On The Color Red

I don’t like red. It’s too strong, too angry, too out there. I have red sock yarn, red like richness and comfort and autumn. I got it on sale, just because. It’s a lovely yarn, silk-wool-nylon and gorgeous. I’ll never use it. The color’s too off-putting. Red socks seem like something weird. Even if I cabled them up all pretty, they’d still be red. And red is bad. I’m not even sure why I dislike red so much. It’s not every red that’s an issue. I can deal with red in moderation: bright red stripes on a sweater, dark red jeans, a single perfect red rose. My hair was even red once: dark, beautiful auburn red, shiny and soft as the silk sock yarn. Another time it was almost orange, a vermilion like a cross between a pumpkin and a tomato. Those kinds of reds are fine. Real, fire engine reds are not. They’re not real. I’ve never seen that kind of red in nature. Real reds are deep, rich, layered. Fake reds are flat. And flat is bad. Flat is boring, one dimensional, not worth it. It’s just not worth those socks. Flat feet are almost as bad as a flat head, which is why neither my socks nor my hair are red. And that’s why I don’t like red.

What's Lost Is Found

Wow. It's been... two years? Two years, probably close to the day, since I started this blog. It's been a year since I posted here. It's been a year since I felt I had anything worth sharing, anything I could be proud of. That's changing. This year, I have writing, actual writing, that I want to display. Pieces I'm proud of, even if they're just about the color red, or my hair. I think I'll also use this space to show off my knitting (because I'm damn proud of it, that's why). So, whoever's out there, I hope you like this. Because it's what you're getting.

What Scares Me

Today I was at my old school's fall fair, and the 7th graders were selling used books. As I wandered by the table, I overheard a conversation between a parent and a teacher helping with the sale. One asked "Do you ever think that maybe, one day, we won't be able to do this? Will books become obsolete, something you only see in pawn shops or thrift stores?" The other contemplated for a moment, then replied "Well, maybe people will show up to things like this so they can buy books and show their kids. Or kids will come by and ask 'What are these? You used to read like this?'"

Thoughts like this one scare me. Will books in their printed form really become obsolete? I'm somehow inclined to think they will not. Maybe it's wishful thinking, or obstinate optimism in the face of the oncoming annihilation, but I truly believe that printed books will live on. There's nothing like holding a book in your hand, turning its pages, seeing the typeface and the little nuances in the text. Maybe the binding is a little different on your copy than on someone else's, or the paper is a different texture. You can't mark up an e-book, write notes on it, place flowers or memorabilia between its pages for later contemplation. The smell of a book can bring back memories, as can that little smiley face you drew next to a quote that resonated upon the time of reading. You can't spill coffee or water on an e-book and expect it to survive. That small stain on page 73 of your beloved copy of an old classic won't appear in an e-book. Those blades of grass you used as bookmarks won't exist. All that is good and comforting about being able to hold and feel and experience a book in a physical sense just isn't the same with an e-book.

But then I stop and think. Here's me, writing my thoughts on a computer. Cold, clinical type, not hand written, no small pieces of me embedded in a page. Only words in their most basic, impersonal sense. No sense of personality, other than in the reading and the execution of the writing. This poses an interesting question: am I hypocritical? Or merely judgmental? The fact that I may be undermining my own ideas really scares me. That, or I'm just over-thinking as usual.

Creative Writing

Creative writing. Is it an oxymoron? "Creative" implies making something new, and "writing" is the act of putting thoughts on paper (or in this case, on a computer screen). If all thoughts are new and different, isn't all writing creative? It's a conundrum.

School is starting to finish up, and with it English class. We've covered a variety of material this year, from Lillian Hellman's plays to personal essays and The Great Gatsby. These are classified as different genres- being plays, poetry, novel, personal essay, etc. But under the banner of creative writing, things get murky. Is creative writing based on ideas, or fact? Can an essay on Andrew Jackson be called creative? Is a play written in iambic pentameter creative, as Shakespeare took this style and made it his own? These questions must be considered, especially by English teachers.

For example, when our class was covering personal essays, we wrote our own personal at the end of the unit. I was all set for a great project, until I found out we had requirements. We had to base our essays off of quotes from the essays we had read. This made me think: is it creative writing anymore when there is a structure and required elements? If one were to design a creative writing course, would it be purely based off of things in the heads of the students, or would it have structure and regurgitation of other ideas? The questions are not easily answerable, but they are certainly something to ponder.

All I Think About

For the past couple of weeks, all I can think about is hair dye. Shallow but true. I have a feeling it's becoming an obsession- or is it now a part of who I am? I love having crazy hair. It helps me be more confident, even though I do get funny looks. I like to say that crazy hair is an expression of my crazy mind. That's true, but deep down I think it's because I want people to notice me. In the end, I probably live up to that stupid stereotype that teens do things to be noticed.

In the most basic sense, that's true. People do things to attract the attention of other people. This attraction happens in nature as well- look at peacocks. They flaunt their tails to attract the other peacocks. I'm a peacock, and I love it. A crazy haired peacock.

The only problem with being a peacock is that people see only that- the flaunting and attention seeking. Underneath though, is just a need to have fun. I love unnatural colors, the power and confidence they give me, and the fact that I can change my appearance at will. It's a lovely feeling.

The Generosity of Strangers

It always surprises me how wonderful people can be.

Today I arrived home to a package on my front porch. At first I was a little suspicious, as I was not suspecting anything. But after some pondering, I remembered that back in January I signed up as part of a traveling box called the Luggage (based on the Luggage from Terry Pratchett's Discworld), through an online knitting site/forum called Ravelry. I just put my name in, and was told to expect the Luggage at some point. Of course I promptly forgot about it.

Imagine my surprised when I opened the box. Inside the shipping box was a bag, and inside that back was a beautifully painted shoebox, made to look like the Luggage from Discworld.

Inside that box... well, wow. I had no idea people were so generous! The whole premise of the Luggage was to put in what you take out, but still. The contents were practically magical. Gorgeous yarns (I picked out a lovely blue sock yarn), treats (Kendall Mint Cakes- yum!), and various knickknacks and postcards. It just astounds me that people are so generous, putting in handmade yarns and stitch markers, expensive chocolate, and other beautiful items, all for someone they have never met. I feel exceptionally proud that I can participate in this kind of swap- I replaced the sock yarn with a skein of Merino superwash, and the Mint Cake with some chocolate. I also took a postcard, and put in a card with a pretty horse head on it.

There's also a notebook that goes with the Luggage, in which we're supposed to record what we took out, and just general thoughts. I didn't say how amazed I was by the generosity, but I hope it was still evident. Sometimes, people just make your day, even anonymously.

On Being Part of A Team

When I say "I row crew", the responses are usually:
1) Are you crazy?
2) Wow, that's intense.
3) What's crew?

So, to answer: yes, yes, and crew is rowing: fast, hard, and intensely (yes, this is grammatically correct- I checked). It's a completely crazy, hard, fun, passionate, team sport. It's also full body and will put you in the best shape you'll ever be in. Trust me on this. It's also the most intense team sport I've ever encountered. Each and every person has to give their all- when someone takes an off stroke in the boat, it's that much more work for everyone else. If someone doesn't lift the boat up, the other people have to take more weight. If you don't respect the coxswain, you'll crash.

For me, being on a team is a new thing. I've never been into the "team sport" thing, mostly because I've never liked the sports involved. I tried- and rejected- soccer, tennis, swimming, basketball, track, field hockey, and softball. I chose instead horseback riding, which is an individual sport on a very individual level. Crew, on the other hand, is something I'm fairly good at and a team sport, something previously unexpected for me. So far, it's working out, and I love it.