The Law Breaking Challenge of 2011

It's kind of a funny story...
In ten days, I will be seventeen. It turns out that you don't actually really get anything awesome when you turn seventeen. Y'know, like, when you're fourteen, it's the legal age of consent. When you're fifteen, you can have a permit, when you're sixteen, a license. When you're eighteen you can vote and actually be a citizen and buy cigarettes and porn. But seventeen? Nothing. Nonetheless, it seems so much cooler than sixteen that I'm bursting with Obnoxious Birthday Excitement (hereby referred to as OBE).
Last night at debate, we were discussing the new resolution (In the United States, juveniles charged with violent felonies ought to be treated as adults in the Criminal Justice system), and it came up that in the United States, most seventeen-year-olds are treated as adults already. In response to this fact, I burst out with OBE, saying "HEY! I'm seventeen in ELEVEN DAYS. Or, ten days and five hours..." And then, after a minute of thought, I made up my mind.
It went something like this...
"Guys! Let's go do illegal stuff! I have ten days and five hours before I'm treated as an adult LET'S GO!"
A: "Or we could just work on our cases."
B: "What kind of illegal stuff did you have in mind?"
I immediately blurted out, "Drugs!"
But not actually, because somehow, I don't think I would fit well into the role of heroin addict.

But all of this led to some interesting mind bubbling and brewing. I decided to fuel my OBE with a challenge. A good challenge, because I like them.

Welcome to the Law Breaking Challenge of 2011.
Haven't heard of it? That's because I made it up. In the next ten days, I will try to break as many laws as possible.
These may include, but won't be limited to:
-Not bringing a shotgun to church (in case of Native American attack)
- Driving (no license!)
- Walking outside naked at four in the morning
- Walking a dog on a leash more than eight feet long.
-Spitting out of a second story window

What's Happening? Well, I'll Tell Ya What's Happening...

I honestly have never been a fan of Thanksgiving. It makes me feel gluttonous, and means we have to clean.

But this year, it's not so bad. Especially since the break from school was well needed (yeah, that whole thing about Junior year being from hell was preeetty much true). Tuesday night, my friends and I partook in what will surely become a great tradition. We settled in together with cocoa and blankets, a wholesome scene, to be sure...and watched Thankskilling. Great choice guys. Really, it was classy. I recommend it to all who don't mind awful acting, bestiality, and profanity.

This was followed up by an extremely chilly game of Turkey Disc. Everyone who showed up gets an intensity medal, just for being there. It was snowing slightly, and the mud was freezing beneath our feet, but we trooped on, if only to preserve our dignity.

Tuesday, my creative writing teacher told us about the Turkey Trek happening in the City Forest. Four miles, at your own pace. Bring food for the food cupboard. Eight AM. I tentatively raised my hand to say I might show up. And for some disgustingly strange reason, I got up this morning at seven, and did it. The only reason I went was because I convinced my friend to do it with me, meaning that I couldn't back out without being a wuss. Speaking of dignity...

So I hopped on my bike, and rode to his house (coldest ride of my entire life, by the way), from where we drove out to the forest. Four miles doesnt seem like much, but I am nothing of a runner. Zilch. No running. Not since I quit track my freshman year. Once or twice a year, I'll convince my gullible self that I can run, and that it will make me a better person, but it ends with me going for a few (slow and taxing) runs, hurting my lungs or my achilles, and then calling it good. Beyond that, I disc. The. End.

So, God only knows what I was doing in the middle of the woods on Thanksgiving day at eight in the morning with running shoes on. We jogged and walked alternately, because my asthma didn't respond well to the weather, but I did it, and that's all that counts, right? [I almost have myself convinced that I'm a runner now. Becca, you champ!]

On a mostly unrelated topic, I have a cat.

Sort of.

One of my friends has a cat, who has downsyndrome. Or, at least that's what they presume, because she's really really really stupid and has crossed eyes [thanks very much, siamese inbreeding]. Her name is Squeaky [actually, it's Miko, but she only responds to Squeaky], and we were meant to be.

So, she's on loan. We've taken to calling her Squawky, because that's more what her little "MAOW MAOW"s sound like. Little Squawky thought that five thirty was an excellent time to come into my room and squawk at me for a half an hour. This means war.

Thoughts on the Beginning of Winter, as Snow Drifts Lazily By

I'm in the library, where I am dreading even this two-day week.
Soft, speckly snowflakes are traipsing by the large windows, and I am ready for christmas music.
I like Christmas music, at least in the beginning. It's all so hopeful and charming, and it's all about the times that I love. But, I refuse to start listening to it until after Thanksgiving. Some radio stations begin playing it even before Black Friday, but I won't, won't, won't turn them on. It's got to be properly cold, properly initiated, properly begun.

The world is so beautiful in snow, and I'm wondering if that's because the ugliness of the ground is covered up, and beautified in the glistening, blinding white, or if it's because the cold, hostile winter brings hope of an even more beautiful spring.
I love winter, not just for the snow and the chaos of the season, but also because it means needing to snuggle up inside, and drinking hot cocoa, and it means that we have to find adventure for ourselves and hibernate in each other's company. Maybe that's why it's beautiful.

The Acadia Challenge, or, We'll Just Butt-Slide Down This One

This past Sunday, I went with a few friends to Acadia. Acadia national park is probably the best known park in Maine, besides Baxter (but that's only because of Katahdin). In the summer months, Mount Desert Island (where the park is housed) is swamped with nature-going tourists. It's a really lovely park, mostly wild, with trails and bike paths and natural wonders scattered throughout.

A few weeks ago, I was talking with a friend about how we ought to go hiking more, as we both want to someday thru-hike the Appalachian Trail. But it's getting late in the season for hiking. The air has turned cold and harsh, and mountains will be crusted over with ice. So we took this as our last opportunity for hiking before we'll have to switch to winter gear.

Mission: The Acadia Challenge

-Hike as many mountains in Acadia as we can in one day.

So, the three of us set out wicked wicked early to get to Acadia in time for the daylight. We could see our breath as we began, and I hadn't bothered to take off my pajamas- I just put the fleece pants on over my hiking shorts. We started out on Bald mountain, then, over the course of five hours, peaked at Parkman, Sargent, Penobscot, North and South Bubbles, Pemetic, and the Triad. There was another peak somewhere around Bald, Parkman and Sargent, but it wasn't expected and isn't on the map. Nine mountains, in just under five hours. We only covered about (with finger guesstimation and a map) ten miles total, but a lot of those miles were steep uphill or leaf-covered, cliff-side downhill. Around Sargent and Penobscot, we had to choose between a steep, watery trail, and another one that featured iron rungs down a cliff face ( we opted for the steep one. Iron rungs in cold weather could be disasterous). On another ( Pemetic, maybe?), the choice was between the ravine trail and the ledge, a series of near vertical, smooth granite patches that we had to scramble up. The scariest part though, was going down steep boulder-ridden mountain sides covered in leaves. They've been left, since pretty much no one is going to be out hiking by now, and they'll disintegrate over the winter. But they make it very difficult to know where to put your feet, and it's tricky walking over them, because it's easy to lose your footing.

After our ninth mountain, we went down a side trail towards Jordan Pond House, where we were meeting our ride, and ignoring the signs about wading and swimming and no body contact, we hopped out to a large boulder off the shore of Jordan Pond on smaller rocks, and sat, drinking in the sight of all of the mountains we had just cruised over. It was a good feeling, despite the aches in my ankles and knees, knowing that I had just climbed all that, and been able to keep up with my significantly taller friends.

Next Mission: Winter Hiking in Virginia

Confidence level: Non-existent.

Our path, but on the trails, of course.

This is Just to Say

This Is Just To Say

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold.

- William Carlos Williams

This is Just to Say

I had injected

those plums,

which you had expected

to delight

your stomach,

with arsenic.

Forgive me,

but my

immunity has been built,

and you should

have known better

to leave someone else's plums

well enough alone.

---

This is just to say

just in case

those plums were a metaphor,

I too have eaten

The Plums.

Your two plums,

to be precise,

which you were

probably hoping

to indulge in

in the near future.

Sorry.

[In case you have failed to understand

the subtleties of my metaphorical sarcasm

in this note to you...]

I must tell you frankly.

Forgive me:

But you should take

better care of your Plums.

They were so rotten

and so bitter.

---

This is Just to Say

I stole your heart

last Friday night

even though

you were probably

trying to keep it

until you could

steal mine.

Forgive me.

It was so warm

and so flattering.

---

This is Just to Say

I stuck a marshmallow

on your back

in second grade.

Your mother was

probably mad

[definitely perplexed]

when the sticky goo

held on tight

to the fibers of your teeshirt.

So sorry.

But the look

on your face

when you found it later that night

was so sweet

and so gooey.

---

This is Just to Say

I redug the hole

in the middle of the park

after you had

filled it up,

probably because

you were scared

of being swallowed in

by its immense girth.

I am

so very sorry.

But forgive me,

because

I like that hole,

and I look at my feet

when I walk.

---

This is Just to Say

I found your note

concerning the plums.

Forgive me.

I cannot marry you.

Exciting stuff and things! Stuff and things! Excitement!

It's a gubernatorial election year. Woooohoooo.
Yeah, I know, not super exciting. But! It does allow some exciting things to happen. For example, last week, a "debate" (more like a Q&A. Not a single one of these candidates would stand a second in a real debate round) was held at my school for the candidates.
Debate team kids got free tickets. I don't really remember why, but I think their line of thinking was that the geeks are also politically minded. Oh. 'Kay then.
That's not that exciting though.
What's exciting is that next week, we're hosting another one. But the students are running it! And, because geeks are politically minded, the debate team is heading it up. We'll be moderating online chat rooms, where people can discuss the issues and send in questions, greeting people and candidates, helping some with press, and moderating the debate.
Yup. Geeks are politically minded.
So, I'll be moderating the debate. The hardest part will be refraining from asking pointed and sarcastic questions.

Fight, Fight for Victory Today, or, I Thought My Principal Would Kill Me, or, Flubber Neck.

Yesterday, I was privy to a conversation between my father and another teacher.
It concerned several policies that our superintendent imposed involving the debate team and the specifics of how we get to the NFL national competition. I'd heard about them before, but I'd forgotten about them entirely until they were brought up yesterday. The policies are as follows:

-Coaches who are also staff members of the school system cannot attend a regional or national competition with a qualifying student if that competition falls within the school year (Relatively reasonable. But our competition falls in finals week. A robot could give an exam). Parents will attend the competition with the child (At a national debate tournament, we must provide a qualified judge for our qualifiers. A parent doesn't meet those requirements).

-As a team, we cannot fundraise for nationals. We also are not allowed to use our budgeted funds to sponsor our trip to the national competition. So, these two policies combined means that the full burden of paying the fees of a national trip falls on the parents, which creates a hierarchy among the qualifiers: Those who are wealthy get to debate at a higher level.

*I need to make it clear that by changing these policies, the debate team, or any other club or team, would not recieve any more money than they already do from the administration and taxpayers.

Well, hearing about the injustices again fired up my passion against our superintendent, who I disagree with on most things, and who strikes me as prime material for the role of Scummy Politician. I'm sure that she's a nice person. But I don't get along with most anyone who's got their fake smile plastered on 24/7 and speaks with the oral skills of Hillary Clinton. So, I resolved to send a letter to the superintendent, presenting my entirely logical arguments, and starting up a campaign to change these policies. If she doesn't explain any valid reasoning behind her decisions, or doesn't respond to the letter, then I'm going to attend a school board meeting to present a speech about the issue. I think it's important. Maybe it's not the top priority, but it's still important, and ought to be changed.

So, I spent the better part of yesterday afternoon writing my letter. I've never written a formal letter before, and I had to google it to make sure I was doing it right. I wore my Harvard baseball hat, because it made me feel smarter. Dad helped me some by offering objective information about how we funded our trip (Dad is a teacher and the debate coach. Sooo, a little bit of bias, but what can you do?), and proper protocol in a situation like this. He pointed out that it would be proper to run this by my principal before sending the letter. Woah, woah, woah. Stop right there.
Run it by the principal? I almost ran and hid under my bed at this suggestion. It's not like I was doing anything wrong, but then again, you probably haven't heard my principal's reputation. I go to a big school, and have seen him around maybe once or twice.
You have to know a few things about the man I will hereafter refer to as Mr. N.
Mr. N is old. Very old. He's pretty much been here forever.
Mr. N likes to glare. A lot.
He has a lot of liverspots, and those liver spots glare too.
Last year he had his picture on the front page of the paper. He glared in that picture too. I think he wanted to look special for such an occasion, so he folded his arms over his chest to accessorize the look.
A few years ago, he rolled his lawnmower, and broke a leg, four ribs, and punctured a lung. He was going to retire after that, but no one wanted the job. That's because no one in their right mind would want to be principal of a high school. I've always been convinced that Mr. N took the job and keeps the job because he's strict and militant enough to get away with doing it without being terribly involved.
I knew that to make sure that all of the administration knows I mean business, I had to bring the letter to Mr. N. So, I printed off two copies. One to give to him, and a back up in case the lasers that beam from his eyes toasted the first when he tried to read it. I went to the office today, and asked if he was in, and they told me to go check, hardly looking up from their Very Important Business. So I peered into Mr. N's office, which I have never been in. Somehow, I always thought it was between the offices of the two assistant principals, which are on the edge by the hallway, and have an outermost wall made of bulletproof glass (my freshman year, some kid threw a stapler at one of the assistant principals through the bulletproof glass. I guess it's not staplerproof). But instead, it's tucked in a corner in the innards of the main office. The only reasoning I can think of behind this floorplan is that the principal can make a quick escape out the window if someone snaps and starts shooting the school. The room seemed larger than the other office, and Mr. N's desk was in the middle. The first thing I noticed was the jar of M&M's in front of his computer. They seemed to contradict everything I had heard about him, and so I straightened up, ready to deliver my Very Important Letter. The setup seemed similar to that of the Oval office, and Mr. N ruled supreme in his own little office. His bloodhound's eyes glared up at me from underneath liverspotted overhanging eyebrows, and his mouth seemed to be permanently droopy. I was concerned that it would just...slide off his face. I handed him my letter, briefly explaining its contents, and sat in one of the simple, assembly line chairs lined up a good five and a half feet from his desk. They were in a perfect row, not touching the wall, and far enough away from Mr. N that he could probably tell when students (or staff) tried to text in his presence. He leaned his soft, jello body back into his office chair, and commenced in reading my letter, which I had handed to him before sitting. As he read through, his head moved with his eyes, looking like a short pendulum, as if to say, "Yes, I am reading this. One. Line. At. A. Time". His jowels flabbed up and down, like he was chewing something. Possibly his tongue. Maybe he liked gum? I pondered the sorts of gum that Mr. N might favor, and decided that he was a Big Red kind of guy, because it was strong enough that his geriatric tastebuds might be able to almost taste them. As he chewed, the drooping sides of his face morphed into one fleshy ocean with his saggy chin, and then became seperate again as his teeth were brought together. The transition fascinated me, and I wondered how long the structure of his face had been able to change shape, like Flubber. Finally, after an eternity of trying to not stare too hard at the wrinkled curtains of skin, Mr. N put the letter down, sat up straight and said to me, after a pause, "Very well done".
I think I might have exploded a little bit in gratitude. I had been so nervous.
Mr. N continued on to say that he wasn't sure of what the superintendent's reaction would be, but that her decisions probably had to do with the budget cuts. I refrained from pointing out that we weren't asking for more money, and instead took my letter back (unsinged), thanked him, and went on my way.
If I get my way with this thing, I might send him a pack of M&M's.

Adventures at Four AM

Summer's been flying by, and I'm not sure I'm okay with that.
Slow down, I was just getting to know you!

A couple of my friends and I took a trip to Stockton Springs to see the sunrise a few weeks back.
This involved leaving around four a.m., which we handled surprisingly well.
The way down was extremely foggy. But it was very strange, because at some points it would be so foggy you could hardly see through the windsheild, and then in a few yards, the line of vision would be almost completely clear. It's a very nice drive, though. I forget how cute rural Maine can be.
We arrived just in time to see the sun rise through the heavy fog, which made a nice effect, and we went for a dawn swim.
All-in-all, a very good time.
We also headed over to Sears Island. Half of the island is cold water, like Sandy Point, but then the other half of the island, used often for clamming, is all warm water, because it's where the Penobscot River meets the ocean. There were a few old men out clamming when we got there, but we picked our way over farther on the beach and waded into the ankle deep waters. Much to our surprise, there's a large population of hermit crabs living there! They may have been two different varieties, but I can't be sure. Some of them were large, orange and fuzzy, and then others were smaller and brown. I think though, that the orange ones may have been the males, and the brown the females, because of the way the orange ones were dragging the others around. I'm curious if this is a part of the mating process.I had also never actually seen clamming flats before, or not for a very long time. I was surprised every time I saw a spurt of water. One of them even spurted right underneath my foot! Despite my persistent attempts, I wasn't able to dig any up.
At the end of our trip, we made a pitstop into a curious attraction. We kept seeing signs for the Book Barn Used Bookstore, so we decided to detour and check it out. It's literally a barn in the back of this guy's house. When we walked in, I almost fell over. The inside of the barn resembled a labyrinth. There were shelves of books up to the ceiling, and piles of books on the floor up to my waist. The entire barn was full of it. The owner sat at his desk and made small chat with customers- but I never actually saw anything except for the smoke from his pipe, because he was obscured by the many mountains of books surrounding the desk. I encourage everyone to go to this place if they ever get the chance. I could have stayed in there forever.

People Helping People Makes Me Happy, or, An Ode to Wonderful People 1

Today is an ode to the unrecognized Wonderful People, Capitalized like a title, because it is.
A lot of things go into making a store, a city, a church, a world go round. I spent the morning working with the wonderful people of Grace United Methodist Church.
Over a year ago, my church's youth group got involved with Grace United's Third Saturday luncheons. Every third Saturday of the month, a team from Grace United (or from our youth group) makes a meal to serve to anyone who needs it in the community. The room is always full, and twice as full in the winter, when the weather is cold and money is scarcer. The meal is given free of charge, and all of the workers come of their own accord. I can't even begin to explain how it feels to stand serving food to a person who lives day-to-day, not knowing if they'll be able to eat or not, living in a shelter, or with a family. That's what hurts the most to see, is the families that come in with armfuls of children. There's not very much space in the basement, where the luncheon occurs. But strangers and friends willingly rub elbows, share laughs, and get a good hearty bite to eat. The courage it takes to live lives like many of these people do is incredible. The stories that they have to tell are just as incredible, and I can't explain how much I look forward to serving them that one day a week.
But that's not the only time a month that Grace United comes to life. The church, whose congregation is comprised primarily of the older generation, runs a small thrift store out of part of the basement. They get all sorts of donations, but everything is marked very low. The store sees a lot of business from the same people who come to the luncheons, who are looking for essentials like clothing or just little things to make their abode look nice. I've recently started working here, and I've met so many incredible Wonderful People. I'd encourage anyone in the Bangor area to stop by! If I'm not mistaken, a good deal of the proceeds from the shop goes to the luncheons, so it's an unstoppable loop of goodness. Everyone who works in the store is a volunteer, and they work really really hard to make it nice, and also accessible to those with low income. Even moreso, the relationships that form around the store are great. It's a bit of a nice routine. I see lots of the same people when I work, and I've begun to learn names. Just the other day, a man came in saying that he had hit a spot of trouble, and that someone from the store had said that they had some clothing for him and also some sun tan lotion. It's these interpersonal relationships that bloom that make things like the Grace United Thrift Store so wonderful.
Wonderful People. They inspire me.

*P.S. Yesterday's picnic was a wonderful success, as was night disc, which was followed by the first fire and s'mores session. All in all, a very lovely day. Posting soon.

Utils, and A Step Towards the Meaning of Life

I lied. I am going to tell you a bit about why I do what I do, and why I've done what I've done.
Let's start this way: I play Ultimate. It's also known as Frisbee, Ultimate Frisbee, or Disc (more often than not, it's just called disc by its fanbase.), and is by far the most badass sport on the face of the planet. Haven't heard of it? Wikithatshit.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ultimate_(sport)
If you've clicked that link, scroll on down to section six, "Spirit of the Game."
It's the idea that people ought to be fair. Players ought to have a mutual respect, and maintain a true friendliness for all other players. That's how disc is. C'est ca.
Take it one step further, up to the Eutyls level.
I have misspelled the word "Util", it seems.
A Util is a term in economics, "referring to the total satisfaction received from consuming a good or service" (Answers dot com). That's Utils.
Eutyls is Frisbee. It's the Ultimate "club" (If you'd call it that) where I play, and it's the ultimate Ultimate club, as far as I'm concerned.
The originating idea for the club was that one ought to play for the satisfaction of the game. Forget the score. Don't be afraid to lose track of points. Just play.
C'est ca.
A few weeks back, when doing a school project on Ultimate (I love it when we get to pick our own topics), I was looking at the philosophy of Spirit of the Game. And I came to the conclusion that we shouldn't just govern ourselves in such a way during games of Ultimate, but all the time.
That's part one.
Part two is a little less complicated.
Look to the little things. Every person, every single action around you, and every thing around you has a purpose, has a motive, has something miraculous about them or itself. Notice it. Marvel in it. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Learn to smile.
And find the ordinarily extraordinary things in your Everyday.
I want to spread the idea. Why not use the internet?