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TepidSoda
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Name: Melissa Faith
Country: United States
State: Oregon
Metro: Eugene
Birthday: 4/30/1985
Gender: Female
Expertise: I'm good at singing in my car. Not that I'm a good singer necessarily, just... I'm an expert car singer. I know how to belt it out. When I'm alone. And the music is very loud.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Education/Research
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  TepidSoda
Member Since:
11/6/2004
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STOP!!
I've moved.
Find me now at tucktown.blogspot.com.
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The other day, my mom found two dead mice and one live mouse in a vase under the sink at my parents' house (incedentally my house too right now). She alerted my dad, who took the vase out from under the sink only to find that the live mouse was actually eating his dead mouse companions. They had starved to death, and he was eating them as a last resort to survival.
My dad's first inclination was to let the live mouse out into the forest in our "backyard" – I mean, heck, the poor lil guy had already been through enough, right? No. My mom insisted that my dad fill the vase with water and drown the live mouse. So he did. And the lil rascal swam around and around in the vase of death, until there was no more swimming left in him. He let go of the little sliver of life he had clung to, even while he was forced to eat his lil mouse friends.
That's my story for the day. I threw a fit when I found out about it. But my mom insisted that a watery death is not a bad way to die, that the mouse was busy thinking about swimming and had no time to think about dying. Oh yeah... if he wasn't thinking about dying then why did he resort to eating his lil buddies? And why did he swim until he could no more? And not to mention, my mom is freaked out of a watery death. The very idea terrifies her.
So I said to my mom, "If a watery death is a better way to die, then why does the exterminator use poison to kill mice and other critters?" Her response: "Because the exterminator is a busy man, and he doesn't have time to fill up a bunch of little containers with water." | | |
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New term, new projects for my Multimedia Design class. We're doing a photo journal of sorts, and this poem inspired me tonight while I was pondering the subject matter of my term project. Tomorrow I'm gonna see if I can use the actual poem in my project, that would be really sweet.
Okay hold on, I was doing something just now... Oh right, I was sleeping when the inspiration hit me and I had to get up to research it and find the poem. Now I'm never gonna fall asleep because I'm gonna be coming up with all these radical ideas in my head. Yeah, just read the poem already.
The Bridge Builder
An old man, going a lone highway,
Came, at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep, and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.
"Old man," said a fellow pilgrim near,
"You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again must pass this way;
You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide -
Why build you a bridge at the eventide?"
The builder lifted his old gray head:
"Good friend, in the path I have come," he said,
"There followeth after me today,
A youth, whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him."
– Will Allen Dromgoole
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I was feeling pensive tonight so made a list of stuff about me, in case you wondered.
• In high school, my nickname was Melt. Now, most people call me Tuck. You can call me whatever you want.
• I'm just another kid from Africa (or wherever) who doesn't know where she belongs or how she's getting there or how she'll know "there" when she sees it.
• I'm afraid of commitment, but not in the typical way. Most of my life, the friends I've loved the most have been taken away from me whenever my family moved to a different country. I'm afraid that will happen again, even though I know it won't if I don't let it.
• I love animals, because I don't have to hold up a conversation with them.
• I love yellow roses because they stand for friendship, and without friendships I'm all alone in the world.
• I don't mind getting lost, because I like the feeling of uncertainty and I like the challenge of finding myself again.
• I trust easily, perhaps too easily, but underneath I guard myself, perhaps too much.
• My thoughts are always clearest when my vision is blurred with tears.
• I have friends everywhere, and I miss them so much, and I think about them all the time, but I never pick up the phone to call them because I'm afraid I won't know what to say.
• I used to hate nicknames as a kid, but then I realized that people only take the time to give you a nickname if they care about you.
• I don't like to be the center of attention. I'd rather have the person in the spotlight looking at me for their moral support and encouragement because they know I'll always be by their side.
• I don't truly express myself a lot, because I'm always waiting for the perfect moment. Someday I'll realize that the perfect moment doesn't occur very often.
• I'd do anything for someone who needs my help, but I hate it when people go out of their way for me.
• I stand very firmly in my beliefs. I'm a Christian, and God is my beginning, my end, and everything in my inbetween.
• Sometimes I pull away from people I love, but only because I'm afraid they'll push me away.
• I love music, I love singing, and I don't care what people think.
• I love the rain, because it says everything I can never say in a way that I'll never be able to imitate. | | |
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Freedom's Source
It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.
It is the soldier, not the lawyer, who has given us the right to a fair trial.
It is the soldier, who salutes the flag, who serves under the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag.
Were it not for the brave, there would be no land of the free.
9/11/01, never forget.
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