Happy (belated) blogeversary

Hi from Southern California.

I know what you're thinking.  You have visions of sun.  But it's actually kind of windy and chilly here.  And today it was sleeting.  The sad truth is that I've gained 100 degrees, and it's still not warm enough.

So, for about the last week and a half I've been not in Alaska.  This has involved way too much time with my parents and brother in the small enclosed space of the rental car, going on several beautiful hikes, attending the Arizona Baha'i conference, and visiting my Grandma's house.  That's where I am right now.  Blogging to you from a computer connected to the internet with a dial up connection.*

And so this is basically the first time I've been on a computer in about that length of time.  And this seclusion from technology made me miss a very important date.

MY ONE YEAR BLOGEVERSARY!

So, happy anniversary blog.  And happy anniversary blog readers.  I'm glad you guys exist.  You are my inspiration for writing.  Well... you, and all the random jumbled up thoughts I have in my head that like to be expressed through writing.  But you definitely motivate me.


*Wherein I am learning the very important lesson of patience.

It is okay

I have this friend who's a psychology major.*  And she's so freaking smart and motivated, and she knows she's going to get her doctorate in psychology.  I mean, that's at least 10 years worth of certainty.

Last year I didn't decide where I was going to college until mid-April.  Everyone around me knew long before then.  They applied to such and such school because of this or that program, and in general they just knew what they were doing.  On the other hand, I applied to University of Oregon because their mascot was a duck, Lewis and Clark because in the college guidebook I checked out of the library it said that at L&C "a lot of the students have curly hair and wear bandanas," and UAF because it was further away than UAA.

I am aimless.  Have you ever noticed the title of my blog?  I am an aspiring... something.  Something.  I haven't figured it out yet.  I work hard, but I don't really have any idea what exactly I am working towards.

And I forget that it's okay to be aimless sometimes.  Actually, I forget that a lot of the time.  So then I have to remind myself that IT IS OKAY.

It is okay that you can quote practically all of Ella Enchanted,** and that you've seen almost every Vlogbrother video, and that you were the founding member of an anonymous flirting website for your college campus, but you haven't figured out what you want to be when you grow up.

And because I forget this very fact all the time, I wrote myself a letter.

Dear Future Elika,
Do not forget that being aimless and clueless and unsure is okay.  As long as you are upholding your morals and generally working towards the betterment of the world, you are doing good.  Also, do not forget that libraries are better than bookstores, Converse are better than fancy-pants shoes, and lava lamps are cool.
Sincerely,
Elika at a moment in time where she was remarkably clear-headed







*I promised I would write about her on my blog at some point because I looooooooove her.

**The book, not the movie.  Duh.

Home, home, home.

This morning I woke up to my roommate telling me classes were cancelled because of freezing rain.

This is the first time it's rained in Fairbanks in November since 1937.  And while I'm generally opposed to global warming, I am not opposed to warm weather.  Or classes being cancelled because of treacherous road conditions.  Or snowball fights breaking out halfway between the freshmen dorms because hey, we're not in class.  Or spending my afternoons learning how to swing dance instead of learning how to make reeds.  Or going home.

Because, yeah guys, I am home right now.

Earlier this evening I got one of those list serv-ey emails telling me classes were cancelled and campus was closed tomorrow too.  And at the point I was just like "screw this town, I miss my brother."  And so I changed my flight, left my roommate a note that said "See ya Sunday night!," hitched a ride to the airport off my friend's roommate, and came home.

And as I was flying into town during the freezing rain, I saw the lights of Anchorage reflected dully in the mudflats and I realized that Fairbanks is not yet home.  I like Anchorage with its ocean and mountains.  I like the fact that it's always really windy near my house.  I like the public library.  I like the way this city smells.

And I like my house.  I like the end pieces of homemade bread left in the bread Tupperware.  I like the way the water tastes.  I like all the clothes I left behind that are sitting there in my closet waiting for me to wear them again.  I like the fact that my house is at a reasonable temperature, and I do not have to open the window even though its 10 degrees outside.*  I like that there are not lots of drunk 18 year olds stumbling up the stairs at one in the morning.  I like the fact that the door is red.

I like college.  It's fun, and I learn things, and my friends are fantastic people.  But I really like being home.  I think I might turn off my phone and my computer for the next six days, and just enjoy being with my family for the first time since August.





*It's not 10 degrees outside right now.  It's some incredibly heat wave-ish 33 degrees.  But the point is that I've left my window open in the dorms when its really cold outside, because they keep the heat up wayyyy to high.

Real life acknowledgments

I was talking to Valerie earlier today, and we were talking about Libba Bray.  Val is very pro Libba, and I am still kind of up in the air.  Going Bovine was just so... psychedelic.  But there was one point we agreed on: Libba rocks at writing acknowledgements.  Which got me thinking about what my acknowledgements would say if I were to ever write a book.  So, here are some:

Thanks to the man who sold me my ukulele.  Thanks to Beka for feeding me brownie batter every Monday afternoon when we were freshmen.  Thanks to anyone who has ever told me I have beautiful hair, I am finally starting to believe you.  Thanks to my next door neighbor 12 years ago for having a swing set.  Thanks to Robin for living through the danger zone with me, and for replying to my emails.  Thanks to my favorite teacher for showing me how fun writing a news article can be.  Thanks to my roommate for being okay with the fact that there were five people on the floor of our room when she got back last night.  Thanks to the five people who slept on the floor of my room last night for being more fantastic than words can describe.  Thanks to my brother for sending me two mix CDs this week, and thank you for labeling them in French.  Thanks to Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, Mahler, and Vaughan Williams.  Similarly thanks to Regina Spektor, Billy Joel, Coldplay, and Paul Simon.  Thanks to Josh for being so incredibly fantastic at keeping in touch, and for taking all my literature recommendations last summer.  Thanks to my parents for suggesting Tylonol and Orajel as a combatant to the pain I've been dealing with in my mouth for the last two weeks, it's been helping a lot.  Thanks to the sub in AP Gov last year that let us watch The Office.  Thanks to Val for leaving me that voicemail today, and thank you for keeping me from going mental.  And thank you to you for reading my blog.

A sibling moment

Me: Hi Zayn, I didn’t think up any questions, so this is going to be totally ad libbed.

Zayn: Sounds good.

Me: So, can you tell people who you are?

Zayn: I’m Zayn.

Me: Can you be more specific?

Zayn: Um, well, what else do I need to say?

Me: Um, I don’t know that you’re my brother?

Zayn: I’m Elika’s brother.

Me: That’s good.  So you’re making cookies?

Zayn: No I already made cookies.

Me: Wait, they’re out of the oven?

Zayn: Yeah.

Me: All of them?

Zayn: No, I only made one batch.

Me: So there’s cookie dough in the fridge?

Zayn: Yes, you can go eat the cookie dough in the fridge.

Me: So, I’m going to college soon.  Are you going to miss me?

Zayn: Probably not. Maybe a little.  But I’ll read your blog everyday just to make you happy.

Me: You’ll have to do all my chores.

Zayn: No I’ll argue with Mom and Dad about it.  I’m very good at arguing… You don’t have to put that part in.

Me: So, how’s cross country going?

Zayn: Good.  I think I made it to varsity.

Me: Have you checked the website?

Zayn: Yeah, I was the eighth one.

Me: You realize it’s the first seven that make varsity?

Zayn: Yeah, but you said some people won’t have enough practices!

Me: Where’s practice tomorrow?

Zayn: Kincaid chalet.

Me: Don’t get lost.

Zayn: Oh, actually, I forgot to tell you, everyone thought we got lost ‘cause Nate was like ‘Freshman, do an extra lap!’ So then we got back late, and everyone was like ‘Were you lost?’

Me: Did you say ‘No, I have better directional skills than my sister?’

Zayn: No.  Actually, during the name game where you have to say your name and something important about yourself I said ‘Hi, I’m Zayn, and I’m Elika’s sister.  Oh, and I’m not going to get lost.’  But the important thing was that I’m related to you. 

Zayn: Hey, Elika, what’s that store in the mall that’s called, um, I forget what it’s called.  Actually I have no idea where it is.  But I applied for a job there, and they didn’t hire me.

Me: Orange Julius?

Zayn: No. What?  It’s tropical and yellow. 

Zayn: Hey Elika, is my hair sticking up?

Me: No.  Is is PacSun?

Zayn: YEAH! That’s what I was talking about.  I need to go to PacSun ‘cause Kurtis says there are skinnies there on sale for five dollars.

Me: Can I change the music?

Zayn: I guess, as long as you don’t put on dumb music.

Me: Here let me see your iPod.

Zayn: No!

Me: You just said I could change it!

Zayn: Fine, you can change it… Is that from my iPod?

Me: Yeah, it’s The Shins.

Zayn: Why is this on my iPod?

Me: So, what do you think of my interviewing skills?

Zayn: I think they suck.  A lot.  And you better not leave this part out.

Me: What happened to your knee?

Zayn: I was so tired on Tuesday when I was running I fell down a hill.

Me: You were so tired you fell down a hill?

Zayn: I tripped and then I fell down a hill because I was so tired I couldn’t get back up.

Me: So, are you stoked for high school?

Zayn: No cause I know someone’s gonna trash can me, and someone else is gonna lock me in my locker.  You know I can fit in my locker?  Mom locked me in there.

Me: Aren’t you a little bit tall for your locker?

Zayn: Apparently not, ‘cause I fit.

Me: Are you excited for band?

Zayn: NO!

Me: What about AYS?

Zayn: A little bit.  But still no.  Just not a yelling no.

Zayn: Hey, Elika, you’re in a dream.  See, look, it’s still spinning.

Me: Did you buy that just cause of Inception?

Zayn: Yes!  We were looking for posters cause that would have been awesome.  But we couldn’t find any, but we found these tops for 48 cents.

Me: What’s your favorite book?

Zayn: The book I just finished.  The Lost Conspiracy or whatever.  Actually, I don’t really have a favorite book. 

Zayn: Your music choice sucks.

Me: You don’t like Billy Joel?

Zayn: Oh, this is Billy Joel?  Oh, it sounds like suckish music, not Billy Joel.  If you’re gonna play Billy Joel play good Billy Joel.

Me: Who are you texting?

Zayn: I can’t tell you.

Me: Cause it’s a girl?

Zayn: No, it’s a guy.

Me: Then why can’t you tell me?

Zayn: I dunno.

Me: Do you have a secret girlfriend?

Zayn: No.  Why would I have a secret girlfriend Elika?  That’s the dumbest thing ever.

Zayn: Ah! What is that!? Let’s kill it! [it’s a bug on the wall] Ahh! It’s dead!

Me: What’s your secret girlfriend’s name?

Zayn: I don’t know, let me think of one.  I can’t think of a name for my secret girlfriend.

Me: What about Olga?

Zayn: Who’s Olga? Sounds Russian! I don’t wanna go out with a Russian.  You’re ridiculous.

Me: Can I read your text messages?

Zayn: No.

Zayn: I’m hungry. 

Me: Do you wanna go get some cookies?

Zayn: I guess. Do you wanna go get some cookies?

Me: Yeah, I’m kind of tired of interviewing.

Zayn: Okay. Peace out Elika’s blog readers, which is only Dad and Valerie.

Me: I think more people read my blog than that.

Zayn: And Mom.

Zayn: Man, I wish my hair would stick up.  Is it sticking up yet?

Me: I think we’re done here.

A life plan time capsule

I made this plan mid-March during a Baha'i Intensive in Fairbanks.  It was at the end of a long day of fasting and Ruhi Book 5.  Jamie had to meet up with some coordinators at a coffee shop, and since Valerie and I were staying at her house we tagged along and spent our time drinking hot chocolate and writing life plans down on napkins and talking about the imminent future.

We were mostly daydreaming about how we'd like things to turn out.  But I think we both secretly believed that these plans could be possible.  And if Plan A didn't work out, well then we wrote Plan B* too.

I think it's important to write your life plan down on a napkin and save it.  I think it's important to write your thoughts down period, and then look back on them later.  It's a time capsule of your brain, and things change quickly.  I mean, 5 months ago I was convinced I would end up in Portland rooming with Valerie, studying some humanities-esque degree at a small private college where the students wear too much tie-dye.


*My Plan B involved UAF with Val, graduating and moving to Canada, becoming the editor of a prominent newspaper in Montreal or Toronto, getting married and having three kids, retiring to Italy, and opening a pie shop.

Musically Challenged by Valika and Elerie

Val and I have formed a band.  We call ourselves Valika and Elerie, and we have just written our first song, "Musically Challenged."  It is a tribute to our musical inspiration, Ben and Carlton.

A Nicholas Sparks experiment

Last week one of my friends mentioned that he had started to read a Nicholas Sparks book, and that it was bad. I discussed the matter with my librarian mother and we had a lot of fun pulling out Sparks' USA Today interview (here) and other various blogs poking fun at the author (here), at which point I realized I had never actually read Nicholas Sparks.

There were many good reasons for this. Reason number 1. everyone whose book sense I trust had told me he was bad, and reason number 2. I am not a fan of romance (in fiction, and in real life. It's just so...barfy). But I decided that the time had come to read a Nicholas Sparks novel.  I chose A Walk to Remember.  It is Sparks' favorite tale of youth after all.

So, here are my top 10 problems with A Walk to Remember:

Problem Number 10. The second time Landon has an honest to God conversation with Jamie, she cries. At which point, Landon goes "This was the first time I'd ever seen her cry." Um, excuse me, Landon Carter, but with all due respect this is the second time you've ever really talked to her.

Problem Number 9. Jamie is the picture of perfection. She volunteers at the orphanage. She's a preacher's daughter. When she sees "wounded critters" she takes them to the vet, and says "I think it was in the Lord's plan for me to rescue this wounded critter." I mean, I'm all for willing suspension of disbelief. But this is over the top, Mr. Sparks.

Problem Number 8. The book is in first person. I always prefer third person to first person, because in first person you have access to the protagonist's every thought. And that's just a little too much. Especially when your protagonist is an idiot. (Read King of Hearts)

Problem Number 7. While Jamie is this obvious shining beacon of perfection, she's kind of an idiot. See page 58, when she diffuses a situation for Landon, he thanks her, and she's like "For what?" Or pages 84-89, when she approaches Landon's friends and tells Landon that he's been slackin' in the play performing department (but she's nice, of course), while Landon's friends look on and make fun of him. Later on, Jamie is all "wow, your friends are so nice." And I'm like "Gahhhhhh, you're such an idiot, you fictional love interest."

Problem Number 6. Landon's Mom. She's just kind of lacking those comforting Mom skills. Take, for instance, the exchange between mother and son on pages 203 and 204. Landon is distraught over the fact that Jamie is sick, and his mother says "there's nothing you can do."

Problem Number 5. The nerd girl gone gorgeous bit. This is so completely overused. It goes like this. Girl is nerdy and plain. She wears her hair up, and has an affinity for plain sweaters. Boy starts talking to girl, as a result of outer influences. Girl lets her hair down. She is gorgeous. Boy falls in love. This happened with Jamie and Landon. See page 181: "Though I hadn't asked her to wear her hair down, she'd done it for me." Excuse me, Mr. Pretentious Protagonist, but girls don't just fix their hair according to boys. Also, you never told her about the hair thing, so how would she know?

Problem Number 4. Jamie is omniscient. That's how she knows to wear her hair down. See page 218: "'You knew, from that first day in Miss Garber's class that I was going to do the play, didn't you. When you looked at me and smiled?' She nodded. 'Yes.' 'And when I asked you to the homecoming dance, you made me promise that I wouldn't fall in love, but you knew that I was going to, didn't you?' She had a mischievous gleam in her eye. 'Yes.'" Jamie is a 17 year old girl, she is not God.

Problem Number 3. The barf factor. I would cite examples, but frankly there are too many. All 240 pages are filled with desperately awful melodramatic prose, that makes you want to gag. (okay, one example: After Jamie tells Landon she's dying of cancer, he breaks down thinking "I've only loved her for eighteen days!" Woe is you.)

Problem Number 2. The whole cancer bit. I am not a fan of literary death. Most authors don't get it, in my opinion. They want to elicit reactions from their readers and so they kill someone off. I think that's a cop out, personally. Nicholas Sparks is a fan of the death cop out, and A Walk to Remember is no different. I was like, no skin off my back now that Jamie's dead. The book never pulled me in enough to care about her.

Problem Number 1. Marriage. 8 pages from the end, Landon asks Jamie to marry him. She says yes. I'm sorry, but what? She's dying of Leukemia, you're both seventeen, and it's just a really dumb idea.

So, now that I've read Nicholas Sparks, I can honestly say that I do not like Nicholas Sparks. I think he and Stephanie Meyer should co-author a book. Can vampires get cancer? Amnesia?

The end of AYS

Today was my last AYS rehearsal.

I know I told people that I was both happy and sad, but really I'm just sad sad sad.

My reasoning for why I would be happy that it was almost over was that sometimes it sucks.  Sometimes it's three hours, and you just have to sit there and suffer through it.  And sometimes you have to sit there and play your music until you get it right and its stressful and embarassing.  And sometimes there are people in AYS that you really don't want to have to see ever.  But it's not always like that. 

AYS is the reason I fell in love with music.  I used to be a little oboist in middle school, and I didn't know any other oboe players, and all I did was play band music and practice when my Mom made me.  And that was boring, and stupid, and I didn't love it whatsoever. 

And then when I was a freshman I practiced a lot, and made it into AYS as a sophomore.*  And a lot of it was sitting in three hour rehearsals on Monday nights being a fifth oboe, which, not gonna lie, was really boring.  But at the end of that year we played Tchaikovsky's 4th Symphony, and to this day that's been the most awe-inspiring performance of my life.

Being a part of a symphony is really indescribable.  It's a situation where everyone is much more than the sum of their parts.  It is more than worth it to sit through three hour rehearsals to be a part of this.  And this was the place where I first learned how amazing and moving Russian composers are.

Tomorrow night will be the end of music as I know it.  There's going to be less time to rehearse music in college groups, believe me, I know.  Even if I have the chance to play in an orchestra next year,** it's not going to be quite the same.  People will expect more.  Which is always good, but it's nice when there's room to make mistakes.  It's nice when you have more than four rehearsals to put together a concert.  It's nice to just sit there and play your music.

I'm going to grow up, and I'm going to end up doing something with my life that will be fulfilling for me, and will hopefully impact the world positively.  And I may or may not have the chance to play in an orchestra.  But whatever I do, and whoever I become will have been changed incredibly by playing in this symphony.  It's made all the difference in the world in my life to be a part of it, and I really can't believe it's over.






*Time for bragging rights.  AYS never kicks people out.  When I was auditioning at the end of my freshman year, there were no graduating seniors, so I was just like hey, I'm doing this for kicks.  But then I played (Schumann Romance No. 1) and Sharman (the auditioner) said she would have accepted me if there was room, no doubt.  And then I got accepted anyway, even though there wasn't room.

**Which, I swear to God, if I don't, I will go through massive withdrawal symptoms not unlike those heroin addicts go through when they're cruely forced to quit

Mozart Oboe Concerto K314 Mvt. I

So, I bet you're wondering what happened.

Well, the week leading up to this I was super incredibly out of my mind nervous.  But the day of I was relatively calm.  I ate a banana.  I listened to "Under Pressure" (eating bananas and listening to "Under Pressure" are my pre-audition/performace routine).  And then I went downtown.  I goofed off backstage with the cellist who performed before me.  And then I went on.

And honestly, I don't remember it.  It's a big giant blur.  I know that I was nervous at the beginning, but I didn't trip on the opening.  And the rest of it doesn't really stick out in my mind.  Which is a major bummer, because after watching this video, I know that I did really well.  But after the performance I just accepted everyone's congratulations without knowing if I deserved it or not.

About that: after I played everyone was like "GOOD JOB."  And I was like "THANKS."  I mean, I'm a gracious oboist.  But there were only a few congrats that actually meant anything.  My best friend who told me I was amazing.  She's the type to tell you when you're published poem is lacking punctuation, so when she said I played well I knew I did.  The oboe player in the orchestra.  When she said good job, that was definitely a major highlight.  She's really good!  A lot of the reason I was nervous is because I knew she was listening.  My friend who plays the oboe, who told me I was her hero.  And my Mom.  But only after she said she was surprised I won the competition to begin with because my audition wasn't all that great (it wasn't).  But then she said I did really well at the actual performance.

I want to say THANK YOU* to everyone who came and watched me.  And thank you to everyone who's ever supported me in my oboe playing for the past seven years.  And thanks to those who wanted to come, but couldn't because of Model UN/State Skiing/busy lives/geography.





*Also, thank you to everyone who's taken my poll! 8 WHOLE PEOPLE.  From what I can gather, the footnotes are enjoyable, but excessive?  Leave a comment if I'm wrong (or right).

Third quarter blues

ON THE GENERAL SUCKINESS OF THIS TIME OF YEAR
a short story

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Smelika who lived in Iceland, and liked to pogo-stick.  Smelika was a very happy person with straight hair.  She also had a brother named Smayn, and a Mother whom she was taller than, and a Dad who was taller than her and also liked to swim.

Anyway, Smelika was all kinds of pro at pogo-sticking.  She won the Icelandic Youth Pogo-Stick Competition, in which she would get to pogo-stick on TV.  Everyone was very proud of her.  Heck, she was proud of herself.  She was very happy, until February began. 

Smelika HATED February.  Not because it was the month of loooooove and Valentine's Day.  Which everyone thought is why she hated February.  But that's not why, Smelika actually had a policy on that type of stuff: she had no feelings on Valentine's Day.  Because liking Valentine's Day was lame, and hating it was pathetic.  So she was simply emotionless about that particular Hallmarkesque holiday.

No, she hated February because it was full of suckiness.  It was far enough into the semester where the suckiness of your grades started catching up with you.  It was sucky because it was still winter, and cold outside.  And this year it was especially sucky because she was trying to figure out where to go to school and how to pay for it, and recieving mass rejection emails to programs she wanted to attend.  And okay, it was a little of sucky because of SadieHawkinsValentine'sDayandthosetypesofthings, and friends being too busy to listen to her whine.  Not that she blamed them of course, listening to other people whine was about a fun as cutting off your own ear.  Obviously some people enjoyed stuff like that, say VanGough.  But most people did not.

So Smelika wallowed by herself.  In her room.  Making sad music playlists until the battery on her iPod died, and reading her government textbook.  But she eventually had to go back to school, at which point she realized that even though this is the time of year when all the sucky things start piling up into a big giant mountain of suck, there were actually lots of things to not be depressed about.

For instance, her national pogo-sticking contest was in a mere two weeks!  And even though her friends were busy a lot, they still made it a point to talk to her, and listen to her vent, and also investigate into top secret matters for her, and then listen to her vent more once the top secret matters had been figured out.  Smelika was happy to have such awesome friends.

Appeased with this kind of anti-suck propaganda, Smelika gritted her teeth, and prepared herself for the next several incredibly busy months.




Note:  this story is in no way related to my life.

A summary of winning the concerto competition

About two and a half weeks ago I tried out for a concerto competition, because I love auditioning. I know, I'm strange, but live auditions bring out the best in me. I never heard back from them, so I enjoyed my break (kind of, I spend about half of it incredibly stressed out and freaked out by college applications. The other half I spent at a Baha'i intensive, and that was of course, completely wonderful).

So then, Saturday night, my Mother (who I think is probably the only one who reads this and would of course already know all this) and I are clothes shopping. She went home to help my brother with a science fair problem, and came back with a letter. Which I opened. To find out I WON THE CONCERTO COMPETITION.

I was, of course, super shocked. My reaction was "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!" and for the last five days every other sentence that has come out of my mouth has been "I can't believe I won."

I mean, I really can't believe it. I am not a violin player. I am an oboist. Which is not a violin. Violins win concerto competitions, not oboes.

The other news is that I passed out this morning, and then I went to school and sat through first period AP Statistics and decided that school was just not working out for me. So I went home, took a four hour nap, and still feel pretty dang terrible. Not to mention, when I passed out, I hit my head. So I have a bruised cheek and a cut on my lip in addition to residual dizziness.

The combination of the swollen lip and the dizziness mean I can't practice my oboe, which is exactly what I don't need right now.

So while I'm waiting for my body to normalize, I'm going to finish my E. Lockhart book, do some math homework, and listen to the Flight of the Conchords CD I checked out the of library.