Monday, August 05, 2013

late night dance parties

Sometimes I wonder what a passing motorist would think about Adrianna and me, if they were to catch a glimpse of us through the open windows that face the street. They'd see two girls leaping, twirling, even hair-flipping in the light of two lamps. They'd see us jumping on the couches or stomping on the floor or advancing toward each other with threatening uppercut gestures parroted from YouTube kickboxing workout videos. Yet there's something so electric about spinning until you can't stand with your eyes open, dancing worse than Elaine Benes on Seinfeld (see below), and knowing that nobody cares because it's just you and your sister and the world outside your window, maybe, if anyone takes the time to look.
On that note the word of the day (which I won't keep up every day, because I'm just commitment-phobic like that--also, I realized that "cross my heart and hope to die" may not be an especially potent promise, since I'm still kicking) is *drumroll*
  1. fre·net·ic  

    Fast and energetic in a rather wild and uncontrolled way: "a frenetic pace of activity".

Frenetic because it's a word that describes our late night dance parties, frenetic because it describes this summer and everything about it that I don't want to let go. From shenanigans on a crowded party bus blasting pop music too loudly on prom night to learning how to drive, doing precalc, writing 3 speeches, prepping for TEDxRedmond, and trying to finish college apps--I guess even the things that aren't so fun are frenetic, just the same. In the end, what's the difference between me and Adrianna spinning in our living room to the music and me running from to-do item to to-do item?

My sister, I guess. And the music.

Song of the day!

Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
Oh, my god, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above are sizzling like a snare
Honey, I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere
Nothing scares me anymore
I think I'll miss you forever
Like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky
Later's better than never
Even if you're gone I'm gonna drive

If I go back in the archives of this blog I can see what songs I was listening to last summer. Almost one year ago I wrote this: . Lots of Florence and the Machine, that line "No light, no light in your bright blue eyes / I never knew daylight could be so violent" because I liked a blue-eyed boy, all the Who and Beatles and Mumford and Sons because my best friends at summer camp reminded me of my repressed affinity for classic rock. I still like those bands/songs, but I don't listen to them nearly as much--it's funny how informed our tastes are by our times. I wonder what'll stick around and what will change when I write a blog post like this, one year from now?

As Ze Frank said it best (watch the video y'all)--

"Have you ever lost the ability to imagine a future without a person who is no longer in your life? Have you ever looked back on that event with the sad smile of autumn, and the realization that futures will happen regardless?"

But for a few minutes, maybe an hour even, all our frenetic dancing like Elaine Benes lets me forget summertime sadness and the coming season and all the to-do lists it brings. 

Thursday, August 01, 2013

Flooby or Fly

I wrote this in response to a challenge from my friend to use the imaginary word "flooby," so here goes...

            LaRousse took a guess, that he was floobier than fly,

            but the crowd met his bet with derision; they cry,

            “LaRousse! Don’t do it, you’re throwing away

            your money, our goodwill, hear what we say—

            you’re fly more than flooby, trust our advice,

            instead of taking this guess and a roll at the dice!”

            Yet LaRousse said, “I’m flooby,” with a chin set so firm

            that his mother winced and his father sat stern,

            as he stepped up to the table, took a swig from his flask,

            and threw down a card without stopping to ask.

            “What says it?” screamed the people, all bending to look,

            and a glance at the “f-l-o” was all that it took,

            They cheered him, he beckoned for drinks to be brought,

            “On the house!” said a barmaid, hefting a draught,

            and the naysayers said they’d been jesting, for sure,

            they knew he was flooby, just been trying to lure

            him away from the bet that was right.

            And LaRousse hides the floobies he’s carried all night.