without attention to the problem.
If you know any Mindcrack students or staff, send them some good thoughts and things. They're probably all bewildered and searching for answers.
That's all I wanted to talk about, so, yeah. I probably ruined your day, but now you're informed.
Title: TWITTER IMPERSONATOR and More
Uploader: LandonLakesMilk
Heeeey, guys.
This is going to be a different kind of video from what I usually do. I won't plug my other channels because...it just doesn't feel right. I've been on here since my 16th birthday (link's in the description) and this is my home. It really is...and I feel like there are silverfish in my home, so let's address a few things.
First off, there's a troll on Twitter whose URL resembles mine. This person's URL is Land0nLakesButter. That's my Twitter URL LandonLakesButter with a zero instead of an O. As much as trolls bug me in general, this one gets to me more because they're pretending to be me in order to promote some outright horrific stuff. I know that there are many parody, satire, and other accounts that use my name such as the-real-landon, EdgyLandon, and landon_lakes_cheesecurls, but these guys are just funny and don't cause any problems. This one, however, causes lots of problems.
First off, they're a raging homophobe--and I know you guys know that I don't use that term lightly. Especially since this is pride month and all that, I feel very disturbed that someone would say things like "I'll bomb your school's LGBT acceptance events. #homophobepride". They even went so far as to say "Havencraft needs to happen again since I didn't succeed in wiping the homos out the first time." Being gay myself, I would never say something like that. So...yeah. I have a homophobic impersonator. In light of it being pride month and all, I've done a little research on this person and they're also a pedophile YouTuber. I don't mean someone who thinks 16 and 19 year olds should be able to be in a relationship. I mean that they advocate having sex with children. Their channel name is Taylor E., so go report them on YouTube as well. Some of my fandub videos have been taken down due to "copyright issues", but content like this is still up. What the *censored*, YouTube? WHAT THE *CENSORED*?
Now that you know about fake Landon, let's move onto something that's affected me very deeply even though it's not directly related to me.
*pause for awkward movements*
You guys, I can't keep dredging up stuff about Havencraft, talking about gay stuff, or practicing my presentation skills and have this go ignored. This is something that happened on a larger scale than Havencraft and I think it deserves to be discussed because it brings light to a lot of issues that I find important. Ready? Here we go. *deep breath.*
Mindcrack Middle and High School had a suicide crisis. Around 200 total students were found dead, usually in the bathrooms. A former student told me that the bathrooms looked like war zones and that they were being cleaned out half the time because a lot of them were vomiting as a result of intentional overdose. And guess what? The administration did nothing until Steve, the band and now orchestra teacher at Mindcrack, confronted them along with others who were not with the school. The fact that the same people who banded together after Havencraft are the same people who are willfully ignoring Mindcrack's problem.
Anyone who's ever lost someone to suicide knows that it's absolutely devastating. I can't imagine how their parents, the surviving students, and the empathetic staff feel. The fact that this issue isn't being brought up and addressed bothers me to say the least. One suicide is one thing, but when the corpses of deceased students are littering the bathrooms, something is terribly wrong with the school. I don't have anything else against Mindcrack, just the fact that this has gone on for too long without attention to the problem.
If you know any Mindcrack students or staff, send them some good thoughts and things. They're probably all bewildered and searching for answers.
That's all I wanted to talk about, so, yeah. I probably ruined your day, but now you're informed.
Friday, June 2, 2017
Satsuma Oranges (Mark)
"Lowell and LaCoste, you guys were great on Stammi Vicino. I could really hear the chemistry between you guys. Matsuda, bring your part out a little more on History Maker. Everyone, that was a great rehearsal. Go leave and kiss your boyfriends." I dragged a swab through my flugelhorn as I always do. It's not much, but it's enough so that I don't worry about finding maggots in my instrument. Just as I reached for my trusty bottle of Blue Juice, my phone buzzed. Seeing that the number was not an ad, I answered.
"This is Mark Navoa. How may I help you?"
"Mr. Navoa, this is Jia Huang. Were you aware that Respect Ability Minecraft was a fraudulent operation?"
"No, I was not. I mean, it seemed a bit fishy, but nothing struck me as outright 'wrong' at first glance."
"Well, you were successful in its exposure as such. After that woman's suicide, donations for Respect Ability Minecraft decreased by 500% and Alisha Netherfield issued a mass ban of the organization in all schools under her control."
"Wow." I had no words.
"Wow indeed." When representatives from the organization first came to speak at Mineplex, I remembered distinctly that they focused on the strength and willpower of students with disabilities. They didn't say anything about character like kindness or integrity and seemed to shun any kind of showing vulnerability. Not only that, it seemed that one had to do things their way at all times at all costs. "Would you like to do additional interviews?"
"Yes." Jia hung up just as I heard rapid footsteps approaching me.
"Hi!" It was Yuuto.
"Hey, Satsuma Orange." "Matsuda" sounds like "satsuma", which is a type of Mandarin orange. "My stand partner is scary. I don't think he likes me."
"Oh, Landon? He's a bit...standoffish, but he'll be super nice once he warms up to you."
"By the way, did you hear my part? Do you think Steve-kun liked it? Do you think my band teacher will be proud of me?" Just as he said that last bit, Steve walked over and Yuuto practically exploded. He started stammering in this rapid-fire Japanese/English hodgepodge. I don't think Steve understood a word Yuuto said, but he nodded and smiled all the same. He even took a selfie with Yuuto and, as usual, he tried to minimize his face's presence.
"Want to meet somewhere for ice cream?" Steve was always intent on being nice to his fans.
"Who else is going?" As if to answer that question, Landon came up to us rather furtively striding in a typical marching band eight to five. I wonder what had him so worked up.
At the ice cream shop, Yuuto took a seat across from Steve and grinned like a cartoon. He stole glances now and then at his idol's face, but he mostly fidgeted nervously. Landon took a seat next to Steve and seemed to fixate on Yuuto. I tell you, that guy does not warm up to people easily. I retrieved menus and passed them out to everyone.
Looking at all the flavors and wondering how they tasted, I decided to go with champurrado soft serve with extra cinnamon. Wanting to break the awkward silence, I asked if there were any other orders. Steve pointed to a smiling orange on the menu and Yuuto exclaimed "Yeah, same!" I guess that's two satsuma orange sorbets. That appears to be this particular establishment's speciality.
"Anything for you?" Landon had his eyes on the menu, but he didn't appear to really look at it.
"I'll get mine myself." He stood, approached the counter, and ordered something. I decided to get the champurrado soft serve with extra cinnamon. Since it was pride month, the place was decorated with rainbows. I even got a little rainbow chocolate in my soft serve. I hope Landon warms up to Yuuto soon since they'll be sitting together for at least the duration of the year. Well, what can I say? A bitter melon and a satsuma orange may not go well together at first, but they can with the help of other ingredients.
"This is Mark Navoa. How may I help you?"
"Mr. Navoa, this is Jia Huang. Were you aware that Respect Ability Minecraft was a fraudulent operation?"
"No, I was not. I mean, it seemed a bit fishy, but nothing struck me as outright 'wrong' at first glance."
"Well, you were successful in its exposure as such. After that woman's suicide, donations for Respect Ability Minecraft decreased by 500% and Alisha Netherfield issued a mass ban of the organization in all schools under her control."
"Wow." I had no words.
"Wow indeed." When representatives from the organization first came to speak at Mineplex, I remembered distinctly that they focused on the strength and willpower of students with disabilities. They didn't say anything about character like kindness or integrity and seemed to shun any kind of showing vulnerability. Not only that, it seemed that one had to do things their way at all times at all costs. "Would you like to do additional interviews?"
"Yes." Jia hung up just as I heard rapid footsteps approaching me.
"Hi!" It was Yuuto.
"Hey, Satsuma Orange." "Matsuda" sounds like "satsuma", which is a type of Mandarin orange. "My stand partner is scary. I don't think he likes me."
"Oh, Landon? He's a bit...standoffish, but he'll be super nice once he warms up to you."
"By the way, did you hear my part? Do you think Steve-kun liked it? Do you think my band teacher will be proud of me?" Just as he said that last bit, Steve walked over and Yuuto practically exploded. He started stammering in this rapid-fire Japanese/English hodgepodge. I don't think Steve understood a word Yuuto said, but he nodded and smiled all the same. He even took a selfie with Yuuto and, as usual, he tried to minimize his face's presence.
"Want to meet somewhere for ice cream?" Steve was always intent on being nice to his fans.
"Who else is going?" As if to answer that question, Landon came up to us rather furtively striding in a typical marching band eight to five. I wonder what had him so worked up.
At the ice cream shop, Yuuto took a seat across from Steve and grinned like a cartoon. He stole glances now and then at his idol's face, but he mostly fidgeted nervously. Landon took a seat next to Steve and seemed to fixate on Yuuto. I tell you, that guy does not warm up to people easily. I retrieved menus and passed them out to everyone.
Looking at all the flavors and wondering how they tasted, I decided to go with champurrado soft serve with extra cinnamon. Wanting to break the awkward silence, I asked if there were any other orders. Steve pointed to a smiling orange on the menu and Yuuto exclaimed "Yeah, same!" I guess that's two satsuma orange sorbets. That appears to be this particular establishment's speciality.
"Anything for you?" Landon had his eyes on the menu, but he didn't appear to really look at it.
"I'll get mine myself." He stood, approached the counter, and ordered something. I decided to get the champurrado soft serve with extra cinnamon. Since it was pride month, the place was decorated with rainbows. I even got a little rainbow chocolate in my soft serve. I hope Landon warms up to Yuuto soon since they'll be sitting together for at least the duration of the year. Well, what can I say? A bitter melon and a satsuma orange may not go well together at first, but they can with the help of other ingredients.
Friday, May 19, 2017
The Girl Who Sells Misfortune (Alex)
Yamete, yamete.
I moved to the music. Run over there, spin, and get up on your toes. Madame Garcia is just getting me started on pointe. I won't do any pointe solos yet, but this particular routine involves a lot of something close. It looks beautiful, but it's the hardest thing I've done.
"Get a little more altitude on the jump. Let's run through that again." I went back to my spot and practiced the jump again. I made sure to change my angle so that I would truly fly. "That's good. Now, relevé. Hold that position. Keep going." My feet screamed in pain; they started to waver underneath me. "A little more." I knew that my vocal teacher possessed incredible strength of mind. It is more important to be kind than to be strong, she said, while she went about her business despite being in pain that looked unbearable from the outside. A sudden pain shot up my calf and I fell. "That's enough for today. You should stay here and rest for at least an hour because of the amount of work you've done. I have food for you." Gladly, I obliged. I packed up my ballet slippers and, when I looked down at my feet, I saw that they were bleeding and blistered. Madame Garcia escorted me to another room with a refrigerator. Few dancers have this privilege, but I earned it by way of hard work.
After I did my stretches, she presented me with a plate of vegetables, crackers, cheese, and various cold cuts. I ate. Everything tasted good, but that could just be my hunger talking. I'll also have to practice my vocal showcase. Ever since Caitlin died, I never really felt like singing. However, that was going to change. I would sing remembering, not only what she directly taught me, but what she showed me by setting the example.
My phone rang. I checked it to see my new vocal teacher's phone number.
"Just reminding you that you should be here at 5:00."
"I might run a little late. I got some leg cramps during ballet and Madame Garcia wants me to rest." I massaged the strained area a bit more.
"Take as much time as you need. Ballet is not an easy thing to do."
"It isn't." I took another sip from my water bottle.
"Hey, by the way, I know you've experienced a lot of misfortune lately, so when you practice, I want you sell it to me."
"So...be the girl who sells misfortune?"
"You can put it that way."
(A/N: The first video is what the everyone else hears. The second is what Alex hears.)
I moved to the music. Run over there, spin, and get up on your toes. Madame Garcia is just getting me started on pointe. I won't do any pointe solos yet, but this particular routine involves a lot of something close. It looks beautiful, but it's the hardest thing I've done.
"Get a little more altitude on the jump. Let's run through that again." I went back to my spot and practiced the jump again. I made sure to change my angle so that I would truly fly. "That's good. Now, relevé. Hold that position. Keep going." My feet screamed in pain; they started to waver underneath me. "A little more." I knew that my vocal teacher possessed incredible strength of mind. It is more important to be kind than to be strong, she said, while she went about her business despite being in pain that looked unbearable from the outside. A sudden pain shot up my calf and I fell. "That's enough for today. You should stay here and rest for at least an hour because of the amount of work you've done. I have food for you." Gladly, I obliged. I packed up my ballet slippers and, when I looked down at my feet, I saw that they were bleeding and blistered. Madame Garcia escorted me to another room with a refrigerator. Few dancers have this privilege, but I earned it by way of hard work.
After I did my stretches, she presented me with a plate of vegetables, crackers, cheese, and various cold cuts. I ate. Everything tasted good, but that could just be my hunger talking. I'll also have to practice my vocal showcase. Ever since Caitlin died, I never really felt like singing. However, that was going to change. I would sing remembering, not only what she directly taught me, but what she showed me by setting the example.
My phone rang. I checked it to see my new vocal teacher's phone number.
"Just reminding you that you should be here at 5:00."
"I might run a little late. I got some leg cramps during ballet and Madame Garcia wants me to rest." I massaged the strained area a bit more.
"Take as much time as you need. Ballet is not an easy thing to do."
"It isn't." I took another sip from my water bottle.
"Hey, by the way, I know you've experienced a lot of misfortune lately, so when you practice, I want you sell it to me."
"So...be the girl who sells misfortune?"
"You can put it that way."
(A/N: The first video is what the everyone else hears. The second is what Alex hears.)
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
Life and Love
(A/N: THERE ARE PERSPECTIVE JUMPS. ****************** indicates a perspective jump.)
This katsudon is very good...or so I thought. I wasn't really tasting anything. Steve sat across from me shoving his pork cutlet around with a fork. Was he sick? I hoped he didn't catch what I had. The flavors muddled together into an indistinguishable mess, but I didn't really care to eat. I just wanted to get this over with. That's the thing about the old Landon charm. It's there at nearly every hour of the day, but, the moment I care, it vanishes as quickly as it comes.
I looked more at Steve. As usual, he looked absolutely perfect and I looked...less than that. I caught my own reflection in my glass of mineral water. Staring back at me was a man with a disfigured face. A reddish splotch spread from my cheekbone to my ear. He lost his appetite because he was repulsed by my face. I knew it by the way he kept looking up at me.
Shoving a bit of egg into my mouth, I kept chewing. I didn't want to say anything stupid or offensive like I usually do. I swallowed the nearly liquid mass and heard another pair of men talking.
"...You're cute."
"I know.
"Should we help them?"
"Yes." The dark-haired one came closer. That's Phillip. We've become good friends, even after I've almost punched him in the face. "Is everything all right? Things look pretty awkward over there." Steve looked up from his bowl, which he hardly touched. How long have we been sitting and not talking?
"Everything's great, just great."
"Doesn't look like it." The other spoke.
"Want to speak to me in private?" Phillip pulled me away and led me to a quieter corner of the restaurant. "Tell me what's wrong."
"He probably thinks I'm a blubbering idiot."
"Okay." Somehow, he knew that wasn't the real problem. "What's that on your cheek?" He narrowed his eyes. Of course he was talking about my birthmark! I'm just the disfigured, disgusting criminal everyone thinks I am. Tears spilled out of my eyes and fell onto the floor. Phillip tried to put his arm around me, but I shoved him away.
"Get off of me!" He looked bewildered and kind of miffed. As he walked away, I collapsed and buried my face until I could see nothing. There's no way Steve could want me now. Even if he did, it was probably just pity. Who could love someone like me?
At another table, two others sat with each other. Another waitress approached them with her usual friendly smile.
"Aren't you guys a cute couple?"
"Um...no..."
"I see. What would you two like to eat?" One of them said something in Japanese. I could make out "katsudon." Guess it's a popular dish tonight. The other ordered ten zaru. Sniffling like I had allergies or a cold, I made my way back to my table.
******************
"French roast with cinnamon and cream, please."
"Would you like some foamed milk?"
"When would I not like some foamed milk?" After ordering a bowl of macarons, I plugged my laptop into a nearby outlet. My computer connected automatically and I was good to go. I started entering grades. Band grades, especially among the flutes, tend to decline right before and after AP exams.
And guess what other change somehow correlates with AP exams? Spikes in cyberbullying. At Mineplex, cyberbullying runs rampant. One would think that cyberbullying decreases around AP exams, but no. It increases. My guess is that stress gets to the students and some take it out on others. Given the amount of fights I see, it makes sense that this would be the case with my school.
When I logged on to Twitter, the first thing I saw was some very nasty suicide bait directed at one of one of my students. Not cool, man. Not cool. I looked at the person's profile and, right away, I could tell that they were a dedicated hater blog. Sheesh, dude. What kind of deep-seated issues do you have? Since there is no reasoning with these hater blogs, I reported the person and sent this student a random uplifting meme. I've been criticized for my use of memes and "lack of professionalism", but why fix what's not broken?
I scrolled further to find another person tagging various students of mine saying "Tell your teacher to kill herself." If anything ticks me off, it's this stuff. If you're going to bait me, at least do it to me directly. Leave my students out of this. To my surprise, this person was not a troll. I decided to DM them and talk some sense into them.
Hey, it's not cool to tag my students in posts like these.
The person cursed at me, called me "extra hole boy", and threatened to get me banned. Like you'll ever succeed. Aside from the fact that I'm a top 10 Twitter user with verification and everything, I save screenshots and URLs. My notifications for DMs went off again. I'd know that name anywhere: @Yuuto-pia That was Yuuto Matsuda. He's the Impulsive Brass Band's new French horn and Steve's biggest fan. Judging from the Yuuri Katsuki icon that was recolored to look like Steve, I'd also bet that he is a Yuri on Ice watcher.
Yuuto is the best thing that ever happened to us; his positive outlook and innocent charm brought us back out of our slump. I opened his message and saw a cute GIF. Yuuto sends them to everyone who has social media. I replied with another GIF and whipped out my IP tracker. After entering my hater's username, I found that they lived in a nearby desert biome. After using a reverse lookup service, I found their e-mail address: kathryn_43@gmail.com.
As I typed out the E-mail, I found that all the coffee had moved through my system rather quickly. When the simple act of using the restroom made me want to peel off my skin, I had to maintain a good sense of humor. Such is the nature of life.
******************
"Hey." I saw the Bitcoin symbol on a woman's back pocket. "Do you know of any good starter Bitcoin miners?"
"I thought you already had a miner"
"It's for my daughter. I want to get her started on cryptocurrencies."
"All right." She invited me to sit. "How old is she?"
"She'll be twelve pretty soon."
"You can get some great deals on used AntMiner hardware nowadays. I don't know what a twelve year old would do with Bitcoin--actually I do know--but from what I hear she sounds like a trustworthy kid." She wrote some URLs down on paper and handed it to me.
"Okay." I stuffed the paper in my pocket. I've officially given up on Alex learning common academic subjects under my tutelage. The lessons only result in me snapping at Alex for not being able to grasp certain things quickly and her bursting into tears. Knowing that it was only a matter of time before lasting damage was done, I scrapped the standard curriculum altogether and built one of my own.
The purpose of attending school is to learn how to solve problems and think independently. Unfortunately, they just throw tests in your face and hope you pass. Alex deserved better than that, so I took it upon myself to teach her things that are worth learning. I let her choose five of them and I chose the other three. For the three, I chose cryptocurrency, the basic academic skills that I rotate on a daily basis, and blacksmithing. For the five, Alex chose instrumental music (trumpet and maybe percussion), musical theater, creative writing, public speaking, and combat.
Alex chose "The Girl who Sells Misfortune" for the dance portion of her musical theater showcase and "Aishite, Aishite, Aishite" for the vocal portion. I found the song choices unusual, but what was usual nowadays? I found her choice to be a way of expressing her grief through performance. Caitlin was certainly something special in Alex's life. Though I may never be able to get the old Alex back, I can at least help her to rebuild herself as she sees fit.
******************
Had I done something wrong?
Landon came back to our table with a face that was red and puffy from crying. He picked at his katsudon. Not being very hungry myself, I offered him some of mine. He refused and sat across from me so dejectedly that one might think I've intentionally slighted him. Of course, my device was not cooperating with me, so I couldn't use it. I could, however, speak the language of touch.
I turned my head and extended my arms outward. Apprehensively, I laid a hand on his cheek. Since he didn't punch me in the face, I gathered him into my arms.
"You probably think I'm disgusting, don't you?" Landon hiccuped and fell into my arms again. I wished I could say it at the moment, but, no, I don't think you're disgusting. I think zombie carcasses are disgusting. You're beautiful. Your eyes shine like steel and your hair is a reflection of your internal fire. The port wine stain just completes everything. I kissed the red spot as gently as I could and moved my mouth down to his. Our lips moved together. There were probably people swarming to get a picture of us, but I didn't care. I'll give them something to stare at.
I dipped Landon like a dancer and kept kissing him. For once, I didn't care what anyone thought. I just let my impulses guide me. Running my fingers through his hair, I felt him melt into my arms like butter. He felt light as a feather as I lifted him back into position. Who would've thought that Landon, someone that I wanted to punch in the face less than two years ago, would be my lover? We ended the kiss and, even if I had absolute mastery of language, I'd still be at a loss for words.
That kiss was unlike any I had done before. This was sincere. This was love. Not only was it that, it was an act of rebellion. People had this odd tendency of turning everything I did into a political statement that I had to address. This was living and loving for the sake of living and loving, not a middle finger to homophobia or whatever else people make of this. My life story is mine to tell, and, try as it may, Big Identity Politics will not get ahold of it.
And what would I say when I would inevitably face the camera tomorrow?
Don't let politics or social standards corrupt your relationships. Live to love and love to live. Anything else is pure misery.
This katsudon is very good...or so I thought. I wasn't really tasting anything. Steve sat across from me shoving his pork cutlet around with a fork. Was he sick? I hoped he didn't catch what I had. The flavors muddled together into an indistinguishable mess, but I didn't really care to eat. I just wanted to get this over with. That's the thing about the old Landon charm. It's there at nearly every hour of the day, but, the moment I care, it vanishes as quickly as it comes.
I looked more at Steve. As usual, he looked absolutely perfect and I looked...less than that. I caught my own reflection in my glass of mineral water. Staring back at me was a man with a disfigured face. A reddish splotch spread from my cheekbone to my ear. He lost his appetite because he was repulsed by my face. I knew it by the way he kept looking up at me.
Shoving a bit of egg into my mouth, I kept chewing. I didn't want to say anything stupid or offensive like I usually do. I swallowed the nearly liquid mass and heard another pair of men talking.
"...You're cute."
"I know.
"Should we help them?"
"Yes." The dark-haired one came closer. That's Phillip. We've become good friends, even after I've almost punched him in the face. "Is everything all right? Things look pretty awkward over there." Steve looked up from his bowl, which he hardly touched. How long have we been sitting and not talking?
"Everything's great, just great."
"Doesn't look like it." The other spoke.
"Want to speak to me in private?" Phillip pulled me away and led me to a quieter corner of the restaurant. "Tell me what's wrong."
"He probably thinks I'm a blubbering idiot."
"Okay." Somehow, he knew that wasn't the real problem. "What's that on your cheek?" He narrowed his eyes. Of course he was talking about my birthmark! I'm just the disfigured, disgusting criminal everyone thinks I am. Tears spilled out of my eyes and fell onto the floor. Phillip tried to put his arm around me, but I shoved him away.
"Get off of me!" He looked bewildered and kind of miffed. As he walked away, I collapsed and buried my face until I could see nothing. There's no way Steve could want me now. Even if he did, it was probably just pity. Who could love someone like me?
At another table, two others sat with each other. Another waitress approached them with her usual friendly smile.
"Aren't you guys a cute couple?"
"Um...no..."
"I see. What would you two like to eat?" One of them said something in Japanese. I could make out "katsudon." Guess it's a popular dish tonight. The other ordered ten zaru. Sniffling like I had allergies or a cold, I made my way back to my table.
******************
"French roast with cinnamon and cream, please."
"Would you like some foamed milk?"
"When would I not like some foamed milk?" After ordering a bowl of macarons, I plugged my laptop into a nearby outlet. My computer connected automatically and I was good to go. I started entering grades. Band grades, especially among the flutes, tend to decline right before and after AP exams.
And guess what other change somehow correlates with AP exams? Spikes in cyberbullying. At Mineplex, cyberbullying runs rampant. One would think that cyberbullying decreases around AP exams, but no. It increases. My guess is that stress gets to the students and some take it out on others. Given the amount of fights I see, it makes sense that this would be the case with my school.
When I logged on to Twitter, the first thing I saw was some very nasty suicide bait directed at one of one of my students. Not cool, man. Not cool. I looked at the person's profile and, right away, I could tell that they were a dedicated hater blog. Sheesh, dude. What kind of deep-seated issues do you have? Since there is no reasoning with these hater blogs, I reported the person and sent this student a random uplifting meme. I've been criticized for my use of memes and "lack of professionalism", but why fix what's not broken?
I scrolled further to find another person tagging various students of mine saying "Tell your teacher to kill herself." If anything ticks me off, it's this stuff. If you're going to bait me, at least do it to me directly. Leave my students out of this. To my surprise, this person was not a troll. I decided to DM them and talk some sense into them.
Hey, it's not cool to tag my students in posts like these.
The person cursed at me, called me "extra hole boy", and threatened to get me banned. Like you'll ever succeed. Aside from the fact that I'm a top 10 Twitter user with verification and everything, I save screenshots and URLs. My notifications for DMs went off again. I'd know that name anywhere: @Yuuto-pia That was Yuuto Matsuda. He's the Impulsive Brass Band's new French horn and Steve's biggest fan. Judging from the Yuuri Katsuki icon that was recolored to look like Steve, I'd also bet that he is a Yuri on Ice watcher.
Yuuto is the best thing that ever happened to us; his positive outlook and innocent charm brought us back out of our slump. I opened his message and saw a cute GIF. Yuuto sends them to everyone who has social media. I replied with another GIF and whipped out my IP tracker. After entering my hater's username, I found that they lived in a nearby desert biome. After using a reverse lookup service, I found their e-mail address: kathryn_43@gmail.com.
As I typed out the E-mail, I found that all the coffee had moved through my system rather quickly. When the simple act of using the restroom made me want to peel off my skin, I had to maintain a good sense of humor. Such is the nature of life.
******************
"Hey." I saw the Bitcoin symbol on a woman's back pocket. "Do you know of any good starter Bitcoin miners?"
"I thought you already had a miner"
"It's for my daughter. I want to get her started on cryptocurrencies."
"All right." She invited me to sit. "How old is she?"
"She'll be twelve pretty soon."
"You can get some great deals on used AntMiner hardware nowadays. I don't know what a twelve year old would do with Bitcoin--actually I do know--but from what I hear she sounds like a trustworthy kid." She wrote some URLs down on paper and handed it to me.
"Okay." I stuffed the paper in my pocket. I've officially given up on Alex learning common academic subjects under my tutelage. The lessons only result in me snapping at Alex for not being able to grasp certain things quickly and her bursting into tears. Knowing that it was only a matter of time before lasting damage was done, I scrapped the standard curriculum altogether and built one of my own.
The purpose of attending school is to learn how to solve problems and think independently. Unfortunately, they just throw tests in your face and hope you pass. Alex deserved better than that, so I took it upon myself to teach her things that are worth learning. I let her choose five of them and I chose the other three. For the three, I chose cryptocurrency, the basic academic skills that I rotate on a daily basis, and blacksmithing. For the five, Alex chose instrumental music (trumpet and maybe percussion), musical theater, creative writing, public speaking, and combat.
Alex chose "The Girl who Sells Misfortune" for the dance portion of her musical theater showcase and "Aishite, Aishite, Aishite" for the vocal portion. I found the song choices unusual, but what was usual nowadays? I found her choice to be a way of expressing her grief through performance. Caitlin was certainly something special in Alex's life. Though I may never be able to get the old Alex back, I can at least help her to rebuild herself as she sees fit.
******************
Had I done something wrong?
Landon came back to our table with a face that was red and puffy from crying. He picked at his katsudon. Not being very hungry myself, I offered him some of mine. He refused and sat across from me so dejectedly that one might think I've intentionally slighted him. Of course, my device was not cooperating with me, so I couldn't use it. I could, however, speak the language of touch.
I turned my head and extended my arms outward. Apprehensively, I laid a hand on his cheek. Since he didn't punch me in the face, I gathered him into my arms.
"You probably think I'm disgusting, don't you?" Landon hiccuped and fell into my arms again. I wished I could say it at the moment, but, no, I don't think you're disgusting. I think zombie carcasses are disgusting. You're beautiful. Your eyes shine like steel and your hair is a reflection of your internal fire. The port wine stain just completes everything. I kissed the red spot as gently as I could and moved my mouth down to his. Our lips moved together. There were probably people swarming to get a picture of us, but I didn't care. I'll give them something to stare at.
I dipped Landon like a dancer and kept kissing him. For once, I didn't care what anyone thought. I just let my impulses guide me. Running my fingers through his hair, I felt him melt into my arms like butter. He felt light as a feather as I lifted him back into position. Who would've thought that Landon, someone that I wanted to punch in the face less than two years ago, would be my lover? We ended the kiss and, even if I had absolute mastery of language, I'd still be at a loss for words.
That kiss was unlike any I had done before. This was sincere. This was love. Not only was it that, it was an act of rebellion. People had this odd tendency of turning everything I did into a political statement that I had to address. This was living and loving for the sake of living and loving, not a middle finger to homophobia or whatever else people make of this. My life story is mine to tell, and, try as it may, Big Identity Politics will not get ahold of it.
And what would I say when I would inevitably face the camera tomorrow?
Don't let politics or social standards corrupt your relationships. Live to love and love to live. Anything else is pure misery.
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
Cherries and Sunrises (Steve)
Ugh...paparazzi.
I ordered them to scat unless they wanted the Mindcrack administration and angry parents involved. Some obliged, but some stayed. I'm sorry, but you know the rules. If you're not respecting my students, I won't muddle through any cordiality or pleasantries. Raising the volume on my device, I told them to leave again. If they describe me as rude in the next article, I won't feel bad about it. They disrespected my students' basic rights.
Look. Do with me what you want. Circulate those random creepshots and tell people that I'm on drugs or whatever, but don't do anything with my students. I can't have my students' lives ruined by some stupid people who don't know what boundaries are. Just in time, Mindcrack security arrived and began to clear the area. All but one person remained, a girl who looked like she was in high school.
"This is Catalina Cortez and I'm with the Desert Tribune." Isn't that Mark's contrabass clarinetist? What's she doing with the Tribune? "Is it okay if I ask you and one student of yours from each grade a few questions?"
"Who do you have in mind?" She showed me her list.
6th Grade: Nathalie Soulard
7th Grade: Adrian Roth
8th Grade: Alice Alder
9th Grade: Lisette LaCoste
10th Grade: Kenji Sugihara
11th Grade: Hannah Engelhardt
12th Grade: Kyle Escalona
Problem: Kyle and Hannah are in AP Alchemy and I don't think journalistic opportunities are valid reasons to leave the exam room. I alerted Catalina of this problem; she said she could wait because the school knows she's with the Tribune for education purposes. Those are looser policies than some colleges. I wrote passes for the students and alerted their teachers of the opportunity.
Rather than check on his scores after the interview, Kyle showed up for his after school practice with a bag of yellow cherries. His affinity for the fruit is one of the things I'll always remember about him. He practiced rudiments on a pad. After some sloppy paradiddles, he popped a cherry in his mouth and refined his technique. He's going to need a lot of cherries to perfect rudiments like that.
After Caitlin died, Kyle left little bags of cherries on my desk for days in a row. I didn't know what he meant by this gesture at the time, but I know now that he was trying to give me strength. Kyle often makes use of his odd abilities to make people happy. The taste of his fruits indicate the amount of effort he puts into them. The cherries came from genuine sympathy. At first, they were tart as lemon, but each bag grew sweeter with each passing day. The paradiddles came much more cleanly until Kyle knocked on my door.
"I have more cherries for you." Kyle handed me a bag of the fruits, which were yellow with shadows of red. "Be sure to give some to your friends."
"I will." Ranging from golden to crimson, each cherry was a sunrise and a sunset in one. I bit into one. The skin snapped under my teeth and its juices poured into my mouth. After a burst of initial tartness, my tongue bathed in pure sweetness. After moving the syrupy substance around in my mouth and extracting more and more of it as I chewed, the cherry slid down my throat.
Upon opening the door, I stepped out and saw the sky painted the same colors as the cherries Kyle gave me. The sun may never set on my grieving Caitlin, but it had risen on my love for Landon. Judging by the cherry pits I found in his trashcan, he probably holds some semblance of fondness for the fruit. He should taste the sunrise and the sunset in each golden, crimson orb along with me. It would only be fitting that another chapter of my journey begin with him.
(A/N: If you correctly guess the variety of cherry that Kyle handed to Steve, you get to give me a writing prompt!)
I ordered them to scat unless they wanted the Mindcrack administration and angry parents involved. Some obliged, but some stayed. I'm sorry, but you know the rules. If you're not respecting my students, I won't muddle through any cordiality or pleasantries. Raising the volume on my device, I told them to leave again. If they describe me as rude in the next article, I won't feel bad about it. They disrespected my students' basic rights.
Look. Do with me what you want. Circulate those random creepshots and tell people that I'm on drugs or whatever, but don't do anything with my students. I can't have my students' lives ruined by some stupid people who don't know what boundaries are. Just in time, Mindcrack security arrived and began to clear the area. All but one person remained, a girl who looked like she was in high school.
"This is Catalina Cortez and I'm with the Desert Tribune." Isn't that Mark's contrabass clarinetist? What's she doing with the Tribune? "Is it okay if I ask you and one student of yours from each grade a few questions?"
"Who do you have in mind?" She showed me her list.
6th Grade: Nathalie Soulard
7th Grade: Adrian Roth
8th Grade: Alice Alder
9th Grade: Lisette LaCoste
10th Grade: Kenji Sugihara
11th Grade: Hannah Engelhardt
12th Grade: Kyle Escalona
Problem: Kyle and Hannah are in AP Alchemy and I don't think journalistic opportunities are valid reasons to leave the exam room. I alerted Catalina of this problem; she said she could wait because the school knows she's with the Tribune for education purposes. Those are looser policies than some colleges. I wrote passes for the students and alerted their teachers of the opportunity.
Rather than check on his scores after the interview, Kyle showed up for his after school practice with a bag of yellow cherries. His affinity for the fruit is one of the things I'll always remember about him. He practiced rudiments on a pad. After some sloppy paradiddles, he popped a cherry in his mouth and refined his technique. He's going to need a lot of cherries to perfect rudiments like that.
After Caitlin died, Kyle left little bags of cherries on my desk for days in a row. I didn't know what he meant by this gesture at the time, but I know now that he was trying to give me strength. Kyle often makes use of his odd abilities to make people happy. The taste of his fruits indicate the amount of effort he puts into them. The cherries came from genuine sympathy. At first, they were tart as lemon, but each bag grew sweeter with each passing day. The paradiddles came much more cleanly until Kyle knocked on my door.
"I have more cherries for you." Kyle handed me a bag of the fruits, which were yellow with shadows of red. "Be sure to give some to your friends."
"I will." Ranging from golden to crimson, each cherry was a sunrise and a sunset in one. I bit into one. The skin snapped under my teeth and its juices poured into my mouth. After a burst of initial tartness, my tongue bathed in pure sweetness. After moving the syrupy substance around in my mouth and extracting more and more of it as I chewed, the cherry slid down my throat.
Upon opening the door, I stepped out and saw the sky painted the same colors as the cherries Kyle gave me. The sun may never set on my grieving Caitlin, but it had risen on my love for Landon. Judging by the cherry pits I found in his trashcan, he probably holds some semblance of fondness for the fruit. He should taste the sunrise and the sunset in each golden, crimson orb along with me. It would only be fitting that another chapter of my journey begin with him.
(A/N: If you correctly guess the variety of cherry that Kyle handed to Steve, you get to give me a writing prompt!)
Friday, May 5, 2017
Love Me, I Say (Emmeline)
It's late at night and I'm cramming for the last round of AP exams. Such is the price of being intelligent. Success is all about being the right kind of person. I need to get fives on all of these in order to have any kind of chance in life. What was that formula I needed for physics? I said it under my breath as I studied my AP lit passage. I'm in the top 10% of my class, but I need to be the top student. Drawing in a breath, I pored over a poem.
Do this.
Do that.
You should.
You can't.
What's such a simple poem doing in a practice AP exam? The author wasn't even a real poet, just some kid. I read the blurb. Leave it to Steve to be everywhere, even in practice AP exams. He wrote it some time around his elementary school years during his time as a violin prodigy. Does his talent know no bounds?
Put on
A show.
Just hold
Your bow.
I looked at the questions. These lines are definitely iambic monometer. Even a normal student could answer that question.
Learn math
And write.
Stay up
All night.
Isn't that what the lot of us are doing, that is, if we want to be successful? I don't understand why people think I'm especially cruel to them when we're all in the same boat. It's their loss. Let them fail and fall to the ground while I soar to the top. I'll gladly give up my soul for perfect scores on all of my AP exams. I circled more answers. I need all fives. If I don't get all fives, I don't know what I'll do. Even if I get fours, I'm still the best student, right?
For my upcoming theater exam, I'll sing an English cover of Aishite, Aishite, Aishite. I sang my scales while poring over the questions.
Do this.
Do that.
You should.
You can't.
What's such a simple poem doing in a practice AP exam? The author wasn't even a real poet, just some kid. I read the blurb. Leave it to Steve to be everywhere, even in practice AP exams. He wrote it some time around his elementary school years during his time as a violin prodigy. Does his talent know no bounds?
Put on
A show.
Just hold
Your bow.
I looked at the questions. These lines are definitely iambic monometer. Even a normal student could answer that question.
Learn math
And write.
Stay up
All night.
Isn't that what the lot of us are doing, that is, if we want to be successful? I don't understand why people think I'm especially cruel to them when we're all in the same boat. It's their loss. Let them fail and fall to the ground while I soar to the top. I'll gladly give up my soul for perfect scores on all of my AP exams. I circled more answers. I need all fives. If I don't get all fives, I don't know what I'll do. Even if I get fours, I'm still the best student, right?
For my upcoming theater exam, I'll sing an English cover of Aishite, Aishite, Aishite. I sang my scales while poring over the questions.
Thursday, May 4, 2017
Mallory (Mark)
I saw Steve's interview on TV...again. He gave the same responses as always, which worked, but weren't exactly honest. He averts his eyes briefly when he's concealing negative emotions and he did it during the interview, not enough to really be noticeable, but enough to be an indication that something was amiss. Up there, he was acting exactly like my woodwinds during AP testing week: putting on a meaningless show in the name of a meaningless cause.
Catalina learned that the hard way. Last year, she loaded herself with all these AP classes that I never knew existed. During that year, she was this lifeless thing running off of coffee and fear. After not taking AP classes, she is so much happier and had the time to write for the Desert Tribune. Most college-educated journalists would die for the opportunity alone, but actual publication? Some journalists can't even dream of such fortune.
My Caitgate vlog gained a lot of traction through social media. By a lot, I mean that it went viral, was commented on by some major celebrities (not including Steve), and I've been asked to appear on TV...again. I don't know how Steve deals with doing it on a regular basis; one time was stressful enough. The reactions were mixed. Some people changed their opinions after realizing what the organization had done. Some still dredged up "problematic" stuff to try to justify the organization's actions. However, one of them decided to find my Twitter and had the nerve to attack me for something that I did not choose.
Glad to see that you're back with your problematic opinions, Mallory.
Quit pretending.
I'll dox all your students unless you delete the video.
Disagree with me? Call me stupid? That's not a problem.
Call me Mallory? Say that I'm "faking"? Threaten to dox my students? That's a problem. I scrolled down further. Steve asked the person "Who's that?". A grin spread across my face, but I still wanted to peel off my skin and toss it into the ocean.
Even if being born in a female body wasn't bad enough, my mother, Yoko, had always told me that I needed to be "pretty". I resented that. There was some truth to her statement, but I had no desire to be pretty. I wanted to be handsome. I worked so hard to be that and, yet, it seemed that some troll had the nerve to take it all away.
But who am I to let them?
Catalina learned that the hard way. Last year, she loaded herself with all these AP classes that I never knew existed. During that year, she was this lifeless thing running off of coffee and fear. After not taking AP classes, she is so much happier and had the time to write for the Desert Tribune. Most college-educated journalists would die for the opportunity alone, but actual publication? Some journalists can't even dream of such fortune.
My Caitgate vlog gained a lot of traction through social media. By a lot, I mean that it went viral, was commented on by some major celebrities (not including Steve), and I've been asked to appear on TV...again. I don't know how Steve deals with doing it on a regular basis; one time was stressful enough. The reactions were mixed. Some people changed their opinions after realizing what the organization had done. Some still dredged up "problematic" stuff to try to justify the organization's actions. However, one of them decided to find my Twitter and had the nerve to attack me for something that I did not choose.
Glad to see that you're back with your problematic opinions, Mallory.
Quit pretending.
I'll dox all your students unless you delete the video.
Disagree with me? Call me stupid? That's not a problem.
Call me Mallory? Say that I'm "faking"? Threaten to dox my students? That's a problem. I scrolled down further. Steve asked the person "Who's that?". A grin spread across my face, but I still wanted to peel off my skin and toss it into the ocean.
Even if being born in a female body wasn't bad enough, my mother, Yoko, had always told me that I needed to be "pretty". I resented that. There was some truth to her statement, but I had no desire to be pretty. I wanted to be handsome. I worked so hard to be that and, yet, it seemed that some troll had the nerve to take it all away.
But who am I to let them?
Monday, May 1, 2017
I Have Become What You Like (Steve)
I'm in for another TV interview. I got my cosmetics bag out and began applying my makeup. It's been easier to just do it myself rather than flag down the studio's makeup artist before every shoot. Before applying primer, I blotted my nose to get rid of any excess oil and sprayed my face with moisture mist. I'm so glad that Ayako told me about this product because matte foundation and powder are very drying. As I did the rest, I thought of how the wear and tear of performance influenced my life.
I have a love-hate relationship with performing. While I love it, it wears down on me. The nature of performance demands setting aside a part of one's self for the duration of a concert, interview, or other event. Do that day in and day out and that part of yourself will eventually dissolve into nothing as you turn to performance more and more for your sense of identity. If success is becoming what people like, I have done just that. However, I never felt as though I have succeeded at anything.
"Twenty minutes!" a studio executive called. I looked in the mirror again and blended everything out again. I curled my eyelashes. This was my TV face, the one that everyone knew and loved. All I need to do is tap out the right words like the right notes and do it the right way.
"Five minutes!" After a quick trip to the restroom, I was ready for the camera. My device was fully charged and hasn't rage quitted on me yet, which was a good sign. I made my way to my seat on cue as I always do. The host, Alana, had an inviting smile.
"This is and this is 'Where are they now?' As you may know, Steve Lowell used to be a violin prodigy and went on to be the star of his high school spleef team and the slayer of the Ender Dragon. He is the face of Minecraft and, not only that, he is an accomplished musician. Well, that's enough of me. We all know who we're here to see." I walked on and waved to the audience as per usual. They applauded. "So, how does it feel to be one of Minecraft's biggest successes?"
Success? What is success anyway? Is "success" a ten year old boy playing until his fingers bled and his arm screamed in agony or is it a senior buying pizza for his friends to celebrate a pivotal victory? Most of my "successes" were me saying "yes" and executing whatever tasks people wanted me to do. I felt my identity slipping away, but I kept doing it to hear people telling me that I did a good job, whatever that was. I became a copycat, a man with a mirror for a face.
The problem is? I need to be always on, always shifting. I need to charming, confident, funny, strong, talented and, in all other ways, the man people want me to be. Although I love the applause after a good performance more than anything, I want to be free to shut some of those qualities off and just be. It'd be nice to turn off strong and admit when I'm sad or scared or turn off talented and cheer on my friends in the audience. One of the attributes that I owe my successes to is that I can't help but draw attention to myself. Over the years, I've come to hate it. Despite having everything that anyone could ever want, I'm still not satisfied.
I wanted to tell Alana what I felt, honestly, but I ended up giving the same generic answer as always. I don't know how to be myself anymore. This is what you wanted, right? I'm just a face and a name to the lot of you. Keep demanding from me. All I can do is emulate anyway.
I have a love-hate relationship with performing. While I love it, it wears down on me. The nature of performance demands setting aside a part of one's self for the duration of a concert, interview, or other event. Do that day in and day out and that part of yourself will eventually dissolve into nothing as you turn to performance more and more for your sense of identity. If success is becoming what people like, I have done just that. However, I never felt as though I have succeeded at anything.
"Twenty minutes!" a studio executive called. I looked in the mirror again and blended everything out again. I curled my eyelashes. This was my TV face, the one that everyone knew and loved. All I need to do is tap out the right words like the right notes and do it the right way.
"Five minutes!" After a quick trip to the restroom, I was ready for the camera. My device was fully charged and hasn't rage quitted on me yet, which was a good sign. I made my way to my seat on cue as I always do. The host, Alana, had an inviting smile.
"This is and this is 'Where are they now?' As you may know, Steve Lowell used to be a violin prodigy and went on to be the star of his high school spleef team and the slayer of the Ender Dragon. He is the face of Minecraft and, not only that, he is an accomplished musician. Well, that's enough of me. We all know who we're here to see." I walked on and waved to the audience as per usual. They applauded. "So, how does it feel to be one of Minecraft's biggest successes?"
Success? What is success anyway? Is "success" a ten year old boy playing until his fingers bled and his arm screamed in agony or is it a senior buying pizza for his friends to celebrate a pivotal victory? Most of my "successes" were me saying "yes" and executing whatever tasks people wanted me to do. I felt my identity slipping away, but I kept doing it to hear people telling me that I did a good job, whatever that was. I became a copycat, a man with a mirror for a face.
The problem is? I need to be always on, always shifting. I need to charming, confident, funny, strong, talented and, in all other ways, the man people want me to be. Although I love the applause after a good performance more than anything, I want to be free to shut some of those qualities off and just be. It'd be nice to turn off strong and admit when I'm sad or scared or turn off talented and cheer on my friends in the audience. One of the attributes that I owe my successes to is that I can't help but draw attention to myself. Over the years, I've come to hate it. Despite having everything that anyone could ever want, I'm still not satisfied.
I wanted to tell Alana what I felt, honestly, but I ended up giving the same generic answer as always. I don't know how to be myself anymore. This is what you wanted, right? I'm just a face and a name to the lot of you. Keep demanding from me. All I can do is emulate anyway.
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
Come In (Steve)
After the last of the hardcore students left, I decided to work up the courage to go to Landon's place and ask him out. I can't exactly pinpoint when our friendship evolved into romantic affection, but it probably started when we tried to get coffee together. He ran off and I don't know why. Maybe he saw some press cameras that I didn't.
When I stepped out the door, a warm breeze blew past my face. I felt like a middle school girl seeing her first crush as I set out on the path. As if I were walking on air, my steps glided effortlessly along the sandstone road. It led through the jungle, which overflowed with ripe cocoa beans. The air was thick and muggy here, but I barely noticed, much less minded
I arrived outside the door and knocked. After waiting, I had no answer. I looked arou nd the house to find that the bathroom light was on in one of the rooms. That's unusual. I didn't hear the shower running or any other normal activity. I held my ear to the wall. What that...vomiting? I knocked on the wall, which is a way of asking if someone is okay if they appear to be in distress. I got no response. I knocked again. I could make out a weak, raspy "Come in" and more vomiting noises.
Climbing through the window, I found Landon hunched over the toilet puking up what seemed to be all the fluids in his body. He looked lighter than printer paper and sweated bullets as he heaved more from his gut. How can one stomach hold all of that? I bent down, scooped him up, and got his head out of the toilet. I took a moment to examine the contents of the toilet bowl. I didn't see anything that
resembled coffee grounds. Closing the lid and flushing the toilet, Landon sat against the wall still dry-heaving. This wasn't good. I hoisted him up onto my shoulder again and laid him down in his bed. My finger shook as I pecked out a sentence.
"I'll get you a doctor, okay?" I typed out a message to my friend and doctor, Andrew Lai.
Help. Landon's puking his brains out.
Not literally, I hope.
Not funny.
Okay. What's his height and weight?
5'11" and...160 lbs, I guess. It might be less now.
Age?
22 years
How is he?
Tired. He must have been vomiting for a while because, when I came, it was all just thin yellow stuff. After that came dry heaving.
Did he have a fever? I laid a hand across his forehead. It felt hot. I found a thermometer and took his temperature. It didn't seem bad, but it never hurt to check.
100.2. He looks terrible! How can I help?
Get a cold compress to deal with the fever and see if he has any Pedialyte lying around. He's likely dehydrated to the point where water just makes things worse. I scoured the cabinets for Pedialyte until I found an unopened bottle of cherry Pedialyte. Unflavored would have been ideal, but this would have to do.
After pouring a glass of the stuff, I went back over to the bedroom. I shook Landon awake and offered the Pedialyte. He looked at me to indicate that he needed me to hold the cup. As I put the cup to his lips, he sipped. I put it down on his nightstand and dabbed his forehead with the cold compress.
"Excuse me." Landon held a hand to his mouth and started retching. He started to get up, but I found a trashcan. He vomited some more, but hardly anything came out. I got a napkin and wiped his mouth. After that, I dabbed at his forehead with the cold compress and watched as he fell asleep nearly instantaneously. I rubbed his belly gently and slowly as the slightest bit pf pleasure crossed his face. I'd scrub the bathroom with bleach later. Right now, Landon needs me.
When I stepped out the door, a warm breeze blew past my face. I felt like a middle school girl seeing her first crush as I set out on the path. As if I were walking on air, my steps glided effortlessly along the sandstone road. It led through the jungle, which overflowed with ripe cocoa beans. The air was thick and muggy here, but I barely noticed, much less minded
I arrived outside the door and knocked. After waiting, I had no answer. I looked arou nd the house to find that the bathroom light was on in one of the rooms. That's unusual. I didn't hear the shower running or any other normal activity. I held my ear to the wall. What that...vomiting? I knocked on the wall, which is a way of asking if someone is okay if they appear to be in distress. I got no response. I knocked again. I could make out a weak, raspy "Come in" and more vomiting noises.
Climbing through the window, I found Landon hunched over the toilet puking up what seemed to be all the fluids in his body. He looked lighter than printer paper and sweated bullets as he heaved more from his gut. How can one stomach hold all of that? I bent down, scooped him up, and got his head out of the toilet. I took a moment to examine the contents of the toilet bowl. I didn't see anything that
resembled coffee grounds. Closing the lid and flushing the toilet, Landon sat against the wall still dry-heaving. This wasn't good. I hoisted him up onto my shoulder again and laid him down in his bed. My finger shook as I pecked out a sentence.
"I'll get you a doctor, okay?" I typed out a message to my friend and doctor, Andrew Lai.
Help. Landon's puking his brains out.
Not literally, I hope.
Not funny.
Okay. What's his height and weight?
5'11" and...160 lbs, I guess. It might be less now.
Age?
22 years
How is he?
Tired. He must have been vomiting for a while because, when I came, it was all just thin yellow stuff. After that came dry heaving.
Did he have a fever? I laid a hand across his forehead. It felt hot. I found a thermometer and took his temperature. It didn't seem bad, but it never hurt to check.
100.2. He looks terrible! How can I help?
Get a cold compress to deal with the fever and see if he has any Pedialyte lying around. He's likely dehydrated to the point where water just makes things worse. I scoured the cabinets for Pedialyte until I found an unopened bottle of cherry Pedialyte. Unflavored would have been ideal, but this would have to do.
After pouring a glass of the stuff, I went back over to the bedroom. I shook Landon awake and offered the Pedialyte. He looked at me to indicate that he needed me to hold the cup. As I put the cup to his lips, he sipped. I put it down on his nightstand and dabbed his forehead with the cold compress.
"Excuse me." Landon held a hand to his mouth and started retching. He started to get up, but I found a trashcan. He vomited some more, but hardly anything came out. I got a napkin and wiped his mouth. After that, I dabbed at his forehead with the cold compress and watched as he fell asleep nearly instantaneously. I rubbed his belly gently and slowly as the slightest bit pf pleasure crossed his face. I'd scrub the bathroom with bleach later. Right now, Landon needs me.
Sunday, April 16, 2017
All in a Day's Work (Alisha)
I hate the gifted/talented programs at some schools, not because I hate gifted/talented students, but because it's an easy outlet for the exploitation of gifted/talented students. Why is it that some schools, usually ones that vehemently protect students with intellectual disabilities, are quick to objectify and demean gifted students? I sent a few of my journalists out to find more answers on the age-old question, but I thought of the answers I had from personal experience as I sat down to try to fix the bad school lunch problem. There is no point in attempting to create healthy meals if they are not palatable or enough calories; a few slimy grapes and a cup of questionable tuna salad is not a suitable meal for a first grader even if said first grader manages to choke it down out of sheer desperation.
When I was a child, I envied Caitlin. She was celebrated for well, everything she did, even just existing. Naturally, I was incredibly jealous of her. I wished that I could sing or play the clarinet when she could do both and do them very well. I had no aptitude for either instrument, so I was stuck playing viola. I wished for her beauty and altruism. I wished that I didn't tower over everyone at 6'4". All because of my selfishness, she's dead. As much as I want to grieve properly, I need to get on with my work.
I've researched something called the "prodigy effect" for a while. Its effects become visible as soon as the "prodigy" is recognized, but the toll is most visible some time during adolescence. It comes in stages. The prodigy effect starts as a kind of pride and it either (1) completely falls apart due to an event or series of events or (2) results in chronic, excessive displays of pride akin to narcissism. The former is more common and, if the second does occur, it usually indicates that the fall is about to come. If the fall never occurs, the affected person develops a god complex.
The rest of my journalists are covering the Mindcrack suicide crisis. Some of the bathrooms looked like war zones--and I've been to schools situated right in the middle of some heated disputes between communities. Suicide is a common cause of death, but it does not usually occur on such a scale in such a short amount of time. Mass suicides like these are usually attributed to cults or fear of disease, but that doesn't seem to be the case with Mindcrack.
I redesigned the menu for the elementary school that served questionable tuna salad and went on to conquer other tasks. It's all in a day's work.
When I was a child, I envied Caitlin. She was celebrated for well, everything she did, even just existing. Naturally, I was incredibly jealous of her. I wished that I could sing or play the clarinet when she could do both and do them very well. I had no aptitude for either instrument, so I was stuck playing viola. I wished for her beauty and altruism. I wished that I didn't tower over everyone at 6'4". All because of my selfishness, she's dead. As much as I want to grieve properly, I need to get on with my work.
I've researched something called the "prodigy effect" for a while. Its effects become visible as soon as the "prodigy" is recognized, but the toll is most visible some time during adolescence. It comes in stages. The prodigy effect starts as a kind of pride and it either (1) completely falls apart due to an event or series of events or (2) results in chronic, excessive displays of pride akin to narcissism. The former is more common and, if the second does occur, it usually indicates that the fall is about to come. If the fall never occurs, the affected person develops a god complex.
The rest of my journalists are covering the Mindcrack suicide crisis. Some of the bathrooms looked like war zones--and I've been to schools situated right in the middle of some heated disputes between communities. Suicide is a common cause of death, but it does not usually occur on such a scale in such a short amount of time. Mass suicides like these are usually attributed to cults or fear of disease, but that doesn't seem to be the case with Mindcrack.
I redesigned the menu for the elementary school that served questionable tuna salad and went on to conquer other tasks. It's all in a day's work.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)