America: The New Roman Empire

I love education. No, let me rephrase that: I love learning. I so adore learning that I have recieved books on subjects I'm interested in as gifts, people have bribed me with the prospect of learning new things, and I can often be found researching things in my spare time. I'm serious, that wasn't a joke. I will research every little tidbit about a subject I can.... at least until I get distracted by a new subject.

And personally, what offends me? Not people mocking me for always having my nose stuck in a book (I've gotten better about that....somewhat). Not people finding out I actually research and *gasp!* Do it voluntarily!

No, what offends me is seeing all these people in America, which I will quite freely admit to having some pride in belonging to (America, that is, not the people). These people, as I have so cleverly named them, are ill-educated and would rather plunk themselves down on a loveseat and allow potato chip crumbs fall onto said loveseat and settle in, pay rent, and somehow multiply, than pick up a book and perhaps even read it. 

Now don't get me wrong, I like sitting down (or laying down, as is more usually the case) with some snack or other and watching a good show, too. Great way to past the time if that's exactly what you want to do. But I'd rather have a good book, most days. They last longer, and are so much more deliciously varied. (Unless you happen to like Twilight...) It's just... richer, plain and simply. It's like comparing Hershey's to Godiva; both are delicious, but really, one is simply richer and worth more.  (Please note: I prefer Hershey's, so perhaps that isn't the best comparison.... XD)

What really gets to me is that the education system practically grooms you to prefer rebelling against authority and watching Furturama. America prides herself on our intelligence, our open minds, our military, economic, and societal prowess. We're raised to believe in our shining glory, and yet we fastidiously ignore the metaphorical dust accumulating on the trophies and brilliance's of our schools.  We were once a force to be reckoned with -- we a fantastic education system, we had money, we had power. Now? Now, whilst America is slowly being crippled by it's own ignorance and downright stupidity and laziness, the rest of the world is showing us up. We're putting on a façade, it's pure bravado. And for some reason I really just can't figure out, most of us seem to be unaware of what we're doing.

I'm currently a senior in high school, and you know what? I'll be amazed  if I graduate this coming 2010. Now don't get me wrong, I'm doing my best; truly, I am. (All right that's a lie; I'm secretly a laze-about who cares only for the latest flavor of chocolate milk. Wait, wasn't chocolate already mentioned?) But I have 15 credits, and I should have at least 17 to be on the right track. I'll end up taking more than 10 classes this year (possibly as many as 14), whilst a normal high schooler whines about having to take an extra course online or something. Our school has 7 classes and another class period which is their lunch -- yes, we get an entire 50 minutes for lunch. Rather ridiculous, in my opinion, but to each their own I suppose.  

Now, I am going to admit right here and now: NO, this is NOT entirely the fault of the education system. I was too sick to properly attend school my supposed freshman year, and though I got 3 courses done (English 1, Algebra 1, and Biology) the exams didn't  come in on time and so I've had to re-do those. So I've been working on not only making up the occasional course that I have failed (look, I have issues all right?), but also attempting frantically to make up a year's worth of credits and feeling as though I'm drowning in the attempt to simply survive. I have a lot of health problems, many of which mess with my mental and emotional state, all of which affect my physical state, and several of which interfere with my ability to remember things or focus.  I have a post-it note on my bathroom mirror to remind me to floss, and I somehow still forget half the time. My life? Not fun.

But I'm an understanding person, I can forgive mistakes happening or people forgetting things. I could do it as a kid, and I can do it now. What I can't do is repeatedly forgive and forget. That's just pure incompetence and inefficiency. I will make excuses the first time, I might even do it the second time, and depending on the job and the person doing it there's even a small possibility of it happening a third time.  But past that? No. No, no, and no. When I, a newly 17-year-old-supposedly-teenage female can take over and do it all for you, a grown adult well-settled in their field, something is seriously wrong. 

Ever single year since I began actually attending high school, I have, a couple months before school begins, addressed the issue of my year schedule with both my guidance counselor as well as the Vice Principal of Curriculum, a rather wonderful, if slightly inefficient and occasionally incompetent, young lady. I do this so I can relax over the summer safe in the knowledge of what I will be doing for the next year and how I will be getting it accomplished.

And, without fail, my schedule is not what was agreed upon. It's always completely changed, leaving me baffled and bewildered. I don't deal with sudden, rapid/random changes. Ask anyone; some I can roll with, but those are things like "Hey, my grandmother broke her hip, we have to go to the hospital so I can't hit the movies with you", or "Oh look, a family member died," or something like that. I don't even like people to take my pencil if that's what I feel like using.  Every single year it takes 2-3 weeks of re-doing and re-scheduling to get my schedule to what it should be, and that's without online classes. Or, in this year's case, WITH the online classes involved. My schedule has been changed 3 or 4 times now, it's the end of the second week of school, and it has to be changed again because something was done wrong. 

Personally, I am shocked and rather on the horrified side. I don't understand how people can graduate from my high school; it's sloppy, messy, doesn't get things done, the students aren't even aware of anything but the dress code and no weapons policy... and the tardy policy, of course.  I actually considered going to Blake High School, and indeed was even accepted for several of their different Fine Arts programs (my high school is a magnet school for AP (Advanced Placement; college credit) classes, and Blake is a magnet for the Fine Arts), but it takes 45 minutes to drive to it and another 45 minutes back. Way too much gas, time, etc. I'm logical, I eventually said No and stuck with mine. But I've more than once regretted not going to Blake; the schedule is a block schedule (which makes much, MUCH more sense to me), it's more oriented towards artists such as myself (Well duh, it's a FINE ARTS MAGNET school), and it just seemed like a place I would enjoy. Mine? Yeah, it sucks.

America is the New Roman Empire. We're great, we're shiney, we sparkle like vampires in the fading sunlight from which we were born. But because we're not fixing what really needs to be solved, our nation, we're going to do exactly what they did: Conquer, rise, collapse, burn. Perhaps not literally, but most certainly figuratively. We need to consider teenage, tween, and elementary school student's physiology's, as well as everything about being a teenager. Everyone pities the middle schooler's, because it's "such a transitional period". Well, yes, that's true. Going from child to sudden adult expectations is hard and overwhelming, particularly when you add in all the changes society expects to take place and that, thanks to hormones and the tornado of a whirlwind they cause, DO take place.  Most of the time, anyways.

But high schooler's? Nope, they've got every single thing wrong. Their bodies are changing, and they have to deal with that in all it implies along with society and their peers. They naturally tend to fall asleep late, regardless of what time they actually go to bed, they wake up later, they eat a lot, and having 6 or more classes every single day on top of that, taught in a way that's typically adverse to teenager's nature of Get Up And Do It, just... doesn't work. A study was once performed (though by whom I can't recall) where a random group of adults were taken and put into a high school ("Oh, high school/the teenage years are the best time of your life!" Riiiiight....). Within 2 weeks, they were begging to be let out.

Think about it: Waking up hours before they naturally would after falling asleep late at night because their bodies simply wouldn't shut up and sleep, going to school, sitting for 7 or 8 hours a day in a classroom, expected to be quiet for the most part and take notes, having to deal with jobs, familial responsibilities, sports/clubs, college looming before us even if we don't think we'll go.... And then we're punished for rebelling and trying to mold it into what works for us?

Quite frankly, I've often considered looking a teacher in the eye and saying, "Excuse my language but screw this. You're doing it wrong." And you can splutter and squawk, you can give me detention or suspend me, but they're still doing it wrong and they're just teaching that Learning Is Boring, that Books Are Dull, and that School Is To Be Whined And Whinged about.

I'm sorry America, but screw this, you're doing a lot wrong. And I think it's time you fixed it before you start having riots in the streets again. (Now though, the riots have a soundtrack -- "Riot", by Three Days Grace!)

Book Arts

Je Suis: Book master! 

I was drawing in a hand-made sketchbook that had been bought for me Christmas '07, and I suddenly just stopped, shut the book, put down the pencil, and admired the book.

Have you ever truly looked at a hand-made book? Mine is hard-bound, and uses the typical Japanese style of binding (3 holes in the middle of the binding, evenly spaced; the threads are connected by knots... it's not as complicated or as weird as it sounds here) for such books. But the very feel of it is just so different than what you get with a normal book.

Instead of feeling like "just another book" (as wonderful as those can be), you stop to take the time to notice the beautiful stitching, the beautiful binding and coverings; you pause to admire the paper, hand-selected for you to use as your own. It's as though someone made the book just for you, and you know you not only look different carrying it, but you can feel the difference, you know you have that special book with you.

I skipped (not literally; I fall down the stairs enough as it is) down to the kitchen to wash the dinner dishes, and as I was scrubbing away at the steak pan it hit me:

I want to make books. (What, you thought the steak pan sprouted arms and hit me? Silly reader.)

I'm not entirely sure why this prospect has me so excited, but it's the oddest thing -- the moment I thought it, I was filled with this warm, butterflies-in-my-stomach, impatient feeling of anticipation, and I could almost feel my heart and hands yearning to start right away. I have never felt anything like it, and I keep re-thinking it and re-thinking it, just to keep that feeling alive.

It makes sense, in a way. Books have always been a very important to me; first as a young child, when I could see the pretty illustrations, admire the vibrant colors being used (or the elegant shadowing, if in black-and-white); the words back then were such a wonder to me, and I often felt as though they were reading themselves, a storyteller using magic to feed the imagination of the hungry listener.

I graduated quickly to small novels and series, hungrily devouring those images they created, taking in all the wonder and fascination they could give me. In place of a storyteller I often felt as though all the words in the books would just come off the page, dance, laugh for me; they would form wings of words, that I may fly, fly, fly far from where my body supposedly "really" was.

By the time I was 12 I already had already had a college-level reading level for quite some time, and carried books with me everywhere. Even my own parents told me I read too much, which is quite a feat (my entire family goes through books faster than most people go through dessert).

But besides books with words on them, I also held a deep love and fascination of wordless books. I would often gaze at them for who-knows-how-long, gingerly stroking the paper, my imagination vividly sketching, painting, placing me in those books. Those books, who had so much potential that I often hate to fill them up. But then, some part of me feels it is like the death of a friend, when you fill those books with your own thoughts, words, plans, pictures: 

It is over, and you mourn it, grieve the ending of such an admiring figure. But then you remember, this is a new chapter in the proverbial book (what a pun to be making), and you eagerly set out on a new adventure -- the adventure to find the next perfect book, while some small part of you will always continue to feel sorrow the book has ended, but pride in the fact you helped fill that book, just as you will always help fill a friend's life.

I sometimes feel like I am a book collector, for all that my use of my books is never-ending. Everywhere I have ever travelled, I have picked up some sort of book, most of which are handmade: Recipe books, scrapbooks, photo albums, etc. And they are all used and loved.

But the moment I finished drying my hands from dishes, I raced back up the stairs (once again tripping up them) and logged onto my computer, quickly searching "Book making." Okay, not the best search criteria. So I changed it to "make your own books". I couldn't think of anything better at the moment, but enough results came up to keep me encouraged and excited. 

Then lo and behold, I discover there are colleges that teach such things! My current big interest is the Columbia College Chicago, a liberal Art's college. It looks pretty sweet, it does.

But something even odder happened than that feeling of anticipation: As I sit here, typing, my mind keeps thinking of me making books, and I begin to cry. I'm serious, and I absolutely abhor crying! (Other people can cry all they want, I simply don't like to do it myself.) I actually have to force myself not to think of it, just to keep my eyes dry! Which is somewhat difficult, considering I'm, y'know, writing about it...

But I'm not just excited about the prospect of making books.  It's the entire process that fascinates me: choosing materials, choosing cover materials, actually making my own paper if possible; printmaking, paper making, book making! The entire process has me absolutely thrilled.

I'm quite cautious, because I know for a fact that whenever I get excited about something other things must be done to ensure my continued interest, or I eventually drift into/onto the next subject. But this just feels right, in a way that bewilders me, thrills me, amazes me, terrifies me.

I haven't felt an idea so certain, so right, since I was a mere child who was already too old. Not since I was 10 and younger -- oh yes, younger than that; I remember well. Every day was an adventure back then; but not every idea felt completely right.

But this does. And my instincts have never proved me wrong before.

So! I do believe I shall log off, suck up those pesky tears (which are still trying to flood the dams...), do some sketching in my beautifully blank sketchbook, watch some TV for background noise, sip some cocoa, and try my best not to think of this. 

We shall see in the morning if the feeling of rightness returns. And if it does?

Watch out, world. Meghan has a goal in mind now.

....

Well, until she becomes president, and then dictator-of-Earth-for-life.

Naturally.

Genius Driver Thanks Video Games!

Je Suis: driving!

Mua-hahaha, I do indeed owe my excellent driving skills to video games! >:3

... Or not. Naaaah, not really; I just have good hand-eye coordination. But it's more amusing to dramatically start crying and pretending to hold a Golden Globe or something, tearfully -- and loudly -- thanking video games for my talent.

Started Driver's Ed this year, although I could have done it last year. I was just too busy though. But every time I get onto the driving range at school, it just feels too.... easy. It isn't, I suppose, but I simply have little trouble with it. I love the school car's; they're 2008-something-or-other-s, and a pretty sweet ride overall. We're supposed to have 10 hours of outside-classroom driving, five each quarter of this semester; the end of the quarter is in approximately three weeks, and I have precisely 1 hour and 5 minutes. I just got in from a 30-minute drive, which spouted this whole nonsense post.

But I'm cruising smoothly along, no hitches, and my mom decides to say, "Let's leave ___ Acres!" (Where we live. Except, you know, not ___; that gets confusing on mail, especially if I lose what's left of my mind and put ;___;, and then people think I'm really insane. In which they are completely correct, of course.)

So we venture out onto the -- well, not the, but more like a, main road. Not very main; it mainly passes directly through a whole bunch of side-streets leading to neighborhoods. I quickly decide I don't want to be on the road so long I'll forget where to turn (seriously, need new contacts much?), so I end up turning just a few turns away from where my neighborhood began.

And I turned right into this short little cul-de-sac full of cars partially on the road, people walking around the yards, and did I mention cars partially on the road? Oh yeah. Definitely no nerves jumping at that realization.

But I bravely continue on in the boat-that's-supposedly-a-Cadillac, avoiding cars and people like a pro, mua-hahaha. You know you're jealous.

So I'm feeling pretty good, overall... until I begin to turn and realize I've somehow completely missed this green van that just, like, appeared. As in, out of no where! And my mom just keeps shouting "STOP!", except, for some reason, my instinct is not to slam on the breaks but to gently break, then my mind kicks into gear and I manage to hit the break hard enough to fully stop the car immediately. My mom and I just sit there for a moment; then I shift the car into Park, take my foot off the break, and crack up laughing to relieve the tension. After a moment my mom joins me.

I so have an excuse; that wannabe-car is as wide as a small boat, I tell you! (Hence wannabe, for those of you not quite up to speed.) I don't know how I missed that van, but I'm totally blaming le boat.

It's my brothers name-sake. My oldest brother wanted to name him "Boat". I so agree with him (I'm the youngest).

But dude, such a good driver. I can do it all, 'cause I'm mad talented like that. Mm-hmm.

Je Suis: Amaranthine

Je Suis, Amaranthine means I Am, Never ending/Everlasting. This is the beginning of a new chapter.

Je Suis is the place I plan to come when there's something on my mind, and I want to talk about it. Maybe I just think some attention needs to be drawn to it, or maybe I simply want to get it out there, to let it be known what my take on the subject is. Sometimes it'll just be some random little note, like something amusing that happened, or a link or something. It definitely isn't going to be completely serious, or anything; that'd  be dull!

But either way, this is just my place, my little Hidey-Haven (the original name for Je Suis; Hide-hole and Haven combined somewhat. :3), where anyone can give their opinion about whatever.

If you do plan on commenting, please: 

Be courteous, no "I'm right, you're wrong, now shut up!"

Keep in mind these are people's opinions, for whatever reasons, and try and respect them at least to a point.

Keep an open mind. This is a must.

That's pretty much it. Keep it real, yeah?

'Laters.