The Reason I'll Soon Be Drunk On Non-Alcoholic Eggnog

When all else fails, its time to hit the 'nog. There is nothing like drowning one's creeping doubt of not having a brain in a milky holiday drink. It is especially helpful if said eggnog is in my favorite mug, the one from Japan that has a picture of a dancing frog saying: "I am excited. Very much." and "The King of the frog" on the other side. Oh, I love Engrish. Oh, I loath Math.

 I've been trying to understand a simple graphing Algebra 2 graphing problem with the aid of my mathimatically compatible mother and my college-boy brother for the last half-hour, all of us studiously ignoring the occasional airborne sister or Dad getting pinned beneath the tilting christmas tree. It went something like this:

Me: "I still don't understand. Whats y = mx + b again?"
Mom: "Its the visual representation of an equation."
Me:"...so what is that?"
Mom:"Ask Jonmark."
Me: "(Repeats original question)."
Jonmark: "Duh. Its the visual representation of an equation."
Me: (sigh) "Yes, but whats an equation?"
Jonmark: "A statement asserting the equality of two expressions."
Me:"Lets go back. Whats a line?"
Jonmark: "A straight line, you know, the shortest distance between any two points on a plane."
Me: "And where is this plane?"
Jonmark: "In the mathimatical universe."
Me: "Right. Where is this mathimatical universe?"
Jonmark: "All around us!"
Me: "...so whats a graph?"

Mum explained how my mind just doesn't grasp the concept of Mathimatics to Jonmark. They both nodded knowingly and then gazed at my quiet confusion, pitiously. I think Mom is still holding out on that hope that my brains incompatibility with Math is made up for by some hidden vein of genius, because goodness knows I'm not going to be winning any Nobel Prizes for inventing a new principle in the configuration of third-dimension variables, or some other such gobbledy-gook.

See, eggnog makes sense.  Band-aids make sense. Laughter makes sense. Decimals don't make sense. Graphs don't make sense. Variables don't make sense. You can't drink a decimal, or  protect a wound with a graph, or delight a child with a variable. To some, like my math teacher, mathimatics is a barely tangable universe with no physical location, a world yet to be discovered. To me? I'm the girl in the silver mini-van trying to find my way to a place I know hardly anything about. I can barely find my way out of a paper bag with mapquest, let alone a navigating the mind-bending sea of Math.

So what is my brain made for? What is the key to unlocking the keyhole of my purpose? Math isn't the key, obviously. Thats like trying to jam a lumpy carrot up my nose. A paintbrush might be the key, or a pencil, or a dancing slipper. I'm not sure. I'm just waiting for the moment when God finally reveals to me what my brain IS meant for and I can finally unlock that genius. Or at least some buried treasure.

In the mean time I'm going to go top up my "King of the frog" mug. Wait, did we leave Dad under the tree?

Tinsel and Tryptophan,
Hannah

)

(P.S. Christmas is coming....

Trespassing, Ex-Boyfriends, and Bad Directions: Poetry

Reading and struggling to interpret famous poetry, I've come to the conclusion that complex poetry needs to be translated into modern circumstance and language. So, for you understanding, here are three famous poems, updated.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Trespassing on a Freezing Day                               Translated by Hannah Hoo

I think I know whose backwoods I’m trespassing in,

But it’s ok because his house is near town

So he (probably) won't catch me

Taking my dog on a bathroom break in the snow.

My dog must think it’s weird

Being out here without any people or places around

We passed the trees but haven't gotten past the lake yet

Boy, I hate that daylight saving time.

His dog collar tags clink,

that dumb dog looks so confused.

Pretty quiet out here

Except for this bleeping cold blizzard.

It ain't to bad out here, 

But "Days of Our Lives" is on in half an hour,

and I’ve got a ways to walk before I can fall asleep on the sofa

my cushy, worn-in sofa. 

Ozymandias of Egypt 
by Percy Bysshe Shelley 

I met a traveller from an antique land 
Who said:—Two vast and trunkless legs of stone 
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, 
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown 
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command 
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things, 
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed. 
And on the pedestal these words appear: 
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: 
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!" 
Nothing beside remains: round the decay 
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, 
The lone and level sands stretch far away. 

"Meet Me By That One Statue!"

Translated by Hannah Hoo

I met this tourist in Egypt

He told me to meet him by the statue with the huge calves of stone

Said its in the desert, "Near the sand". Wow, helpful.

Half in the sand with a busted up face, frowning obviously,

what statue wouldn't have wrinkly lips and a cold sneer after being beat up?

The sculptor must have had a great grasp of the obvious,

You can see it in the lifeless statue.

What a stupid idea for a meeting place.

The tourist says the statue's nametag reads "Hello! My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"

Apparently its in the middle of nowhere

Just the hunk of bare stone

Alone in the sand.

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

I'm So Lonely Ever Since My Boyfriend Broke Up With Me

Translated by Hannah Hoo

I walk around with no purpose, like a stupid fluffy cloud

Raining over everyone's parades.

I see a group of cute guys

Playing tackle football under a tree near the lake in the park

Jumping and smashing each other

Gosh, they were fit

Their eyes even twinkled, like in movies

It seemed like a never ending line of pulchritudinous college boys

Haha, that one almost got pushed into the lake

There must be thousands of them

Leaping after the football

I think even the lake has a crush on them

And the trees are crying leaves the guys are so attractive

Even a poet would go gay

After watching them play football!

I drooled, watching them like a mindless zombie

They should charge admission to this park.

When I go home and fling my broken heart on the couch

Depressed about my failed love

I'll just think about those guys

And i'll turn off my phone and ignore the world.

For a while I can forget my ex and be happy,

and remember that there are more fish in the sea. 

All the Worlds a Blog,

-Hannah

Putting the Fun in Funeral

One moment I was in my heavenly scarlet snuggie, the next, defying the basic laws of physics trying to run up a wet concrete hill in my heels. Time passes like that on sleepy days like this. I huddled under my lemon-yellow duck umbrella (as seen in my profile picture to the left), perfect for a funeral.

I've squirmed through many a grim funeral, and i've come to a few conclusions about needing to liven' thing up around here. Morbid as it may be to dwell on, something must be done. Before I write this I just want to make clear that I mean no offense to anyone, esp. the dearly departed (though they are probably much to busy to be preoccupied with my ramblings). I've lost friends and family like everyone, but I know that death is only the beginning for me and for all Christians. This life is like an elevator ride; despite being so breif it feels like it takes forever due to the painful elevator music and creaking pulleys. I might have to leave my earthly body behind (Goooodbye and good ridance!) but when I finaly arrive into God's Kingdom I'm going to be so indescribably joyful, I will barely remember my previous life. It sounds like a "Puff the Magic Dragon" fairy tale, but its one happily ever after that you can depend on if you are a believer. And thats why funerals should be a celebration, not a pity-party.

First of all, why black? I mean, besides being a slimming color, it looks so...so...black. I can just imagine on the announcements: "Location: StudMuffin Funeral Home. Dress: Costume of your choice except Clown. Those are just creepy." Well, maybe not a themed costume funeral. Maybe a classier version, like everyone has to dress like 1940 Hollywood starlets or in Elizabethian wigs.

My favorite part (if you can say that) about a funeral is when people stand up and share their funny moments and fond memories. Laughter is the best medicine, after all. How fun would it be if everyone would receive a balloon. Then, as the last chorus of "Moves Like Jagger" ended, everyone would release their balloons into the sky. Not exactly environmentally friendly, but sure is memorable.

Oh, and food. There has to be lots of food. Its time to leave the mint-brownies that vague taste of pickles in the trunk. Not just mashed potatoes and jello molds of Elvis's face but non-traditional yummy food, the departed's favorite foods. Pizza, french bread, hamburgers, and more. Desserts are, of course, a must. Pecan pie, gooey butter cake, crepes, and a chocolate fountain.

Music is another biggie. Hymns can be very sweet, but it would be fun to mix it up a bit. After Amazing Grace and a savory medly of contemporary worship, why not spice thing up with Toby Mac? 2NE1? Well, whatever it is it'll have to be pretty loud to be heard over the fireworks that any sane person would demand at their funeral. That or a flash mob.

The stylists at funeral homes should be fired. The pepto-bismol lipstick, the powdered afros; no. It is a crime. How about hiring someone who actually knows what they are doing for a change? Not to mention its never too late to try something daring, even beyond the grave. That tangerine nail polish they never got around to trying? The peach eyeshadow they weren't daring enough to wear? Its never too late for a fashion statement.

Every funeral I've attended its like a florist shop has exploded. Why not take that a step furthur and sprinkle rose petals on the ground? Or instead of a stuffy funeral home they could host funerals in one of the favorite places of the deceased? Alog with picturesq meadows I beleive McDonalds, T.J. Max, and Wall-Mart would be popular funeral spots.

I know one thing that I must have at my funeral: everyone must receive a little bag of Reese's PB Cups as a parting gift to remember me by. But don't plan on getting it anytime soon!

Mystery Sauce,
-Hannah Hoo