Attempt yet fail terribly

Use dictionary.

I really wish that I could write brilliant haiku the way that some people can. For example I wish that my “about me” on my face book profile, as well as that little box under my picture contained haiku, if for no other reason than the fact that people would look at my profile and think to themselves “This one is different. She does her own thing in an intelligent way. Though when I reflect on it, I realize that most people I know think that I am eccentric to the point that I should be committed, and the ability to write haiku probably won’t help the cause. Still I have an intense admiration for anyone who can create poetry and beautiful thoughts in the standard 5-7-5 syllable pattern. I challenge you, write a haiku. Post it here. Have fun. Create. 

Much love,

Victoria

Happy Bastille Day! If you are unfamiliar with Bastille Day, it is the anniversary of the taking of the Bastille (a French prison), which was the beginning of the French Revolution. While I don’t condone the French Revolution entirely (too many people died unfairly), it is the a holiday that allows me to wear a beret, which few holidays do, thus I celebrate Bastille Day. The only problem I have with the holiday (excluding the gore that follows, of course) was the fact that it takes place in the summer. This constantly vexed me as French student because the Spanish students got several holidays during the school year, allowing them to take a break from conjugating verbs, which French students had the constant drudgery of high school (though I did love foreign language classes) without the momentary release of a class party. At any rate, happy Bastille Day! Wear a beret, eat an a éclair, do something French.

Images courtesy of wikipedia.

First of all, allow me to apologize for disappearing from the blogoverse for so long. Between the week with my grandmother in the hospital to two weeks of wonderful camp at Lakeside, I really haven’t had time to update very often (okay, ever). I’ll try to never let this happen again. But I’m off topic. Ariel suggested this (along with other things I will use) when I asked her for suggestions, and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of this one yet. I love independent films, particularly those which are either a) foreign or b) don’t fit into a specific genre (other than independent, or course) or c) all of the above. Independent films have always had a great deal of appeal to me because of the thought that the creator of the film did all of the work behind it, and they didn’t sell out. I would like to make my own films someday, though I don’t have that much free time, so I’ll probably settle for dating an independent filmmaker (almost as chic as dating an Italian anarchist without all of the messy criminal implications).

I had no idea what to put for the picture with this post, there are so many great independent films, so I decided that I would just add a self portrait where I’m wearing my maroon beret, because it seems fitting enough.

    If this post offends you, please forgive me. I am not making fun of nuns by any stretch of the imagination. On the contrary, I am applauding a recent brilliant strategical move that they have made. You see, I have recently been informed that nuns no longer have to wear habits. At least some orders do not. If you do not see the brilliance of this move, ask yourself this question: “When was the last time I swore in the presence of a nun? Or, for that matter did anything unholy in the presence of a nun?” For most people the answer is never. Really who does those things around nuns? It is an inherent quality of nuns is that their very presence make those around them behave like better people regardless of their religious creed. Now the nuns have gone stealth. The concept strikes me as surprisingly similar to undercover police. Think about it (this isn’t just paranoia). Any woman could be a nun (well, almost any), so you could be swearing in the presence of a nun and not even know it. The only way to be certain you aren’t is to not do it. This is panopiticon model of nun-ness (if there is such a word). 

While I applaud the stealth nun idea, I still sort of want to join The Daughters of Charity because of the fun habit.

Image courtesy of wikipedia

     Today I spent several hours in a hospital waiting room (My grandma has been sick, hence the lack of posts the past week) putting together a puzzle. I think this is probably just another example of how I’m  trying to (somewhat pathetically) relive my lost childhood, though it was nice to get a way from books for awhile, since I’ve been reading nonstop since probably the beginning of the summer (though I am thoroughly enjoying both Jane Austen and Sherlock Holmes).

(Image courtesy of wikipedia)

In other, unrelated news, the coffee kiosk at the hospital is decent. I would say that it is better than a Starbucks, or any other chain coffee shops, though not quite to the level of most of the locally owned coffee shops I prefer.

   In the world of orange juice there is one that stands above the rest. That is Valencia Orange juice. While it may cost over 4 dollars for a half of a gallon, it is absolutely worth it. Valencia orange juice is pure orange and pure awesome. No other orange juice is this pure, or this delicious. It is the magic elixir for colds and the flu (I know, I’ve tried it), and unlike other orange juices, it never tastes fake.\

    I like Bison. They are particularly adorable when they are babies, and are still sort or wobbly. Wobbly bison babies are so far beyond cute that I actually want one, and I have nowhere to keep an animal of that size. I was watching The Discovery Channel’s special on Yellowstone earlier this evening, and that program prompted this appreciation day. I realized how much I love baby animals. This is how I wound up with a kitten that attacks my face and a dog that will probably soon weigh as much as I do. Alas, I am off topic. Bison are awesome. I wish more people would appreciate animals, even those that don’t grow up to be quite so cuddly (You would never cuddle a full grown bison. Trust me on this one).

Wobbly baby bison photo courtesy of Google images.

    Toucans are colorful, and I like colorful things. That is probably the only reason why I didn’t keep hitting “random article” until I found something else. I love rainforests and rainforest animals (read: every time I type the word rainforest, that familiar little red line appears underneath it. Spellcheck, I despise you.), though I’m not a big fan of rainforest insects. There was a rainforest exhibit at the zoo that I went to every summer as a child, and I could have spent all afternoon in that exhibit. Seriously, it was the only part of the zoo that I would be heartbroken not to see. I don’t think there were toucans, but they had pictures. I seriously do want to venture to the rainforest one of these days, though the whole insect thing kind of bothers me. I’ll figure out a way, I sure.

All images courtesy of wikipedia.

In another exhibit of Victoria weirdness, I like thunderstorms. I’ve never actually been scared of them, and I’m not entirely convinced that this is a completely good thing. I have little survival instinct and I’m rarely convinced to come inside. I like the sound of thunder, I am impressed by lightning, and I love rain. There is a certain majesty to them. I can appreciate them aesthetically, odd as that may be. I get adrenaline rushes from the storms. I once had to run home (or to my room at band camp, rather) in an intense storm. I was thrilled. The scarier, the longer, the better. I am a very strange person indeed.

Images courtesy of wikipedia.

     When I was about 4, I decided that I was going to be a detective when I grew up. This was actually my longest career plan, as I can distinctly remember still looking for clues to what I thought was a grand mystery when I was in second grade. It may have even lasted to fourth grade, my detective ambitions. That was when this thing called reality entered the picture and taught me that there aren’t detectives like Sherlock Holmes (or his Disney equivalent, Basil of Baker’s Street, the Great Mouse Detective) anymore. I still think this is a shame. If I were to be brutally honest, I would be forced to admit that if there still were detectives like that, I would probably drop philosophy this instant in favor of sneaking about the murky London underworld, discovering the truth behind such strange cases as The Hound of the Baskervilles and The Speckled Band (The Ohio Center for Law Related Education actually has a Middle School Mock Trial case based on this one). But I should be getting back to Sherlock. I think the greatest appeal of Sherlock Holmes was his mind. While he had powers of observation that were unmatched, one must also attribute some of his detective skill to his intellect. The fact of the matter is, the man was brilliant. Bloody brilliant, in the spirit of all things England. Some of the things he attributed to simple observation required a knowledge that few people possessed. For that reason, I will always love Sherlock Holmes. 

And, because I cannot resist having a Disney homage:

Both Images courtesy of wikipedia.

P.S. (a note on how annoying spellcheck is): The word “Sherlock” is recognized, the word “Holmes” (common enough last name) is not.