Lyndi’s Blog

lyndis-podcast

“It’s between you and me.” I said with delight to the Pendleton girl, my palms drenched in nerves.

We all sat hand in hand, hundreds of us, awaiting the fortune we all grinded our sweat, blood, bruises, and tears into. The announcer said, holding up the prize, “Fifth place…” not Thurston. “Fourth place…” not Thurston. I thought for sure we had at least third and with every placement the harder I squeezed and the harder they squeezed. I felt this burning hurt that emptied me and filled me simultaneously. A boulder that weighed on me and at the same  time, sucked the life out of me. “Second Place….” not Thurston? My heart sank. I knew Pendleton is and has been first place material for fire, now six and I felt immediately overcome with a blind rage, and embarrassment as I saw the stranger stand up with the excitement I should be feeling. Instead, sitting in disbelief, the hands loosened the grip for those who knew, and for those who were staying naive tightened ever more but for me, my mumbling prayers were over, the whole year was over, I was over. “First place….” their haunting music played over and over agian in  h heart. Shrieks of tears and screams of excitement broke out. We didn’t even get fifth and this reality hit us like a truck when we got back to the locker room. This pain, causing tears for most, was the most bittering experience of my life thus far. But how embarrassing, I just developed this unleashing  esteem, and there it lies, there it lays…..until next year.

I really like “Beyond The Chocolate Wars” by Robert Cormier; spoken by Tyler Brown on YaCast. LINK-
http://odeo.com/episodes/3522203-Beyond-the-Chocolate-War-by-Robert-Cormier.I was really impressed by the structure of the transitions, the calming factor in voice and in dialogue. I’m not sure if it’s just because I liked the song being played the last half, but I thought it was a great song to chose for their topic. They had 9-1-1 calls, arguments in the backgroud, and screechy tones and music: all while, it all fit seemlessly. The voice wasn’t overbearing, but you got your fill of all the necessary information to paint a picture of your opinion. I chose this Podcast because of the title, but, it was better than the more “classic” books. On a random note, I really liked the banging to introduce the character’s frustration, and also the cliffhanger at the end. Overall, I’m definetly interested in reading this book now.

I generally think that it’s convenient and quick, but should definetely not be considered sophisticated or by any means, your only sense of communication. It’s a resource, not a requirement. Sue me, but even though I am guilty of texting, I think that voices are better because then you don’t have the time to cop out of something, or be too clever.(Or is that a good thing) : ) . I probably send somewhere between one and thirty in a day. And it’s usually the same five or six people. Unless of course we strike up some really good gossip. : ) .  My answer to the question about texting making a difference in my writing, the answer is yes. As you can clearly see, I’ve already stamped on a few smiley faces and could hardly resist an LOL throughout the whole thing. I’ve actually thought about this before this blog post was an assignment. I have to say, with all of the NOW, NOW quickness texting has, it has slowly been translated onto my essays for school. I’m sure others disagree and it may not be true for them, but for me, I feel my writing has not improved over a summer full of texting. In class, I think it’s rude, unclassy, and distasteful to text, I don’t care if it’s your Mom and the dogs in surgery, plenty of people’s dogs had surgery long before texting was a phenomena, and I’m sure they were all happy k-9′s after the fact. I do think that if your coach or captain, maybe even a teacher sends you a reminder for something. That’s totally fine. Texting, in my opinion, is just one more hands off way for people to be something they are not always. They have all the time in the world to come up with a good excuse, flirt, deny, argue, and whatever else you can come with and this is harboring organic self  esteem. I think it should be for “bulletin” reminders and light conversation, not for any previously mentioned activities. You may call this thing a blog, but its really just a rant. : ) [There I go again with that smilie face]

A blog to me is similar to a diary, but is different in the sense that you are portraying your feelings in a way that is more outward and potentially  advice worthy. I  think that the whole stigma with older generations against the internet is derived from ignorance. When parents think that predators lurk around every web page, it’s the same thing as saying that all doctors are idiots because one out of every million surgeries, a cotton swab gets left behind. People tend to dwell on the negatives. That’s why no one is saying, ” Wow, that surgery went perfect! YAY.” That’s why it peeves most teenagers that they lose that trust with their parents, even though we know what we’re doing. It’s just one more thing that alienates us from our parents. So thank you ignorant people!

           I must say that I appreciate the opportunity to blog and to see others blog. It’s got the basis of competition of comments, only, the difference between, for example, Myspace and this is that it actually takes talent to get that affirmation, not the popular vote.

Blog Post #2 – Friday Fill-Ins

Finish the following sentence starters in your second blog post. Remember, these Friday Fill-Ins are intended to stretch your sentence building skills and your creativity. Feel free to think outside the box and use your imagination.

1. There is no need for ignorance. Being a kid is fun, but learning to grow up is our responsibility. Acting like school is chore and technology is a must saddens me because there is so much more to life than fitting in. Lord knows I don’t. : )
2. Where in the heck did the random acts of kindness go? Sitting down next to that kid who’s sitting by himself to make his/her day seems too humbling and awkward for most. But I’ve made my friends do it before and as long as you don’t treat them like a charity case, it’s beneficial for both parties.
3. Doing my homework and redoing homework to satisfy insatiable teachers is all I managed to do.
4. Prospects for my peer group committee; I’m sure my group will definitely take it seriously, I have faith in them.
5. I challenge all who read this to do something random and nice for someone who is a complete stranger is the message.
6. Simplicity and tranquility are only a reward, not a lifestyle.
7. It is definitely not Friday, when I was supposed to do this, but I went camping with my family in a cool little rv park outside of myrtle creek(kind of by roseburg). It was sweet and my first time camping in our new rv. Pretty stellar!

    A spoiling aunt, a big sister, an adventure seeker and fulfiller, a traveler, and a friend, my

Aunt Tami was all of the most splendid things, but a mother; she was not. She wanted, perhaps

needed, a child to the point where she had a nursery in-the-works. Being that Winnie the Pooh

was her fancied Disney character, who better to adorn a child’s first room? At thirty-eight with

discinerating hope and young nieces and nephews, she gave us the room that she combated with

hills of toys. This room, a piece of her, was indeed dedicated to youth. When I looked into this

rarely quiet room, it lost its magic, it’s lick of congeniality and homeliness. When my family was

outside, I peered  in a few times and the shell of this room was a lot darker. It had cloudy, small,

tile windows in the top corner of this cage. This cage contained my aunt’s flickering heart.

Lively as she is, all you surveyed was glossy, intercepted light rays shooting at the floor, with

dust particles adrift in the sea of warmth.

As I’m sitting with my now pregnant, happier, and serene aunt; we were watching, but of

course, Terminator. We were alone in an otherwise desolate silence; the day is calming down

from the excitement of discovering Tami was having a boy. But this news was not the good kind

of excitement, but a, “Now Lyndi, STOP crying,” kind of excitement. I cried of course earlier

being that I’m the only girl in my family under thirty-five for hundreds of miles and things still

weren’t going to change. But Tami can always deliver me from naivety.  As the smell of

microwave popcorn comically sits in the air around my face, forces drove my regret for eating it

so fast. Oh no, I just remembered my stomach aches again. I’ll just pull “The Wolf” up a little

more. This tattered, fraying old thing has been in my Uncle John’s family for an almost infinite

bounty of generations before him. It was gray and stringy, an alien fabric, but his American

Natives made this from hand in the places they once inhabited, therefore, this blanket inherently

becomes special. Plus, the smell of Downey is comforting for a family so helplessly obsessed

with cleanliness. But just how you call a fat person, “Just big boned, you’d call a germophobe,

“Just  a victim of Clorox.

“He kicked,” she uttered, her countenance beaming with pride.

In a panic of confusion, not knowing what else to say, I did what any other nine year old would.

“Can I touch it?”

“Of course,” she replied, her high continuing. As I reached my hand out to her warm

belly, I was hesitant I’d see a footprint slam out at me, David Beckham style. I figured I’d just do

it before the moment of parity lost its delight. Almost instantaneously, he kicked again. I looked

up at her in amazement and we both genuinely smiled. For this distraction, I relinquished all guilt

for throwing a tantrum earlier that afternoon. I knew she forgave me and that’s all that has

significance. No magic happened, no epiphanies, or the sight of our maker occurred later. We

just cuddled up once again, tightly under our scratchy, but warm  blanket. I collapsed, aimlessly,

deep into my pillow. I fell asleep to pleasurably smelling Downey Fabric Softener once again.

This memoir doesn’t particularly have an ending because the time for my life to end

hasn’t come and until then, neither should a glimpse of it. However, I can say that the Pooh

room, which has since been the Cowboy Nursery, a baby girl’s nursery, and now a computer

room, has never been dusty since. Well, that’s not completely true; the office has still been dusty,

don’t get me wrong, a house is never clean again after assembling a family of four. This once

heavy-aired, disturbing place is no longer a jail cell, imprisoning Tami’s happiness. Though,

poetically you may compare this room to my aunt, sheetrock cannot bear the joy of a mother, nor

can it embrace or disembrace a neglected soul. It merely can be refurbished to what you feel it

should portray.