The Nameless Shade of Awesome

What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. - Juliet
In most cases, except mine.
So, I ask, what's in a name? You're given one at birth, but how do you know if that's the name that defines you? And if it isn't, what are you supposed to do about it?
As you can see, I've got a minor dilemma. Since I realized how common my name was, I've been trying various forms of it to switch to one day.
My trials have offered no solution.
Instead, I've ended up with weird combinations of letters, Gem, and Enna, and Emme, and any sort of thing you could think of. Some pretty, and some . . . pretty weird. But none stuck long enough for me to be able to tell whether or not I was the name.
For now, I'll be the nameless.
I'll be "that girl" as the title of Jenna's (from the show Awkward.) blog was for a few episodes. Nameless, but important and awesome.
Side note: What fifteen year old talks like Jenna does? Few and far between, I can vouch for that. Though, my opinion is a little biased. Living in Sudbury can do that to a person.
Tonight, if you are of the commercial/materialistic religion, is Christmas Eve. The night the jolly red fat man squeezes himself down the chimney (who actually has a working chimney anymore?) and leaves gifts for the little ones in all houses with only cookies and milk to keep him going. What I found was that, Santa Claus may be tainted by commercial things nowadays but the stories behind him aren't.
Stories, yes. Santa Claus, Saint Nicholas, and pretty much any other version of the same "person" remain untrue. They aren't the same person.
Or so I was told by my 6-year-old cousin. I haven't checked out whether or not that's true, but going by the rubbish spewed by many a thing today, I'd say it's a pretty accurate statement.
So, while most people rush around wrapping up last minute gifts, and hiding them strategically under the tree, I will lie back in my bed and enjoy the wonders of 8-year-olds warding off burglars -- Home Alone. And if Home Alone is your cup of tea, I'll ask you to check out Unaccompanied Minors. I swear, if I got stuck in an airport on christmas, I would pull everything those kids did. They are my airport heroes!
As for my reading duty, I've been skimping on my journey. But, I have gained a few more in my collection, so I'll have that many more stories to tell once I do get started. Whenever that may be. Soon! I promise, soon!
A song to listen to -- I warn, it may rip your heart out, it's *that* beautiful:

And a dingy, funny good one:

Cause I can't resist the Grinch :P And neither should you! I wonder if there's a book about him . . .
Save that for another day! My fine readers, I hope you enjoy your christmas, and I'll talk to you afterwards!
Ciao!

Starry-Eyed and Awkward.

I feel sort of saucy today.
I'm not too sure why, maybe because it was the last day before christmas holidays. Maybe because the day was all mashed up, and I should be doing something right now. Maybe for no reason at all. But I feel the need to do something, and be quick, sassy and witty about it.
Not sure how that'd work. Do something . . . sassily? Saucily? I'd have to have someone to sauce at first. And let's hope it's not the turkey at christmas. That would be a pathetic sauce-fest  -- no pun intended.
Perhaps, it is because of the show I got in to last night. Only twenty minutes -- give or take -- an episode, and with a main character much like myself, but prettier, it definitely has it's hilarity issues. And it's awkward issues. Like the title "Awkward." Catchy? Yes.
And to top it off, the music from it is fantastic! Kind of techno, kind of indie, there's bound to be at least one song everyone could like.
As for Jenna, she's like I would be, were it that I actually had some sort of male attraction value, young parents, and an interesting life. Not that mine doesn't have it's moments, but mistaking a huge accident for a suicide attempt? Suckish, but interesting.
AND! She's got a blog! Keeps a blog, either way. I doubt it'd be on the internet in actual life, but the stories she spews on to her blog -- personal -- but extremely entertaining. You could tell they were written by an interesting Hollywood-ian. Hollywood-ian? Maybe not . . .
What I like to believe, as a bookworm only would, is that, with such fascination with reading, writing and overall construction and knowledge of language (in my case, English) is that I have some sort of hold on it myself. Therefore, I can create words as I please. This may not be true, in fact, I know it's not true, I simply like to think otherwise, but it's fun none-the-less.
On the book note, I have finally finished my class novel, Fifth Business by Robertson Davies, and we have moved on to . . . SHAKESPEARE.
The name may scare you, but hold your tongue, read quickly, and it'll pass.
I seem to have stolen some of my mum's genes. I actually like Shakespeare. And actually, I'm probably the only one who does in my class. The minute my teacher opened his mouth and started "Sha", everyone cringed but myself. Sad? Probably.
To think that I, a teenager, a person of such a young age (and young mind, though I hate to think so), replace my lack of a love life -- love anything -- with books?
Well, now you know how we turn out. My advice to those who haven't dug as far as I have into this worded pit, for every page you read, talk to someone for as long as it took you to read. Or longer, if the conversation is interesting. If it's a stranger, sometimes that's better. Just, not the weird ones.
I can assure you the weird ones are good when you start talking, but they are WEIRD when you finish. Most of the time, good, but I warn you -- and I have first-hand experience with this -- sometimes it's bad. Very very bad.
But please! Don't let me stop you from chatting! Just keep your eyes peeled. And I mean that in the least literal sense.
Here's a song, from Awkward.'s 12th episode, during a rather pivotal moment:

How I dream of stars in my eyes! And a man like the one in the video :P But save that for another day! Or, if my little Eros is still tagging along, another year.
Ciao!

My Missed Connection

You know what sucks about Craig's List?
You can only join once you're eighteen!
Actually, you can't do a lot of things until you're eighteen, but for Craig's List - specifically, the "missed connections" section - say you actually had a missed connection with some person you want to get to know. What are you supposed to do if you're not eighteen, and so you can't post your missed connection? Yeah, you could cheat and sign up under a false birthdate! But, what if someone finds out? Or something happens, and you need to admit your real birthdate?
Or it might just be because I'm too nervous to actually post the missed connection I want to.
It happened last year, just after christmas. My mother promised my sister and I that for our sixteenth birthday's, she'd take us to New York. It was a birthday and christmas present combined, and it was truly amazing. After being there, despite all the benefits in Canada, and how much I dislike a lot of things about the States, I desperately want to move to New York.
It was the second day of our three-day-trip, and we needed something to do to kill time before going to see Chicago at the theatre. Wandering around New York was beautiful and intense, but cold. Especially with all the snow falling in to your boots when you try to jump over the huge piles along the streets, but end up landing in it. Sadly, while we were there, there was a huge snow storm, and all of the streets and sidewalks were packed with probably three-four feet of snow. It was beautiful though!
It just so happened that we were close to the MoMA, and I convinced my mum to take me there. The outside looked like an old factory with no windows. It was dark, and concrete, all blocked in with only a sign attached to the wall saying "MoMA!" and that was it. The instant you open the main doors, it's like you're transported in to some modern day minimalist fantasy building. All white, with clean lines, and stylized concrete accents; it was strangely pretty.
Being a huge fan of the minimalist style, I was in awe of everything around. As we walked through, I took in as much as I could. There was furniture that looked like it was ripped out from early sixties homes. There were photos with clippings of who-knows-what photoshopped in. There were weird contraptions hanging from the ceiling, in bright, pop-art colours, looking like the chandeliers of Andy Warhol. I think that was what they were titled . . .
It was the breeding ground of all things weird, retro, and modern. Odd combination, but it worked.
Of course, it wasn't until the fifth floor that I really fell in love with MoMA.
I'd weaved so far in to the maze of walls that I thought for a moment I wouldn't be able to get back out. I paid no mind to it, as there were all sorts of captivating photos and sketches all over the walls. Most of them were hard to understand (honestly, a photo collage of mannequin legs with number codes on them?), but there were a few that caught my attention, and one boldly did.
Desiree, by Alex Prager, hidden, until I moved around the outside of the room, and looked back at the huge photo on the back side of the center wall.

I was so caught up in its bright, vintage extravagance that I didn't notice that I was being watched. When I finally pulled my eyes away, instead of meeting my mum's, they latched on to a pair of light blue eyes.

The first thing I noticed was how gorgeous he was. Tall, looking right down at me with ice-blue eyes, and shaggy light brown hair. He was almost smiling, but in an embarrassed sort of way.

It only lasted a moment, and then he turned and disappeared in to the mass of art appreciators. I saw him that once, and that was it. Even though it was a year ago, I still feel electric when I think about it.

That was really the only sort of somewhat positive attention I've ever gained from the opposite sex. I'll save the negative times for a different post. My lack of a love life would need an entire post to itself, it's that pathetic.

So here's my missed connection, and I hope one day - before I turn eighteen and officially post it on Craig's List - that whomever he is might stumble on this and start up a fancy chat with me. Maybe.

And because I can't resist, here's a song to listen to:

And a movie to watch:

Ciao!