Lithuanian has more cases than a liquor store.

By God’s breath, it hath three locatives, and a participle for every time and mood. Perfect for Mother’s day–she’s sure to love this complete set! Not paltry like Latin–only 1 measly locative that’s hardly used–Get your Lithuanian tea set today! Only 3 easy payments of 24.99; upgrade to a Finnish tea set and pay only 4 easy payments of 24.99!

The Jungle required to be read and dialectical-noted, I decided to learn a bit about Lithuanian so I could remember how to spell the characters’ names better.

I bet some people are gonna SparkNote their summer assignments. *mrrr.*

Yum. Potato.

After making this thing, I’m convinced that nearly any vegetable, when cooked with any combination of garlic, ginger, and maybe scallions, will turn out pretty palatable. I got the basic recipe from an Indian cookbook from the kids’ section of the library, and since my mom didn’t want to buy any more spices (“just use the curry powder!”), this was the only thing I had all the ingredients for. Granted, I’m open to skipping and twisting recipes when they’re ridiculous, obscure, expensive, fatty, republican, etc., but since spices seem to be a distinguishing factor of Indian food, I decided not to mess with them.

Strangely, this potato+pea thing didn’t taste like any figment of what I thought Indian food was supposed to look or taste like, at all. It tasted downright Chinese–it was even made like it. Actually, all the recipies had the same simple culinary structure as Chinese food (heat oil, add “aromatics”, brown; add foody stuff; salt; serve.) Maybe it was because I scraped out all the spicy parts of the green pepper, thus disposing of any spiciness that may have distinguished it.

Also, it had no meat in it. Usually, we (or my mom) puts little julienned sticks of meat into everything we eat, for flavor. This had no meat, and it still tasted ok. Maybe it was the skins on the potatoes–I left them on because the potatoes were shriveled (impossible to peel), and nearly supporting their own ecosystems. There were hideous little sprouts, purple-green, like a crystallizing solution of Barney, and bugs were living in the bag where the potatoes were.

Lately, I’ve been reading over old pieces, and generally anything else that looked easy enough. “Reading” doesn’t denote the freakishly tempo-consistent thing string players (and other competent musicians) do; for me, it’s more like an American using an abacus and trying to balance Enron’s books. Mozart actually flows along for me (at several different tempi), except when those little accidentals pop out or the rhythm does something funny. Bach’s 5th English (?) suite was also surprisingly non-crash+burn, though it still was pretty bad. Other than that, I’m still fiddling with the WTK because it’s awethumb.

The Relentless Archivist

When I was younger–not much younger, just a little bit, like a year or so ago, I would collect lots and lots of sentimentally meaningful yet hardly important stuff made of undigestable plant material, usually in the form of certificates, clippings, little thingies from teachers.

But then I gott lazee n stoppd bcuz i goot layzee n ran out of good sheet cover things and had to use the cheaper shiny kind, which I didn’t like as much. So now, I turn my archivisty instinct to my math notes. They’re lovely and turquoise, with headers illuminated like a monk copied it under the Benedictine code.

Ok, maybe not that lovely, but they do encase some nice memories. Looking back at my 9th grade notes, I realized that I’ve had math 2nd or 3rd period for a loonnnggg time–since 7th grade, actually. The prospect of having Calculus 7th period next year is ..a change.

Ah, math. Science. Math and Science. The Hard Sciences. If it weren’t for the awareness that I’m only good at them because of soci-cultural immersion/support and a knack for grasping patterns, not because of any instinct for the properties of numbers or matter/energy/life forms, I’d almost want to be a mathematician/scientist.

For, even if I did have that instinct, I’m not sure I’d want to start writing my 8’s like snowmen. [My brain has established a pattern that math/science people write 8’s like snowmen, which is a grand generalization based on 2 instances that’s been disproved by many others who don’t write 8’s like snowmen, but whatever.] There’s also the requisite above average caffeine-consumption during college for math/science people, and my bladder doesn’t do well with caffeine.

Ahh. Summer. I’m unexcited about the prospect of not having school, possibly because school, sans the enjoyable social interaction it tends to bring, has taken itself home in the form of AP work. Maybe volunteering will be fun.

My last day of the first half of high school or the first five sixths of public education or the first two thirds of secondary school was dreary, or maybe just sleepy.

Trying to fall asleep bored me last night, so I read The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers. [It’s one of those AP books.] Though its speech was simple and sentences un-victorianly-convulted, the simple words described the characters’ emotions so deeply that by the 13th page, I could definitely hear the hollow heart of the deaf-mute Singer, latiendo con dolor para el salir de su compadre, el Greco del nombre muy muy largo.

Pedi a mis profesores a firmar mi anuario (yearbook). Magistra Narden lingua latina scripsit; Sra. Glunt firmo en espanol (pero, no lo entiendo completamente). Haec meam orationem probationis finis anni laudavit, sed Ms. Hill seemed to be annoyed by the haphazard stapling of the essay I wrote for her final. Magister physicae [Romans didn’t have chemistry, only “physical/natural sciences” Lali apellatur signed in a penmanship amazingly similar to Rebecca Gelerenter’s. Statua ludi linguae anglicae domus traxi, as well as two books that the school library was about to discard. I’ve been wanting to read those books too–Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead and Douglas Adam’s The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Too bad the font in the former is miniscule.

And OMG. This is so annoying. [I didn’t bomb the chem final like I expected.] It’s like that equivocal banana (green with spots) issue. Now I’m confused about calculating molarity of a weak acid. *mews*


I completely screwed up like r=theta on my chem finalllllll

Why didn’t anyone tell me that H’s like their acetates and don’t all leaveee??????

I’m so uselessssssss.

“Hey look, it’s that girl who can’t recognize a weak acid even when she eats it with dumplings.

But hey, they’re over. Yay.

Haec mulierem edi.

I wore my theobromine shirt today, and it didn’t make chemistry any more fun.

Not that it was very hard, but there were definitely things that we skipped over, which bothered me. Like the one about making ammonia and how to move the equilibrium toward the product side–it could be solved with common sense (and a huge dose of confidence, which most people in our class don’t have), but that was a definite La Chatelier Principle one; couldn’t be more giveaway what concept it was testing. And we didn’t do it! El professor was like, “So there’s this principle..but *insert silent mental cursing about CAPT and our stupidity*..unfortunately, we haven’t the time.

Latin. Ugh. Manic bubbling, scribbling translation, then sitting there for half an hour. I’ve been going through a process of pillow trying, and they aren’t very good for sleeping on. (Personally, sleeping is more important to me than the perfect spinal alignment.)

[[[defessissima sum. iam non prandium edi.]]]