Colored Ink
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about me name: n/aaliases: kit, kits, kit kat, the smart girl, foxay, an chin age: 17 location: socal, usa hobbies: anime, manga, reading, writing, doodling, video games, french horn likes: all of the above, being lazy, mushrooms, cheese, animals, laughing loudly in public dislikes: nuts, stinging/biting insects, religious fanatics, violence, olives contact: coloredink@mailcity add .com wishlist playstation 220-30 gig hard drive car summer job a good night's sleep money stress-free life trigun dvd box set realistic wishlist dayworld by philip josé farmerkabuki by david mack over the rhine cd moxy fruvous cd hellsing dvd box set long-term obsessions anime/mangayaoi/shounenai clamp music animals life and living video games current obsession(s) schoolcollege currently reading the illustrated man by ray bradburycurrently playing ffviiiffx currently watching hana yori dango (20)gravitation oav (1) ayashi no ceres (11) utena (16) rayearth (8) gto tv (15) ccs tv (19?) blaze of mirage (3) star ocean ex (22) |
Thursday, September 26, 2002 [link] 10:08 p.m. listening to: Sarah Mclachlan album "Mirrorball" Football game today. Away game; free and relaxed and easy, no stress of a show. We played La Canada on their home turf for the first time. Their school has a pool. Their band is an impressive size and plays well--far better than we do--but their marching is very sloppy. The only ones who seem to have any idea of what they're doing is the drum line. The ride home was filled with thoughts of dragons, Stanos's childhood, his family, and the war. The line, "I would not love thee so much, deare, loved I not honor more." It is a very Stanos-esque line. Stanos, kneeling, kissing a cold-white hand. Stanos informing his parents that he is going to fight in the war. ("How many times have you shed? No, you are not old enough, but you will go, because we know that you will live and do us honor.") Then my mind wandered to the useful properties of dragon scales and unicorn horns. I think I may make a list for my website. And now I will eat my dinner, and then I will go to bed. Wednesday, September 25, 2002 [link] 02:25 p.m. listening to: Great Big Sea album "Turn" / Sarah McLachlan album "B-Sides, rarities, and other stuff" I have returned. I returned last night, actually, but I was so tired I just went straight to bed. Day One We depart at 5 AM for LAX. I am slightly giddy and very sleepy, having stayed up all night. The plane departs fifteen minutes late because we have to wait for a takeoff ahead of us. Still, we manage to arrive on time. George picks us up at the airport. He gives us a view of downtown Seattle from across the bay and treats us to an enormously expensive breakfast at a wonderful restaurant by the beach. I wish I remembered the name. Rachel and I are greatly surprised by Seattle hospitality; the kitchen has not finished preparing the gravy and the waitress gives us clam chowder for our biscuits, free of charge. Then we visit the beach, where I pick up a shell and resist the urge to charge headlong into the waves (I didn't want my shoes and jeans waterlogged on the first day). George takes us to Pike's Place, or the Public Market Place, which is something like Seattle's version of Fisherman's Wharf. A veritable tourist trap at the top of a ridiculous hill (the stairs were torture). She buys candy at the sweet shop; I purchase a Seattle keychain for my collection. We wander in and out, peering through a magic shop, an antique store, an arts and crafts place. We meet by the pepper wreaths upstairs, surrounded by syrups and jams and fresh seafood. During all the driving, Rachel and I are alarmed by the profusion of trees. There are trees everywhere; on the mountains, by the roadside, fringing the streets. To people from Southern California, where everything is desert and low shrubbery and yellow-brown grass, the inability to see for all the trees is very discomfiting. At last we return to George's house for a nap. His house is huge; three stories, easily large enough to fit my house and Rachel's house and still have room left over. The kitchen is larger than my living room; the bathroom of the master bedroom is twice as large as my room. Rachel and I scamper up and down the stairs and open every door, squeaking with surprise and awe. We take our pick of the guest room upstairs; Rachel claims what George calls the "princess room," with a high white bed and a lacy, filmy canopy and a tiny balcony. I take the room next door with a cool blue and green rug and a gigantic window with a view of the lake. My father takes the room that is left over, with a wood carving of a bear with a fishing pool and a TV. When Rachel and I wake from our naps, we discover that George's sisters have come over and cooked up a feast. It is the night of the Chinese Moon Festival, a time for family and food. We eat until we can eat no more, and then Rachel and I drag George out to see Spirited Away. It is a wonderful movie, full of magic and wonder, but do we expect any less from Hayao Miyazaki? Even George likes it. On the way home, George takes us across the bay again, to where we ate breakfast that morning, so that we can see Seattle at night. It is beautiful, the skyscrapers reflected in the bay below. I look up at the sky and realize that despite its beauty, I cannot love Seattle, for I still can't see the stars. Then we return home and sleep. Day 2 We wake fairly early to go hiking. George wants to take us around the lake. But once we actually reach the fork, my father decides that he has seen enough water and wants to go on the ascending mountain path instead. Rachel and I follow some way behind. The going is easy at first, but it gets progressively steeper. George and my father get quite far ahead, and after a while Rachel and I decide to turn back. We call them on my father's cellphone, and then go back down, trying not to fall head over heels as we do so. George and my father catch up to us on the way down. I don't remember what we ate. Afterwards, George drops Rachel and I off at the EMP: Experience Music Project. It is a museum of music history, excluding the classical masters and focusing on more modern legends such as Elvis Presley and Jimi Hendrix. We are given small, handheld computerish things that we use to point at the exhibits so that we can hear narrations about them. Most fascinating is probably the "Uncommon Objects" exhibit, which features common objects made famous by musical celebrities, such as Michael Jackson's glove and John Lennon's glasses. But the best thing of all is the sound lab upstairs, where Rachel learns the basics of playing the drums and I experience with playing the blues on a keyboard. Around us, other people are playing guitars with light-up frets or pounding on an amoeba-shaped table in the middle that makes different sound effects. We fling some more money at the gift shop and leave with terrible headaches. When we call George to be picked up, he advises us to stay some more at the Seattle Center and look around. But we're poor and are utterly convinced that everything costs money, and so miss out on the gardens and the fountain. We wander aimlessly, return to the gift shop to return an overly-pricey T-shirt that Rachel bought, and share a chocolate smiley lollipop that utterly refuses to be broken in half. Rachel attempts to bite it in half and only succeeds in hurting her teeth. Finally she resorts to gnawing away at her portion and gives the rest to me. Now that Rachel has money once again, we go up in the Space Needle. The elevator is operated by an utterly charming young man who introduces himself as Matthew. "I am a professional elevator operator," he boasts. "My mother's very proud. He informs us that the ride up more than 500 feet will only take forty-six seconds because we are traveling at the amazing speed of ten miles per hour, which is twice the speed of traffic here in Seattle. "And if you look to your left," he says, gesturing, "you can see a lovely view of downtown Seattle and Mt. Rainier in the distance." A beat later, "if you look to your right, you can see an even lovelier view of a concrete wall." And we are plunged into darkness. At the top, Rachel and I circle all the way around, taking in the grandiose view. I remark that I wish we'd come at night, when we could see the city lit up. We manage to procure a telescope and peer through it, and Rachel tries to find the movie theater at which we saw Spirited Away. Then we go back inside and look at the exhibits and things. We are once again escorted by Matthew on our way down. The gift shop, we discover, has exorbitant prices. I decide to buy the cheapest keychain they have, which is a small pen with "Space Needle" emblazoned in its side. But at the counter Rachel discovers a pen that shows a small floating elevator moving up and down the Space Needle. I am charmed and declare that it will drop my grade in Biology if I buy it. But I purchase it anyway, and we decide to name it Matthew. I call George again once we're out and he says that he will come and pick us up. Exhausted, Rachel and I rest inside a trio of brass sculptures that have hollow insides, rather like a tapeworm. We watch a carriage go by, drawn by a fidgety young colt. George calls us again, to locate us, and we're picked up and go home for another nap. George is surprised to find that we did not see the gardens or the fountain. George drives us through the University of Washington's campus, consisting of old-fashioned brick buildings. Rachel and I agree that the campus is quite beautiful. Because it is a Sunday there are not many people about, and Rachel and I are able to get out of the car and do a little wandering. But we're tired and want to go home, so we clamber back into the car after only a few moments. George takes us home and Rachel and I have another nap. I don't remember what we ate for dinner on day two, or what we did after dinner, for that matter. I do remember that Rachel and I go downstairs to George's massive home theater and watch Hellsing on an eighty-inch television screen while I attempt to fill out my college applications. Rachel is not feeling well. Day 3 We wake at 4 AM so that we can depart early for Vancouver. We're on the road by 5 AM. Rachel and I occupy ourselves by talking about trees and pointing out things like cows. But our view is severely restricted by the fog that we keep running into. Eventually we fall into some live roleplaying (original characters), which occupies us for the next half our or so. After about an hour and a half on the road, we eat McDonald's for breakfast. The border crossing is uneventful; the man doesn't even check our IDs. After half an hour we come to Vancouver, which displays distinctly un-American architecture and equal amounts of trees at Seattle. We pick up George's girlfriend and take her to the US consulate so that she can get a visa to visit George in Seattle. Since there is still time before we can check into our hotel, George takes us to visit Stanley Park. We go up to the top, a something Peak or a something Lookout, which gives us a gorgeous view of yet another bay. I buy a wooden keychain of a raven's head done Native-American style. Rachel buys a pair of amethyst earrings. My father purchases a pack of cards. The gift stop gives us Canadian change, and my father is greatly amused by ending up with more money than he started with. Rachel and I marvel at how there is Japanese on all the signs and practice our katakana by reading the ice cream list. George eats a hot dog. Then we get back into car and wander around Stanley Park some more. We visit the beach. I pick up a small conch shell and a larger oyster shell. Rachel chases Canadian geese and is amazingly not attacked. George rollerblades. My father takes a walk. Then we leave. We go to Robson St., which is apparently a huge tourist trap. But we don't get to go very far before George gets another call from his girlfriend. She meets us on Robson St. and accompanies us. Rachel and I are drawn to the Virgin records megastore, where I look frantically for Moxy Fruvous CDs. I find "Bargainville" but resist buying it, because I really want Live Noise. Rachel drifts upstairs to the book section, seeking Terry Pratchett books not available in the US. We are finally pried away from the Virgin megastore and go to eat Japanese food. Then George's girlfriend (who, oddly enough, has part of my Chinese name--Chien) takes us a Japanese food store that has a used bookstore in the back. There is no manga, but I find the Slayers novels for Rachel. She buys three. I make a casual search for some Vampire Hunter D, but otherwise find nothing I really want. Then Rachel and I are dropped off at MacLeod's Books, which is a gigantic used bookstore. I pick up copies of Atlas Shrugged, The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, The Iron Wolf, and Flowers for Algernon. Rachel is unable to find anything her father doesn't already have and we go to another bookstore further up the street, where I buy The Illustrated Man. Rachel is still unable to find anything she wants and we retrace our steps to Sophia's Books, where we hear more French spoken than we have ever heard in our entire lives. But Rachel still can't find anything, and at that point we're picked up to check into the hotel. Everyone naps. We go to a fine Chinese restaurant for dinner, which specializes in squab (read: pigeon). Rachel is persuaded to try it. She is also persuaded to try fried rice, steamed cod, and Chinese medicinal soup. Everyone is very amused by her inexperience in Chinese cuisine. We take home the leftover fried rice and lemon chicken, the latter of which I have become addicted to. We stop by Chapters on the way back to the hotel, which si apparently the Canadian version of Borders. Rachel finally finds her Terry Pratchett books while I discover a copy of The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man that is two dollars less than the one I bought. I extract a promise to go to the used CD store tomorrow from George. Then we go back to the hotel and sleep. Day 4 We wake at a not-quite-ungodly hour. The hotel provides a free continental breakfast. We eat and then check out and depart for the used CD store. I am still unable to find Moxy Fruvous (the nice salesgirl informs me that they're not mainstream enough), but I do pick up a copy of Great Big Sea's "Turn," Sarah McLachlan's "B-sides, rarities, and other stuff," and a Tom McRae CD that apparently has no title. Then we eat sushi. There are, by the way, a million sushi bars in Vancouver. I think there's at least one every block, except for one neighborhood that seems to consist entirely of furniture stores (I'm serious). Chien claims that this one is the best, and it probably does have the best sushi I've ever tasted. And the rolls are huge; the Alaska rolls are three times the size of "normal" sushi. We eat hastily, the rest is boxed, and then we're rushed off to the bus depot so that my father, Rachel, and I can catch the shuttle back to Seattle for our flight. We miss the one we'd planned to catch and instead end up driving nearly to the border so that we can meet the bus there. The border crossing is uneventful, thankfully. Then it is another long bus ride back to Seattle. Most of the passengers leave at the stop in downtown Seattle. Then we arrive at the airport. We check ourselves in (ah, the beauty of e-check in) and then settle down for a two hour wait until boarding. Rachel purchases some fries and chicken tenders at the Burger King, which she shares with me. Then I purchase some ice cream from Dreyer's, which I share with her. My father wanders around the airport. We board at last. Our seats are pretty much where they were before on our flight in: just behind the engine. It is very loud. I do some doodling, some reading, and I tell Rachel about my Slayers-esque world, since she hadn't read it. This time we're able to watch LA as we come in, since everything isn't shrouded by fog. I am amazed by how huge it is; it seems to go on forever, all orange and blue and white and green lights. (I hate LA with all that I am. But looking down on it from the airplane, I thought that I could love this LA a little, or that I could learn. Even if the starfields above are cold and empty, we have made our own here on Earth.) We claim our baggage and leave quickly; we are all eager to go home. Rachel is dropped off at home still wearing my bandanna. My father stops by Burger King for dinner, and then it is straight to bed for us. Saturday, September 21, 2002 [link] 02:28 a.m. listening to: big honkin' playlist Brief list of things to do before I leave: Make sure Mousie has plenty of food Put the bike in the back I'm sure there's more than that. Saturday, September 21, 2002 [link] 12:13 a.m. listening to: "Endless Love, Endless Road" - Final Fantasy X: Tidus and Yuna I'm waiting for my laundry to finish so I can pack. While I'm waiting, I've decided to do some rambling on my blog. Then I'll probably post where I need to post. With any luck, I'll get my site updated, too. I'm trying to stay up all night and just grab a nap on the plane. I've been learning cello lately. Have I discussed this? I'm not sure. But anyway, I've been learning cello. The bow makes my hand cramp up like hell. I can name all the strings and play the C scale and the D scale. Go me! I also figured out how to play "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." I'm auditioning for the Pasadena Young Musicians Orchestra on French horn. I'm nervous as hell, mostly because I have maybe four days to practice my audition piece when I get back from Seattle. I need to learn my scales, too. Augh! Well, Mr. Edo says they're dying for French horns, so maybe they'll let me in even if I suck just a little bit. If I suck a lot, well, there's no hope. I'm sleepy. Noooo! I can't be sleepy! I took a nice long nap after school today! Thursday, September 19, 2002 [link] 04:24 p.m. listening to: nothing I am on my way to a football game at East Los Angeles College. We will be performing our field show tonight. We will be marching, for the first time, on newfangled Astroturf. Please pray for our safety, because I have a feeling this ain't gonna be pretty. Thursday, September 19, 2002 [link] 02:58 p.m. listening to: nothing This is freaking cool. Visit. Now. Wednesday, September 18, 2002 [link] 08:59 p.m. listening to: "The Ocean" - Dar Williams I have to say, this fic is pretty funny. It is, yes, yet another Mary Sue Parody, this one set in the Harry Potter world. But really, can you ever get sick of Mary Sue parodies? Do not read if you are opposed to, offended by, or squicked by Harry Potter slash. Wednesday, September 18, 2002 [link] 08:26 p.m. listening to: "Tango Seranato de Schubert" - Buddha Bar So sleepy. I can't seem to really sleep nights lately. I don't get sleepy until after 11:00 PM, don't actually fall asleep until after midnight, and then wake up at 5:30. It wasn't so bad the first night, but after a while it's kind of a strain. Argh. Suckage. I'm in something of an ethical quandary. I told all my teachers, see, that I'm leaving on Friday, because according to the original plans we were supposed to leave on Friday. But when we bought the tickets the only departure was on Saturday. I really, really don't want to go to school. And it'd be very easy for me to ditch; I can easily write a note for myself out of school, and I have a friend who'd easily be able to pick me up and drive me downtown or wherever. But should I ditch? I'd feel really bad. And Rachel's not going to ditch because her mother will kill her, and that makes it very difficult for me to skip out, because we're supposed to be going to Seattle together. Argh. I guess I'll see if I can't convince my father to let me stay home and, I don't know, fill out college applications or write essays or something. Something productive and useful. But school has just gotten horribly tedious. I go to school, listen to the teacher lecture, go to my next class, listen to the teacher lecture, and then--just for a change of pace--listen to my next teacher lecture, too. Granted, Dr. Jang's lectures are pretty interesting (he doesn't lecture by the book). But I don't feel like my being at school really accomplishes anything. And if I can't convince my father? . . . I dunno. He trusts me not to do anything dumb. He's also really strange and encourages me to bend the rules, but I can never tell what he wants. Sometimes he gets mad and sometimes he doesn't. I don't want him to be mad at me. He's yelled at me exactly three times in my life, and all three occasions were incredibly unpleasant. And boy, if I get caught ditching, he's never going to let me forget it. Gaaah. Still sleepy. Must read Government book. |
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