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Tory just got her yearbook today, so I was looking through mine from last year. It's kind of pathetic, actually. Just about every yearbook signature begins with either, "I'm sorry I never got to know you very well" or "I'm so glad I've gotten to know you." A lot of them say, "Don't be/go too crazy in college." Some say, "You're a very . . . unique . . . person." Others just come out and say, "Yeah, you're straight-up fucking weird, but I guess that's what makes you interesting." My favorite is the "Have a nice life" ending, as they can't therefore say, "Have a nice summer," as they won't see me after it, and that sounded so dumb, anyway, lol . . .
The only people who wrote nice things I still keep in touch with, lol . . . It makes me glad I didn't die over the summer; hardly anybody would have attended my funeral; it would have been completely pointless and completely non-fulfilling O.o . . .
High school really was a fucking joke (no, that's not just because I'm bitter because I clearly had no friends, lol . . . )-- but, honestly, just looking back at the yearbook, and the patheticness that it was . . . the quotes, the pictures, the "fashion" sections . . . I mean, I always knew it was pathetic, but now I even laugh at things like two lovers staring longingly into each other's eyes at the Winter Dance. The whole thing just seems like a farce to me, and I took it so damn seriously, lol . . .
I am so glad I am in college now. I <3 college.
In other news, I was going through my random (but plenty of fun!) collection of old magazines from the 1946s-9s (lol . . . whoever it was I got it from clearly <3ed the '50s and probably sold off the WWII ones for hefty sums of money, or something, to some like historical foundation, lol . . . ). I really enjoy just reading the ads; they are hilarious.
( For instance, I have figured out why the divorce rates have become so high in the United States . . . (Earmuffs, Robert . . . ) )
There are also girdles and things (sometimes, when I feel fat and bloated, those actually look like a good idea, lol . . . ), and all assortments of skin cremes, and hair-products obsessed with luster, lack of soap film, and curlability. Painkillers (including Midol; it's that old, apparently, lol . . . ) and antacids are biggies, too . . .
Ahh, I <3 the 1940s . . . and the 1950s . . . I guess this is just the perfect time period for me, then, lol . . . They were so silly; I love them! Lol . . .
Speaking of the 1940s, I have found somebody I would have liked to have met but never will. Mom does a lot of work with local obituaries, being in Estate Law, etc, and so she brought one home for me that she thought I would be interested in (kind of morbid, but, well, she doesn't usually do this sort of thing, lol . . . ). Anyway, there was a man in Middlebury named Tom Tahara who I think I would have liked to have known. He was Japanese-American (was interned at Tule Lake, at the age of twelve, during the war-- which was something I totally could have talked to him about!), and he was a Chicken Sexor. HOW AWESOME IS THAT??? He told you if chickens were girls or boys for a living. Apparently Japanese people are really good at that for some reason; I cannot explain why, lol . . . AND HE WAS THE CHICKEN SEXOR TO RULE ALL CHICKEN SEXORS, because he was like the president of the American Federation of Chicken Sexors, or something. Awesome. He also was really cool in other, less slightly-bizarre ways, and apparently used to buy bushels of apples and other fruits to deliver to widows and people of need in his town. Aww, adorable . . . Anyway, it's sad he's gone; I <3 you Mr. Tahara who I never met but think are awesome.
Edit (11:05): AAAHHHHH!!! Scary Christian site of which I referenced a few days ago has claimed Philip Bliss (of "On a Hymnsong by Philip Bliss"-- apologies for the suck-ass MIDI, I have the actual file, but, here, I totally cannot do a yousendit, lol . . . ) as their own! I liked that song, lol . . . Even though it was Horatio Spafford who had the sad story behind it, but he just wrote the words, not the tune, which we never played (being an orchestra, and being as how words cannot play, lol . . . ), and I had/have never heard, lol . . .
The only people who wrote nice things I still keep in touch with, lol . . . It makes me glad I didn't die over the summer; hardly anybody would have attended my funeral; it would have been completely pointless and completely non-fulfilling O.o . . .
High school really was a fucking joke (no, that's not just because I'm bitter because I clearly had no friends, lol . . . )-- but, honestly, just looking back at the yearbook, and the patheticness that it was . . . the quotes, the pictures, the "fashion" sections . . . I mean, I always knew it was pathetic, but now I even laugh at things like two lovers staring longingly into each other's eyes at the Winter Dance. The whole thing just seems like a farce to me, and I took it so damn seriously, lol . . .
I am so glad I am in college now. I <3 college.
In other news, I was going through my random (but plenty of fun!) collection of old magazines from the 1946s-9s (lol . . . whoever it was I got it from clearly <3ed the '50s and probably sold off the WWII ones for hefty sums of money, or something, to some like historical foundation, lol . . . ). I really enjoy just reading the ads; they are hilarious.
( For instance, I have figured out why the divorce rates have become so high in the United States . . . (Earmuffs, Robert . . . ) )
There are also girdles and things (sometimes, when I feel fat and bloated, those actually look like a good idea, lol . . . ), and all assortments of skin cremes, and hair-products obsessed with luster, lack of soap film, and curlability. Painkillers (including Midol; it's that old, apparently, lol . . . ) and antacids are biggies, too . . .
Ahh, I <3 the 1940s . . . and the 1950s . . . I guess this is just the perfect time period for me, then, lol . . . They were so silly; I love them! Lol . . .
Speaking of the 1940s, I have found somebody I would have liked to have met but never will. Mom does a lot of work with local obituaries, being in Estate Law, etc, and so she brought one home for me that she thought I would be interested in (kind of morbid, but, well, she doesn't usually do this sort of thing, lol . . . ). Anyway, there was a man in Middlebury named Tom Tahara who I think I would have liked to have known. He was Japanese-American (was interned at Tule Lake, at the age of twelve, during the war-- which was something I totally could have talked to him about!), and he was a Chicken Sexor. HOW AWESOME IS THAT??? He told you if chickens were girls or boys for a living. Apparently Japanese people are really good at that for some reason; I cannot explain why, lol . . . AND HE WAS THE CHICKEN SEXOR TO RULE ALL CHICKEN SEXORS, because he was like the president of the American Federation of Chicken Sexors, or something. Awesome. He also was really cool in other, less slightly-bizarre ways, and apparently used to buy bushels of apples and other fruits to deliver to widows and people of need in his town. Aww, adorable . . . Anyway, it's sad he's gone; I <3 you Mr. Tahara who I never met but think are awesome.
Edit (11:05): AAAHHHHH!!! Scary Christian site of which I referenced a few days ago has claimed Philip Bliss (of "On a Hymnsong by Philip Bliss"-- apologies for the suck-ass MIDI, I have the actual file, but, here, I totally cannot do a yousendit, lol . . . ) as their own! I liked that song, lol . . . Even though it was Horatio Spafford who had the sad story behind it, but he just wrote the words, not the tune, which we never played (being an orchestra, and being as how words cannot play, lol . . . ), and I had/have never heard, lol . . .
