April Fools!

So I stayed home from work this morning with a sore throat, stuffed up nose, and horrible cramps. I woke up somewhere around 10:30 and someone had left whatever channel "The Ellen Show" falls on. I sat up and slowly gained consciousness to it just as she did a segment where she surprises a fan of hers by giving them "Ellen Bailout Bucks." She has apparently been doing this for awhile now because it sounded like it has been a regular deal. So since the twins were still asleep, I ran to their room screaming and hollering "THE ELLEN SHOW! SHE CAME! ELLEN CALLED US AND THEY'RE OUTSIDE OUR HOUSE! C'MOOOOOOOOOOON! HURRY!" Lexi sat up, bleary-eyed, and Ali tripped to the window. "APRIL FOOLS DAY!" I shouted.

They both gave me a dirty look and fell back into their beds.

Tee hee.

Happy Birthday to Me...

Well, today marked the beginning of my 20th year of life...and it started out drippy.

I had my alarm set for 8:00 this morning to get up for church, but, as always, I hit the snooze a good two or three times. The third time, I noticed I could hear the rain...but I had been hearing the rain earlier -- just outside. This time it sounded like it was coming from inside. My mom and I had fallen asleep downstairs, so I (from the loveseat) called over to her on the couch: "Mom. Mom, wake up. Do you hear that?"

"Yeah, it's raining."

"No, I know. But something isn't right...it sounds like it's raining in here."

"Someone probably just left the window open; it's probably hitting the windowsill."

"No, Mom, you don't hear that? I'm saying it sounds like it's raining in the living room!"

*stops and listens* "Oh. Wow. Yeah..." *looks up* "OH MY GOSH, IT IS RAINING IN THE LIVING ROOM!"

And that's how the day started. I came downstairs to see my dad had stationed two buckets and a small pot under the three major drippy areas. He went outside later that morning and determined the leak to be a result of a bent-up shingle. ALL THAT FOR ONE FREAKING SHINGLE. So hopefully we'll get that fixed before the infamous "April showers" we're likely to be getting within the next couple days. [yikes]

Otherwise though, great birthday. Not one of those milestone ones like 16, 18, or (in the future) 21, but hey, I can't complain. After church I was able to take a nice nap, then headed out to get my free coffee that Caribou owed me. Turned out that I could make it ANY drink of ANY size. So naturally I got the biggest thing they offered, a large, of my favorite specialty drink - the white chocolate mocha. Ordinarily, I get it skim, but today I got it soy since it was free (HA! Cuz there's no way I'm spending an extra 35¢ on a drink just to make it soy). After that, we (my mom and I visited the Old Navy that was nearby. I, being the moron that I am at times, forgot to bring along the gift card that I got in the mail from my cousin, so all I could do was look around. Still, we had a good time. On the way back, we stopped at a local DQ to pick up my ice cream cake (my favorite). I told my mom that I wanted to pick what was written on the cake, and she agreed; but when I asked if I could get "Happy Birthday, you sexy thang," she said no. She also turned down "Happy One Year Away from Being Legal" and "Happy Birthday to the Awesome Daughter." Not sure why... :-)

So we had pizza for dinner, ice cream cake and coffee for dessert. I got (apart from some $) a green PINK tote, a pair of layered butterfly earrings, a v-neck Tink tshirt, and [GASP!] the first season DVD of my all-time favorite TV show. I also got this really cool homemade crown that said "Princess Sammi" on the front and "--> I'M AWESOME <--" on the back, but I gave myself that gift, so I guess that doesn't count. After gift opening, we played a few rounds of Catch Phrase, which is hilarious with my family. I've got two nearly deaf grandfathers and a grandma who can't help but spell the word out under her breath if you don't catch on fast enough - it's always so much fun. We walk away with so many inside jokes after every time we play it.

So now that I've walked Max, it's time to look for that episode of "Lie to Me" that I missed last-last Wednesday...thank God for Hulu.

Quote of the Day:

[commercial for the new Osbourne family show comes on]

Ali: I hate them. They’re so dumb. And Harry Osbourne is so creepy!

Me: Uh, Al? Harry Osborn is from Spiderman. And he was played by James Franco who is so NOT creepy. I think you meant…

Ali: Oh, yeah, right. I meant Jimmy. Jimmy Osbourne.

Me: Ali? It’s OZZY.

Ali: Oh.

Close, Ali. Very close.

T-SHIRTS!

As Skythrock would say, UPDEDIT:

check out this awesome tshirt site: Rethink Clothing.


I love t-shirts. In fact, I think I may have too many of them. There are just so many good ones out there though, you know? Band tees, funny tees, cute-tees (pun intended), team tees (especially Pitt!)...the list goes on and on.

It was only today that I realized just how many t-shirt websites I like to visit. Here's the short list:

• Woot Shirt
• Snorg Tees
• Loiter Apparel
• The Cotton Factory
• BustedTees

Anyway, tees are awesome. This is the one I most recently would die for: the Three-Eyed Owl.

Dream a Little Dream of Me...

Mama Cass sang it best...

Since Friday, I've been having moderate to freaking-awful pain in my right ear (and some in my left ear). Consequently, I had been taking copious amounts of Ibuprofen and lots of naps (to take my mind off the ache). The combination of the two resulted in, I'm not gonna lie, some majorly trippy dreams, one of which involved me (as some kind of operative for a secret in-the-know organization) being assigned the job of disabling a giant machine designed by the Priceline Negotiator (aka, William Shatner). He was, apparently, planning on overthrowing the U.S. government with his negotiating skilz with his next step being to destroy other nations with this machine he had built (which was coincidentally being stored behind a stage on which he was giving a big pep rally for his cause). So I was given orders to scale the gigantic hunk of metal and you know, clip all the right wires and whatnot, but for whatever reason, in my dream, I accidentally knocked one of the pieces off? And it fell into what very much resembled the Reflecting Pool by the Lincoln Memorial in DC? And nobody there seemed to notice or hear it? Yeah, strange....either way though, I got the job done and looked really cool doing it.

There were other strange dreams, but it would take a long time to post them all. So instead, I wish you all a Happy St. Patrick's Day and enjoy this hilarious YouTube video done by one of my favorite "kid" stars, "Fred."

The Frog Prince

I was listening to my Keane CD "Under the Iron Sea" while I was getting ready this morning and the track "The Frog Prince" came on.
It reminded me of an old boyfriend for whom I assembled a scrapbook. Some of the themes included the whole frog prince/knight in shining armor plus princess concept, and I had the cutest sticker collection that I bought for it of these frog princes/knights/princesses portrayed by little cartoon kids. It was adorable. But when I think about it anymore, a feeling of anger follows a smile. Guess that's what happens.

An old fairytale told me
The simple heart will be prized again
A toad will be our king
And ugly ogres our heroes

Then you'll shake
Your fist at the sky
"Oh why did I rely
On fashions and small fry?"

All promises broken
Feed your people or lose your throne
And forfeit your whole kingdom
I'd sooner lose it than still live in it alone

Your prince's crown
Cracks and falls down
Your castle hollow and cold
You've wandered so far
From the person you are
Let go brother, let go
'Cause now we all know

Soon, someone will put a spell on you
Perfume, treasure, sorcery, every trick they know
You will lie in a deep sleep
That's when...

Your prince's crown
Cracks and falls down
Your castle hollow and cold
You've wandered so far
From the person you are
Let go brother, let go
'Cause now we all know

Happy Spring Break to me...

With the submission of this paper, I thee (Spring Break) wed...

Symbolism in The Crying of Lot 49 and The Scarlet Letter

Who would have ever thought there could be so much meaning placed in such inanimate objects as an uber-geometric doodle of a “muted” horn or a red and gold piece of “A”-shaped fabric? In nearly all of the books our class has read during the course of this semester, there has been at least some semblance of symbolism (or some similar literary device) in each of the stories that all of us could identify. Having said this, I feel that two of the more recent books we have read, Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49 and Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter, have exhibited not only copious amounts of symbolism, but also have displayed it in ways that (though I’m sure the authors never intended this) are relative to one another.

I would first like to discuss the “main” symbols and their meanings (and by “meanings” I mean “potential meanings, or lack thereof” since, in many cases, we are never explicitly told what they mean). I would first like to establish them as symbols of fixation. In Pynchon’s Lot 49, the muted horn surfaces fairly early on as the object of Oedipa (the main character)’s obsession – from the moment she first spots the horn penciled onto the bathroom wall (Pynchon 38), she is from then on consumed by curiosity and desire to find out what it means. Both likewise and in contrast, in Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter, the Puritan townspeople are obsessed with Hester (the main character)’s ornate crimson “A” that has been sewn front and center onto her dress and constantly mock, chastise, and shun her because of it (at least in the early part of the book). However, their fixation over the scarlet letter is not one of curiosity – everyone knows that Hester wears the letter as a symbolic reminder of the sin she has committed: adultery.

As stated previously, I would like to present some of the meanings given to these symbols throughout both books. The muted horn seems to claim multiple meanings since it has multiple groups using it as their trademark. What Oedipa feels is that it belonged to the “Trystero,” an old mail distribution organization. She believed that, after following the trail that horn left, she had possibly uncovered the centuries old conflict between the Trystero – a fictional company dreamed up by the author – and its rival company, “Thurn und Taxis” – a company which actually existed. The muted horn also served as the symbol for some sort of swingers group (being advertised on the wall of a bathroom) looking for free love and multiple partners, and again as the “emblem” for the anonymous inamorato’s “society of isolates (Pynchon 94).” Although we are given several various possibilities for the use of this symbol, we are never made known of its initial working use or of its original purpose. We could assume that its origin was that of the Trystero, but the book is so chaotic and wild-goose-chase-esque, that it is hard to tell; we are left dangling. We react similarly to Hester’s “A” in Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter in that the author never actually comes right out and says that “A = Adulteress” (or some such form of the word). I believe, however, that we can assume it is what the author wanted us to at least think it to mean. Plus, it is what the townspeople believed, and they are mightily responsible for many of the opinions produced throughout the book (of Hester’s betrayal of loyalty to her husband, of her pride, of her inability to raise her child well, etc.). On the other hand, further down the road when Hester begins to reintroduce herself into society as a working member, the townsfolk change how they interpret the meaning from “Adulteress” (assumedly) to “Able” – by that, we can guess they mean any number of things: “able to overcome adversity,” “able to make herself useful,” the list could go on and on. By the end of the story, the people of the New England town see her “A” as a symbol to be revered. So just as in The Crying of Lot 49, the symbol of The Scarlet Letter morphs in and out of different meanings, taking on new definitions constantly.

I would like to focus next on the way symbols contrast the themes (perhaps not the themes, but certainly possible themes) of their respective stories. In The Crying of Lot 49, I see a major theme of “chaos” throughout. Moving away from the muted horn, I would like to postulate the idea that the story’s “Maxwell’s Demon” can serve as a symbol of order. The issue with the Demon is that it cannot be operated because it requires a certain unattainable level of communication (or a “sensitive” person). Since another theme would undeniably be “a breakdown in communication,” I feel as though this supports my theory when including this idea of a theme, as well. In The Scarlet Letter, I see the theme of “human frailty and sorrow” handed to us at the closing of the book’s first chapter (Hawthorne 46). In contrast, the rose is portrayed as a symbol of endurance and hope, or as the author would phrase it, “some sweet moral blossom (Hawthorne 46).” Just as Hester’s “A,” we are never actually told the true significance of the rose, though it is mentioned a few more times within the story; yet, like so many things in The Scarlet Letter, Hawthorne seems to like to keep some matters a secret from his audience.

Lastly, I find a similarity in the use of evocative names by both authors, whether it be blatantly intentional (like Pynchon) or perhaps not intentional at all (like Hawthorne), though we don’t know. In Pynchon’s work, the mailing system “W.A.S.T.E” is in fact a “waste” of time since only a few people actually know of it and because its users are required to deliver mail once a week even if they have nothing to say. The main character’s name is “Oedipa,” which is strikingly similar to Sophocles’ character “Oedipus,” a Theban king whose curiosity got the best of him when he dug too deep trying to find answers to a crime which turned out to be one of his own. His unearthing of the information drives him mad; likewise, Oedipa feels as though she either is going insane or perhaps already is insane by the end of her story. Her doctor, Dr. Hilarious, lives up to his surname as he does, in fact, go insane by the end of the book. The Crying of Lot 49 is rife with sexual references, and Pynchon does not limit the boundaries of said references. Oedipa’s husband Mucho’s radio station, for example, is named “KCUF,” which if read backwards, spells out a vulgar word. Mike Fallopian’s last name is an obvious reference to a part of a woman’s anatomy. Professor Dribelette, whose last name resembles the word “dribble,” is a weak character that gives information to Oedipa in spurts, much like the meaning of “dribble,” a weak, unsteady stream of saliva. Stanley Koteks shares his last name with a brand of feminine supplies. John Nefastis’ last name is fairly close to the word “nefarious,” which means “extremely wicked” – a definition I think I would happily apply to the man after he tried to force Oedipa to have sex with him. The list could obviously go on and on; there is a trick to each character’s name. In The Scarlet Letter, however, I only found a few. Hester, I noticed, is very close to the name “Esther,” a Biblical heroin, if you merely move the “h” down between the “t” and the “e.” Since Hester is the heroin of this story, I feel this to be a possible play on the name. Her husband, who decided to take on the alias name “Chillingworth,” did do his share of “chilling” the other main characters of the book, and even the townspeople since they soon were fearful of him and thought he was the devil. Dimmesdale’s name – who, if you take the first three letters of his name, you get “dim” – seems to suggest his “dimness” or weakness (physically, emotionally, etc.). Finally, there is Hester’s daughter Pearl whose name we know to be intentionally symbolic from Hester who named her thus because she was her only treasure. I also see a subtle Biblical reference in Pearl’s name that evokes allegorical device—the “pearl of great price” used in relation to Christ purchasing us on the Cross, or salvation.

In conclusion, I would like to clarify that not everything I have stated is solid fact; much of it is opinion. Yet I feel that much of the purpose of symbolism is that the reader is to take it in and decide for himself whether or not there is more to it than just its surface meaning. In both stories cases, I believe the authors have done just that: wrote riveting works that serve as excellent works of literature for both audiences – those who take the text at face value, and those who like to read between the lines.

Works Cited

Pynchon, Thomas. Crying of Lot 49. New York: Harper Perennial, 2006.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The Scarlet Letter. New York: Penguin Books, 2003.

(PS: Posting this, I didn't feel like going through and re-italicizing everything, so you can just imagine it to be there since it didn't copy over.)

More than just a picture...

I'm willing to admit that I didn't find these cool pictures all by myself -- they came to me in a forward. But I was just so amused by them, that I took just a few of my absolute favorites (there were a lot more) and decided to post them here. Enjoy!

This is incredibly entertaining...

1 - Follow the link to a site of random articles drawn from Wikipedia.

The first random Wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to this Quotations page.

The last four or five words of the very last quote on the page is the title of your first album.

3 - Follow the link to Flickr for their explore the last seven days photos.

The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover (unless you're uncomfortable with the nature of it...I got one of those the first time I did it, go figure).

4 - Use Photoshop or similar to put it all together.

5 - Post it on your site, be it Blogger, Xanga, Facebook, etc. with this text in the name of the band and the album name.

Have fun!

Oh, and here's my latest --

Band: Dora's Dream

Album name: Using Truth to Deceive the Public

The Walk

(experimenting with some second person perspective writing…)

She stepped onto the escalator marked “DOWN” and, due to state of her sopping (and now sagging) pant legs which had worked their way underneath her shoes, nearly missed her footing. She steadied herself by grabbing on to both sides of the moving staircase and thought to herself That was a close one – I have a feeling rolling down these steps would hurt much worse than tumbling down the wooden ones at home. She was having a relatively good day, all things considered, and not much was going to get her down that Friday afternoon. Pittsburgh’s wintry weather streak had finally been broken and that day and the previous one had been a comfortable fifty degrees. For Friday, however, there was some off-and-on rain tacked on to the forecast.

She reached the bottom of the last escalator and exited the Victoria Building. As she did so, she flipped open her phone, scrolled down through her list of previously called numbers, and hit “SEND” when she reached the contact “Dad.” After a short wait, she heard the cheery voice of her father on the other end. “Hello, Sammi!” he greeted. “Hey, Dad, how’s it going?” she asked.They chatted back and forth as she walked, heading down towards Fifth Avenue. About a minute into the conversation, she cut herself off mid-sentence: “Oh crap, wait a minute – it just started raining out of nowhere.” She dug deep into her tote bag, if one could even call it that anymore. It was more like a threadbare, faded, stained sack with an “Alice in Wonderland” theme in silver on its black canvas body; but it was her favorite. Her fingers stumbled across the parachute-like object that she recognized as her umbrella and yanked it out of the depths of her bag. “Man,” she continued, “it’s been really off and on today, the rain. One minute, it’s fine; the next, it’s a torrential downpour.”

She wrapped up her conversation with her father then pocketed her flip-phone so that she could better grip her flimsy, two-dollar miniature umbrella. The wind whipped all around her as she turned left onto McKees Place. Denying it the pleasure of doing it for her, she rested the thin pole of the umbrella against her forehead to keep the wind from sending it back and hitting her in the face. She looked down and examined herself as she trudged through the rain: her brown velour pants were now even more wet than before, soaked all the way up to her knees. Just my luck again, she thought. Every time I wear these, it rains. And every time, the material sops up all the water like a sponge. She also noticed that she not only picked the wrong pants to wear, but also the wrong shoes. Her green plaid Chuck Taylor “lo-tops” – also canvas, like her shabby tote – were absorbing just about as much of the rain as her pant legs, as though they were in some kind of strange competition. She rolled her eyes to herself as she reached the revolving door to her office building. As she made the half-circle to enter, she let out a sigh of relief, knowing that within a few moments she could rid herself of her wet shoes. She boarded the elevator and rode it to her floor.

She proceeded to her office suite, unlocked the door, and headed straight for her office. When she finally stepped through the doorway, she tossed her bag onto the chair nearest her, rolled up her pant legs, pulled off her shoes and socks, and plopped herself into her own seat. Bending down, she turned the knob to activate the little fan she kept underneath her desk for the summertime and aimed it at the wall next to her; then, feeling resourceful, she propped her shoes against the wall, draped her socks over them, and adjusted the fan so that it was angled in her footwear’s general direction. Then, leaning back in her chair, she began to type.