posted by Black-eyed Susan

posted by Black-eyed Susan

Molly was a little quirky, but I liked her. She rode the same bus that I took every weekday to the subway station of New York City. We’d never spoken, but I knew her name was Molly because she wore an ID tag that had a picture of her with longer hair, and then her name, Molly Brown, in big square letters.

She never had on the same pair of glasses. Somedays she would have on a small square framed pair of glasses, with an intricately beaded chain holding them in place and dangling on the sides of her face. One day she wore huge circular sunglasses that gave her face a bug-like quality. Today her glasses were mirrored aviators, so I couldn’t see her eyes. I thought that perhaps they were closed, because she had headphones in and was nodding her head to a beat only she could hear. She didn’t use an iPod, but a walkman. I saw her reach into her bag and pull out a CD. She was listening to classical music.

I wondered if she couldn’t afford an iPod. She looked like she could probably pay for an iPod of she wanted one, so I figured she probably just liked the solidity of CD’s. Her phone rang, and I recognized the ring tone — Eleanor Rigby by the Beatles. I smiled, because I was a Beatles fan.

There was nothing flashy about Molly, but little touches like her ring tone, the fact that she had a CD player, her changing glasses; these things gave her a slightly off-kilter air compared with the rest of the people on the bus. This morning she payed the fare for a harried looking businessman who had forgotten his card one morning. She seemed unfazed when he thanked her tersely and jostled to his seat without a further word. When Molly caught me staring, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. I felt like I knew her, because I watched her closely on these half hour bus rides every morning with nothing better to do. I wondered where she worked, but never asked. I thought maybe she was a teacher, but she seemed awfully young, about in her mid-twenties.

“I like your glasses,” I remarked lamely. She turned towards me, startled, and didn’t smile for a few seconds. Then she took her earbuds out.

“Pardon?”

I blushed. “I like your glasses.”

“Aren’t they fabulous?” she agreed amiably. I sighed in relief, because she’d replied — not written me off as a psychotic weirdo.

“Very reflective,” I replied. “I’m Elizabeth, by the way.”

“I’m Molly,” she said, and I had to refrain from saying that I knew that already. “So do you get off at the subway and ride into the city after this line?” she asked politely, and I nodded.

“Yeah, I work at a little art gallery in Manhattan.”

And that was that. She smiled again, and put the headphones back in her ears.

Molly and I finally had a conversation of sorts. She gave off a charisma that felt like instant-friendship. Maybe I was just too lonely after moving to the big city.

The next day I got on the bus, and the seat where Molly had ridden for three months was empty.

posted by Iris

She put her big toe in the water and pulled it out immediately. She stood beside the water for a few seconds before announcing, “It needs more bubbles”.

Her robe was untied, and as she stood by the water, the end of the tie dangled over the edge of the bathtub in the mountain of bubbles that were already beginning to pop. The leg that she had used to test the water had little bubbles covering it up to the knee. A motherly woman who was standing by the door came forward with a calming smile on her face. “How many bubbles do you want, dear?” Her tone was more incredulous than questioning, but the girl acted like she was being asked a question.

“More. I want LOTS more,” She said emphatically.

The motherly woman clucked her tongue. “You already have more bubbles than water at this point, I don’t think we could possibly fit anymore.”

“Put them in the air! I want the colours and the smells! I want the little sound that they make when they pop! I want the air to be filled with bubbles!” She danced around as she said this with weird little shuffle-hop movements.

“Can’t we just make do with the bubbles we have for now?” The woman asked, still smiling slightly.

The girl continued to hop around the room saying,“Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!”

“We can’t—”

“Pop!”

“Use up all of the—”

“Pop!”

“Bubbles on just one—”

“Pop!”

“Bubble bath!”

“POP!” This last “pop” was exclaimed with great force, and she threw herself on the floor.

The woman looked down at the girl on the floor. She gave out a great sigh and scooped her up and plunked her into the bathtub. The girl gave out a shriek of surprise before she was engulfed in bubbles.

The shriek soon left her lips as she found herself encased in a shiny, iridescent world that went “pop!”

“Oooooooooh,” she exclaimed. The woman also gave another sigh, but this this one was a sigh of relief.

Where the bathroom had been so noisy before, there was silence save the quiet popping noise of the bubbles. The woman gently scrubbed the girl’s head while she was still distracted by the bubbles.

In time, the little globes of moving color began to disappear. The bathroom’s two occupants waited until the last bubble was gone. Then the girl climbed out of the tub without a fuss and consented to let herself be wrapped in a ducky-yellow towel.

“Aren’t you glad you saved some of the bubbles for next time,” The woman asked, gently rubbing the girl dry.

The girl blinked sleepily several times before answering. “Yes.”

Bedtime came quickly afterwords, with all the routines quickly and effectively followed. The princess nightgown. The lullaby. The tucking in. The goodnight kiss. The closet was checked for monsters. The woman got down on her knees to look under the bed to insure the girl that nothing would sneak out and grab her in the night. A nightlight was left behind, “just in case”.

As the woman began to shut the door, she heard the girl say one last thing.

“Pop.”

posted by Black-Eyed Susan

In the high school of TV dramas, girls are cliquish, mean, and drama queens. Guys only care about girls and what their friends think about them. Luckily for me, I don’t go to those high schools. I have the luck of going to a rather unique school. People spontaneously burst into musicals on the stairwells, guys carrying around guitars and singing during lunch and  in the halls is normal, football players sit with freshmen and use their lunch time to study, and we all actually enjoy going to school. Not to mention the fact that we get weekly 20+ minute breaks where we can do whatever we want to.

Nothing that people told me high school was like is true. The middle school teachers tried to frighten us about workload and “what to do about bullying”. Then the freshmen class teachers told us how much we’d have to study and stress over midterms, finals, APs, HSAs, etc. The upperclassmen and underclassmen get along well, and generally, we perceive these teachers as being, well, quite out of the loop about high school. I’m not sure if mine is a unique situation, or other students in other schools find it to be the same. Ours is an arts-centered school it seems, but I could just be biased.

My art teacher this year told us that one of the most important things we’ll learn all year in Art 2 GT is what exactly makes a person creative.

• Creative people are explorers.
• They refuse to think that there is only one answer.
• They aren’t afraid to look foolish.
• They don’t get nervous when there is no one clear cut path to take, they see the value in moving ahead in several directions.
• They’re decisive in making judgments.
• They’re not always logical.
• They are curious.
• They are warriors.
• They accept failure. (”If you’re going to fail, don’t fail halfheartedly. Fail miserably and spectacularly.” – Ms. B, my art teacher)

I try to keep this in mind as I go through school everyday, and I know my friends do as well. We see the potential in wearing hot pink cat ears, or a bizarre hat and fake glasses. Coloring with crayons isn’t an act of immaturity, it’s self expression and letting basic creative energy out. And if we want to skip down the halls, then by golly we’ll do it.

So don’t let anything hold you back, even if you don’t go to a school like mine. Meanwhile while you ponder this, I’ll be the girl having a great time wearing pink cat ears and talking Chfruslish (Chinese, French, Russian, English mix) with my multi-cultural and very interesting and bizarre friends about exactly how interesting and bizarre everything and everyone is.

posted by Temporary Unrealistic Name

East of Eden is arguably John Steinbeck’s most ambitious novel — in it, he sets out to recreate the biblical conflict of Cain and Able.

Well-written, complex, and ending with no resolution (typical of Steinbeck), I thoroughly enjoyed this book.

Perhaps my favorite character was intended to be Samuel Hamilton, a wise and perceptive immigrant from Ireland. Maybe Lee, the Chinese manservant with deep philosophies and loyalties was meant to draw my sympathies.

Certainly I’m not meant to like the “main characters”, morally ambiguous men through two generations who helplessly reenact the famous clash of Cain and Abel. They seem to have no idea where they wish to go in life, what they wish to do with what life dishes out at them, and all are manipulated — knowingly or not — by Cathy Ames.

Cathy Ames, Cathy Trask, or Kate — her three names throughout her life, is meant to represent Satan. She’s a thoroughly despicable character who consistently exhibits lack of morals and a penchant for violence. Why then, is she the only character I could stand? From an early age she had a goal, she knew what she wanted to be doing, and she pursued it. Cathy had no scruples, no morals, probably no sanity, and a very twisted sense of right and wrong, but at least she wasn’t living her life in a dither of indecision.

Every other character in the book made no decisions, and fairly let life pass them by in a haze of passion and apathy. As a result, Cathy stood out as the one character both able and willing to decide her life.

request East of Eden from Howard County Library
posted by Iris

The movie may be a classic, but it pales in comparison to the novel it was base on, Misery by Stephen King. Though difficult to get into at first, the ending is worth the struggle. There are many differences between the novel and movie, mainly the famous “hobbling” scene- which never takes place in the novel.

Annie Wilkes finds her favorite writer, Paul Sheldon, in a car crash in the snowy mountain banks. She takes him back to her isolated house to care for him, as his legs are shattered. Paul wrote romance novels–the Misery series–but has just finished his first serious novel, a book called Fast Cars about street kids. Annie always tells him that she is his “number one fan”. What starts out as fan adoration, turns dangerous and deadly as Annie is revealed to be not what she appears…especially when she finds out that Paul has killed off her favorite character, Misery.

This novel is a must read, though may be inappropriate for pre-teens.

request Misery from Howard County Library.
posted by Temporary Unrealistic Name

Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog is a charming comedy. Dr. Horrible (Billy) is played by Neil Patrick Harris, also known as Dooige Howser and Barney Stinson from How I met Your Mother. In this unique 43 minute musical, Dr. Horrible must make it into the Evil League of Evil, while winning the heart of Penny, his laundry neighbor at the laundromat. Meanwhile, Captain Hammer, the egotistical “superhero”, is getting in the way and Penny is falling in love with him. This movie may not be appropriate for children under 12, though.

posted by Temporary Unrealistic Name

Claire Voyante is used to the strange visions (she’s been having them her whole life) but so far, they’ve never seemed to mean anything. On her fifteenth birthday, though, this changes dramatically, when her debutante grandmother, Kiki, gives her a beautiful ivory and onyx cameo and tells her never to take it off. Suddenly, Claire is dreaming in black and white, and her visions are– well, they sure seem to be coming true! Of course, they don’t seem to be very useful, unless falling asleep in classes at her new school from the sleep loss they’re inducing was some goal of hers. But if she can stay awake long enough to make use of what she knows, she just might be able to stop an inter-family feud before it gets wildly out of hand.

The hideous cover and so-so summary really do not do this book justice– it is far better than it appears! Lauren Mechling, who you may know from the Social Climber series, does not disappoint in her first solo book. Don’t let the pink roses and tacky evening gown fool you– Dream Girl is neither fluff-filled nor gossipy, as so many of its lookalikes tend to be, but rather an intriguing and intricate melding of a detective story, supernatural adventure, and, okay, just a tad of the socialite drama one comes to expect from books written for the teenage girl niche these days. Mechling doesn’t skimp on description or characterization, and overall this book is definitely one to pick up…if you can bear to be seen in public holding such an ugly cover.

request Dream Girl from Howard County Library
posted by Bethany Davis

Bananas. The number one fruit in America. We can’t get enough of these sweet fruits that are quick and easy to eat. There is only one real problem with bananas, though. If you ever go to a cafeteria (especially a cafeteria with young kids), you will see at least one child struggling to open their banana. It gets passed down the table from person to person until it comes back to this unfortunate little scholar who then goes to the teacher. Finally the child has the banana open, but it disappointed to see that the top is all mashed up from all the attempted openings.

You would think that, with humans being so smart and all, we would have figured out how to open up bananas the easy way. I mean, we already have some expert banana openers to show us. (I am, of course, referring to monkeys).

So I won’t keep you in the dark any longer. The way to open a banana is:

1. Take the banana and flip it over with the stem facing to the ground

2. Pinch the very end of the banana lightly

3. Peel

It is that easy! After pinching the end of the banana, it should split open and you are saved all of the hassle of struggling to open the banana the wrong way.

We should listen to monkeys more often, it seems.

–Posted by Black-Eyed Susan