One

One path which two walk together
One grasp which two so hold
One touch to communicate
One feeling shared
One love

Can You Spot the Similarities?

As I was going through some pictures, I found two that were remarkably similar.

One was from my recent trip to Halifax, when Dan and I were eating Sunday morning brunch and playing around with his camera.

The second picture I found happened to be a pre-Laura picture, one that he simply sent me along with a few others to show me what some of his friends looked like before I had the fantastic oportunity to meet some of them. This picture was amongst them.
Honestly, I sometimes wonder about that boy...

Another Friday Photography Bust

Jon told me last night that I am a deep thinker. That means I know what my problems are, but I cannot fix them.

It is Friday again, and once again I have missed on the Photo Friday deadline for Violet. I do actually have a picture. Molly was my model again, and only the most beautiful girl in the world could have been in this picture. I did not like the pictures I took at first, but came to love one particular one.

I managed to download GIMP to edit my pictures, but something still is not going right. The effect I want to get still is not there, and I am a total GIMP gimp. Honestly. So, instead of linking to my site, I am just going to make it a personal project to finish this, or at least get someone to show me what I am doing wrong. It certainly is a frustration however.

This weeks challenge is a tough one for me. The theme is One, and yet I want to think of a way to make a picture unique. The truth is, my pictures look much better in my head. I suck at photography otherwise. I am either the stupidest person in the world, or the most determined to be keeping this up - especially without a camera!

Earlier this week I finally got my school schedule. I am more than excited for it. I think this will be a fantastic semester. I am taking a bunch of arts courses, which I am all extremely interested in. I hope that this year I will enjoy school a whole lot more than last year. I have high hopes!!

Cinq, Quatre, Trois, Deux, Un

Sometimes it can feel like you think you're on a steady downhill track when suddenly the roller coaster turns upwards and instead of plummeting towards the ground, I am facing the sky; a clear blue with a few spatterings of clouds.

I have five more days of work left until I am no longer an Energie NB Power employee. That is Friday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Trust me, the waking up at 5:30 am will not be missed.

This leaves me two weekends before I head down to Sackville to 33C, my new place of residence for the next year. I am so excited to get down there. A few weekends back, Tiffany, Jocelyn, Brittany and I went out one Friday night. We had a great time out together, a Girls Night around the town in Moncton (honestly a great place to go out. When you live in Sackville, you learn to enjoy places like Moncton and Halifax). We spent the night at J's house and then obviously had crepes at the market for breakfast. For anyone who plans on spending a weekend in Moncton, don't miss out on the crepes! It is a Moncton-must! Tiffany and I jumped into the Jetta and headed down to Sackville, to 33 Charlotte Street, and checked out my room.

The room which I will be living in in this old, large house was painted dark blue/purple. Situated at the back of the house, with skinny little windows, walking into that room was like walking into a cave. So, Tiffany and I decided to paint it. Now my room is the colour of Evlyn's Eyes, a green which matches my bedspread. We also got a little bit of purple to paint my shelving unit above my desk, another colour which is found on my bedding.

BEFORE:
AFTER:


So now, with my room much more mine and some of my stuff already in the house, I am so excited to go back. Moving back also means seeing my Keltie, and my other roommates, Megan, Laura, and Caitlin.

So, on Sunday night, August 28th, I will be heading back to Sackville. Megan and Laura at least should be there, Megan getting ready to do her student council work, and Laura to do football camp. With me. Yes, I am actually going to do football this year, and I am thrilled that it is not up in the air anymore! This is one of the things in my life that is finally seeming to go okay. I had to decided if I should be a trainer or not, and there were quite a few complicated circumstances, and in no way can I know what the right choice was, so instead I am going to just be thrilled that a decision has been made and that this year, the Mounties are going to be better than ever! (Or at least better than the last few years... There is no where left to go but up, right?) Laura and I are both excited to not only be roommates, but to work together with the rest of the team!

Being a football trainer this year means I need to take a First Aid and CPR course. Yes, I made the mistake of putting it off because at the beginning of the summer, I was really dreading being a trainer. I thought that the only time I could do the weekend course was this coming weekend in Saint John. This was great, until the stress came when I realized that this coming weekend is one of the weekends I've been looking foreword to most of the entire summer. This was the Converge weekend. It is a young adult worship conference, with tenting and music, and speakers! I thought I would have to completely miss it until I found out that Moncton is offering a First Aid course on the next weekend, the weekend right before Football Camp starts. This means I can go to Converge. I am so excited to go. Not only that, but just now, my oh-so-cool boyfriend has decided to come with me!!!

Being able to go to Converge means that I will be able to pick up Amy from Wildwood! I have not seen Ames in about a month, and I miss her terribly. I am so excited to see her, and to talk to her, and to show Dan around Camp! This also gives me the opportunity to head down to Sackville on Sunday and finish painting my shelf, while showing Dan the place and setting some more things up.

Last night, I had a terrible night. Everything was going wrong. Today everything fell into place. I have so little faith. Thank you!

Indivisible by Two: Lily and Gillian

Those who do not work during usual "work week" hours perhaps got the chance to view Good Morning America this morning on television.

There was a segment about Nancy L. Segal's book Indivisible by Two, Lives of Extraordinary Twins. And within this, was the story of Lily and Gillian.

When I was younger, and I lived in the big white old house next to the church in Sackville, we had a student live with us. She must have lived with us for a few years, and she became part of the family. Her name was Allyson. At the time, she had a boyfriend named Kirk, and both practically lived at the house. Mom and Dad would delegate Kirk and Ally with planning birthday parties, and so looking back on old home-videos from Sackville, it is normal to see little girls running around in party hats, playing games, and crying because they did not win, all the while Ally will be talking in the background, telling us what to do, and how to play games, or not to get upset. Mom would be making the birthday cake, and the camera would show Dad and Kirk, playing the little electronic hockey game, which they are still both going to meetings to get over their addiction.

Kirk and Ally got married and moved to Toronto (or Georgina?), where they both are pastors at a church. In Sackville, they were great with Amy and I, and so no doubt would be good parents. Eventually they realized their options were greatly minimized and decided to adopt. I love the idea of adoption. It is such a beautiful thing to see a child who is so in need of love come to know two loving parents. I have always had the desire to adopt a child, I hate the thought of how many kids are alone and unloved. But I digress. Kirk and Allyson began their plans to adopt a little girl from China.

This is where the story gets blurry for me. I have heard it a few times before, but right now am not clear on all the details. I do know however, that they brought little Lily home and made her part of their family. I remember meeting Lily for the first time. She was a beautiful baby, and oh so smart! Despite her living in China for the main part of her life (at this point), she was grasping English quicker than even normal Canadian children do.

Eventually, I heard the story about Gillian. Somewhere else in Ontario (this story would be so much better if I knew details), only a short drive away, another family adopted a little Chinese baby. Somehow, they met and came upon the realization that Lily and Gillian were twin sisters. The first time I heard this story, I saw pictures of the two girls together, when they were about three or four years old. They were both so beautiful.

Here is where Segal's book comes in. In one of her chapters, she tells Gillian and Lily's story, a story about separated twins being raised as sisters. I wish I myself knew more of the story. This morning, on Good Morning America, there was a segment about their story, which Kirk and Ally told their friends via e*mail that the taping in their house took 10 hours!

If you did not get the chance to watch television this morning, then pick up August 30th's edition of People Magazine where the story will be told again.

It blows my mind to think about growing up with a twin sister living in a different community, but it is great that Lily and Gillian are being raised as sisters. I think it is such a miracle that the two families met. Talk about a story with a happy ending!

The wheels on the bus

I sometimes wish I had a great camera. Recently, I've been carrying a disposable point and shoot around with me, one with no potential to take great person shots on a moving bus.

I wanted to capture the people though, bring them home with me and dance with them. I slept most of the way on the bus from Halifax. Each time I woke up, passengers had exited and boarded the bus, allowing me to be surrounded with new faces each time I opened my eyes. By the time we arrived at the Amherst stop, I was wide awake.

A man walked on to the bus and sat behind me. He was a tall and lean, with an African face and a scruffy salt and pepper beard. His eyes were sunk and although not looking unkempt, he appeared as one who uses the bus as his only source of transportation. This man looked like he played a mean saxophone; alto no doubt. He looked like he came straight off the streets of Louisiana, from a nightclub where he performs just for the applause of the few who still come to hear him, and for the memory of the night he met his beautiful wife. She was young and fresh, with stylish black hair, a flowery dress, and a smile on her face. She was sitting next to her girlfriends around a table, drinking milkshakes out of straws, listening to the young man with the magical fingers making the saxophone sing. To him, she stood out. There was no girl as beautiful. As the girls got up to dance on the floor, he watched her, wanting to keep playing the music so that she would keep jiving, keep laughing. He also wished to stop so that he could hopefully work up the courage to walk down onto the floor and ask her what her name was and why she was smiling like that.

As he sat behind me, the man's cell rang. It was that woman from the club years ago, the girl with the smile who danced to his music, and who held his hand, and who kissed his cheek. "I love you, I'll be home soon" said the now older man, in his deep, raspy voice. This was the voice an old, black jazz musician should have, cool and beautiful and mellow.

Ahead of me, sat a woman, and across the aisle from her was a man. They were young, possibly late twenties, and on the aisle seat next to the woman sat a bassinet cradling a beautiful baby boy, no older than six months. As the mother held this baby boy, as she sung to him and held him and fed him and changed him, her love was so beautiful. And the Daddy looked on so proudly. "That's my baby" he said to the elderly woman sitting next to him. The newborn was so good and I barely heard a sound from him. But when he did cry, it was so sweet, so heartbreaking. As he leaned against his mother's shoulder, he looked intensely around. It must be overwhelming as a new person to this world, to drink in all the sights and sounds. He had big beautiful eyes, which sometimes caught mine, and a little smile would form in the creases of his tiny mouth.

I was surrounded by a tapestry of people. There were different colours, different styles, different sounds. It was beautiful and exciting, realizing how unique each life was, and how we managed to find ourselves on the same, quiet bus.

Complexity

It is the complexity of a little girl's mind

As she is flying on the trapeze

Into the arm sof her fairytale prince

Soaring through the clouds

To her bed of soft dreams.

It is the complexity of a world

Where children go hungry

Where war does not cease

There is a craving for money

And murders for power.

It is the complextiy of how the two will one day collide.

So I missed this week's Photo Friday deadline by a day. I do not mind however, because this was the last picture taken by my not-so-good-camera-anyway before it died, therefore quality is less than par. I had the poem written last Friday, when the challenge came out, but I was fooling around too much with the picture on the crap-of-a-photo-editing-program we have on the computer at home. I uploaded it last night, but the poem was still at work. Way to go, Laura.

Perseid Still

Tonight I found myself lying on the roof of my garage, staring at a sky filled with stars. I was out to catch a glimpse of the Perseid meteor shower. Unfortunately, my outing had to be cut short as waking up for work at 5:30 am is tough even when an early night precedes it.

As I stood there, a vast separation was formed between the natural and the unnatural. Man-made lights were blinding, yet dull compared to the glisten of the heavenly bodies. Cars rushing by in their attempt to speed up the slowness of time and get to their destination quicker deafened my ears to the song that the stars sang, the whisper of the trees, and the conversation between a mother and a daughter.

Everything but the beautiful faded into the distance and I began to realize an overwhelming sense of stillness. Despite my knowledge that our Earth is spinning on its axis at roughly 1000 mph, and that it travels around the sun at a speed of about 67000 mph, and that even our galaxy is spinning and our universe is expanding; despite my understanding that taking a picture of the night sky would result in the stars forming beautiful streaks across the image; despite all this, I felt remarkably static. Time had frozen around me, as had everything that exists within it. Even the trees seemed to be motionless, although the light breeze through their leaves reminded me otherwise. The sounds was like each tree had a secret to tell. Some secrets were tales of beauty experienced during the tree's ageless existence. Others were noble stories of the past; like fairy tales only more true and more real, and more magical. And finally, the youngest trees told secrets of the future, secrets that only trees can reveal; hopes and dreams which will eventually turn into reality. In turn, each was telling their secret, and they listened, and I listened. And the stars provided illustration, because tonight the trees and the stars were a team; neither wishing to outdo the other.

And then, a spark of brilliance would fly across the sky. Modestly, the stars continued on their imperial existence. The trees however, stood a little more proudly, stretching out their limbs as if to catch the falling star and cradle it. My body flooded with mystery and praise for what is beyond this artful masterpiece as I breathed in the sky laid out before me, framed with the shimmering leaves.

So I laid there, on my roof, with a ladder below me and the intense wonderful unknown above me, as I and the rest of this insignificant Earth were soaring straight into the bold remains of comet 109P/Swift-Tuttle. We are blessed with such beauty.

Religion and Retro 80's Earplugs

My job here at Lepreau is WBGT Girl and Fit Testing Girl.

Fit testing takes all the challenge of pushing start on a computer and conversing with Nuclear Plant Employees (most of whom are men).

I have a Habs t-shirt hanging up on my cubicle. It is not my shirt, but was on loan to me because I love such an awesome hockey team. One of the men I was fitting a respirator on started asking me if I was a fan. He told me about the games he had seen, and the players he wishes the Canadians had.

"Sometimes, I think one needs to be religious to be a fan." I told him.

"Being a Habs fan IS a religion" he corrected me.

WBGTing is another whole ball park. It pretty much consists of me taking temperature of the Turbine Building. This Building is two things: Hot and Loud. Hot is taken care of by me. I make Work/Rest schedules telling the (wo)men how long they can work before they need to rest. Today, it is 105.1 F on elevation 98 (40.6 C). This is a 'No Work' zone, which is ironic, because I am doing work up there.

Loud is controlled by earplugs. There are the Classic yellow ones, in dispensers all over the building. These ones are pretty much little sponges that you roll up and put into your ear canal. I think these may once have been my favorite.Close to the door of my office, there is a dispense for little foam orange phallic shaped earplugs. These are longer than the yellow ones, and although not much different, I seemed to still prefer the Classic ones. That was, until the orange ones began to run out and a new, more EXTREME type of earplugs were added: THE Lasar Lite Uncorded Ear Plugs That's right. These Lasar Lites are fluorescent yellow and hot pink. They maintain the same foam texture as the old and ugly orange ones, but they are closer in shape to them as well. They're great. Now I walk around with pink and yellow stuck out of my ears. Not only do they remind me of a time when fluorescent colours were in, but they also completely clash with my red t-shirt I so happen to be wearing today. If only I was born a decade earlier.

Another Unknown Variable

Maybe if you read some more
you'll understand me
Maybe if you go back to school
you'll figure out what's best
Variable X with Variable Y
You know stats, economics, psychology
Do you know me?
The equation is lacking and you cannot tell
So numbers make sense
to you
But they are all wrong
You are doing it right
academically
So I will run and dance
As you tie me up
Watching my steps to perfect them
All the while getting caught in the tangle

The Innerworkings of a Male Brain

I came to realize something this weekend that I had no knowledge of before. I have always been under the impression that taken women are off limits. Apparently, I am so wrong.

"He is so flirting with you" I was informed one day, after recalling the earlier encounter with a guy from work.

"No he wasn't", I answered. "And anyway, he knows I have a boyfriend, so it would be a waste of time to flirt."

"Are you serious?"

I was. I was completely serious. I was however, informed about my mistake by not one, but two guys. No, guys do not see this as a problem. Perhaps it is a slight setback, but not a problem. If the guy really has his sights set, then he will get what he is hunting for. I was even told by one of the guys I car pool with that girls with boyfriends are sweeter, since the aspect of doing something in secret, closing in on another man's girl, and the all over wrongness of it is so tempting.

This should not have surprised me. Last year while working at the theatre, I became accustom to hearing the term M.I.L.F. on a regular basis. The first time, I had to have my memory jogged back to watching American Pie to remember what this vulgar term meant. I let it go, until one day my boyfriend used it.

The issue is that this term is so common that to describe a beautiful woman, one resorts to vulgarity.

"Profanity is the attempt of a feeble mind to express itself forcefully" ~Anonymous

Of course M.I.L.F. is just a term, however I have never been too keen with males telling me the women they would like to sleep with, especially those males who show a particular exclusivity towards myself. And that is the thing; the term states, whether the meaning is there or not, that the male wishes to sleep with the aforementioned woman.

Not only is this just a woman, but she is a mother. In this society we live in, not all mothers are married or even in relationships, and so I am not implying that women with children should not have an intimate relationships. Personally however, if someday you see me pushing a stroller down the street, there will also be a band around my left ring finger. To be called a M.I.L.F. would be not only extremely disrespectful to me, but also to my husband.

Women are beautiful, and yet part of that beauty stems from deep within, from her name, from her smile and her eyes, and from her personality. Women are attractive. But I find the constant referral to women as sex symbols and games intolerable. In this, I do not solely blame men, as women prove to be a part of the culprit as well.

I will let you know when I'm single again. For the meanwhile, when I tell you I am in a relationship, it means that I am off limits, and that I respect the man I love too much to consider disrespecting myself in such a way.

Photo Intensive Blog, Roll 1

On Tuesday, I took three rolls of film into the Superstore Photolab to get them developped. My track reccord with developping film is nothing short of impressive; I never get it done. I have dozens of undevelopped film in my bedroom tracking back to at least the beginning of high school. These three rolls of film were no different. I did not know what was on two of the rolls, but I assumed it was recent films from university and the beginning of summer. How mistaken I was. I have no idea where the rolls I thought these two were have gone. The third I had just taken out of my camera about a week and a bit ago, and so I was a little more familiar with those.

Here, I give you a few shots from the recent roll. There were some pictures from Toronto, beginning with Day One of our trip. I really love this picture, although I do not remember specifically when it was taken. There were a few others, but those will be posted when I get around to writing the final installment of thee Toronto Story.





The weekend following the Toronto excursion, Dan found himself in Moncton. We had a fantastic time playing pool at Dooleys with Tiffany. Compared to me however, Dan has absolutely no pool skills. And don't mind the Tiffany picture, we had her out on a day pass. It was pretty nice of the institution to let her go. Sometimes, she really believes that she is a werewolf. We're all praying for her.

The Awful Truth

On this morning's Good Question on CBC's Information Morning Saint John, the question was asked about how the english language evolved from Old Englsih to the Modern English we speak today. Being an English Major (I find that extremely fun to say!) I found the history of the English language condensed to five minutes very interesting, and the man explaining it was funny to boot.

The man answering the question made an interesting commentary on the shift of word's meanings. One of his examples was the word awful. He had said that when the word first came into use, it did not mean terrible at all, instead it was on par with our word awesome; awe inspiring; full of awe.

aw·ful ( P ) Pronunciation Key (ôfl)
adj.
1. Extremely bad or unpleasant; terrible: had an awful day at the office.
2. Commanding awe: “this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath” (Herman Melville).
3. Filled with awe, especially:
a. Filled with or displaying great reverence.
b. Obsolete. Afraid.
4. Formidable in nature or extent: an awful burden; an awful risk.

adv. Informal
Extremely; very: was awful sick.


awe·some ( P ) Pronunciation Key (ôsm)
adj.
1. Inspiring awe: an awesome thunderstorm.
2. Expressing awe: stood in awesome silence before the ancient ruins.
3. Slang. Remarkable; outstanding: “a totally awesome arcade game” (Los Angeles Times).


It is quite interesting how two words so similar in syntaxopposite oposite in meaning.

We have a weird and wonderful language.

Comforter

I have been avidly praying over the past few days. Admittedly, I have a hard time with prayer, it is not easy for me to do. I can talk, oh can I talk with people, but I find it hard to understand how to talk to an Almighty God. I cannot disbelieve. Nothing inside of my being will let me, but I can't seem to understand how to form a relationship like I would a father or a friend. I do not know how to tell God what is on my mind, or what worries me. It is all so insignificant.

A few nights ago however, God reminded me of something.

The Lord is good,

a refuge in times of trouble.

He cares for those who trust in him,

Nahum 1:7

Cast your cares on the Lord

and he will sustain you;

he will never let the righteous fall.

Psalm 55:22

It is always His Love which astounds me so much. The rest of it can be learned, but when His Love is experienced, it is something incredible. When I was a few years younger, I wound up feeling very much alone one night. I was tired and upset and as the tears rushed down my cheeks, all that I wanted was a hug. All of a sudden, I felt the warm pressure of arms being wrapped around you, the all encompassing feeling of being safe in someone's arms and of escaping whatever it is that is causing all the pain. But these arms held more comfort and more safety and more love than any others I had the joy of experiencing in my lifetime.

Somber

Spinning images come

Backwards round and round

29.78 kilometers per second

Soaring through time

I can never force stop

Just onward and foreword

Instead of stopping

Resting

Loving

This is my first Photo Friday submission, and so bear with me as I get used to it. I do not claim to be a photographer any more than I claim to be a writer or a poet. But I will try, and I will love, and I will pray I improve.

The Number 1 Reason why I am Glad I will not be in Rez next year

Back in April, a rival house played a nasty April Fools joke on my beloved Windsor. The house was crawling with crickets until we left after exams.

As the summer began, and I went back home, it was still a constant battle between me and crickets, until I thought that I had become successful in freeing my life from crickets at least.

Ant I could handle. Our house has an outbreak of ants every summer it seems, and although an abundance of ants seems utterly disgusting every time a cupboard door is opened, it is rather manageable.

But not the crickets. I was horribly mistaken when I had thought I could overcome the tiny vermin. Instead, I must have overlooked a few, who through Darwin's survival of the fittest managed to form some super colony of a new giant cricket species.

I found one prowling through my bedroom last night, its thick exoskeleton like combat gear. It was no match for my shoe and vacuum however, although it left a wicked stain where it was evident battle had taken place.

Although disgusting, I can deal with one. One cricket means that it could be a fluke. This understanding makes it much easier to sleep at night, however it was a false hope. As I woke up this morning, and rubbed my sleepy eyes out of its slumber, I saw another cricket, just as large and ugly as the first, staring up at me on the bathroom floor. I was NOT going to squish it with toilet paper. No, it was stronger than that. Somehow my mother was awake at 5:45 am and joined me, and the cricket lost its wreched life.

Every morning I listen to CBC radio one. I have been doing this since I was in elementary school. There has only been two exceptions to this rule; one was a time in early high school when I began listening to K94.5 - Moncton's Newest Music, and the second time was this past year at university because I shared a room, and normally woke up earlier than my roommate. On these summer Saint John mornings, as I wake up at 5:30 am, the trend is no different. I listen to the radio as I wake, I listen to it in the shower and while brushing my teeth, and I listen in the kitchen while making my lunch and eating my breakfast. This morning, I had somethingorotherCrunch in my bowl, and true to its name, it was making loud CRUNCH noises in my head. I got up to go turn the radio up, but instead directed my attention to the long slender thing on the wall behind it.

I was used to ants in the kitchen. I can grab a paper towel (or run upstairs to get some toilet paper) and manage to kill them. I do not even mind using my finger to kill a menacing ant. But a centipede! Bugs with exoskeletons really gross me out. They are much harder to smoosh, and make a distinctly disgusting cracking sound as they meet their end. There was no way I was letting this centipede run lose in my house, however. I looked over at the Paper Towel rack. Nothing. We have just returned from a camping trip, making it likely that the towel is still in the trailer. Instead, I bolted out the kitchen, up the stairs, rolled as much paper towel off the bathroom wall as possible in the shortest amount of time, and balled it up as I was running down the stairs. The centipede took about a minute to kill, all the while I was pushing this white gob of paper against the wall, praying that there was enough padding between me and the bug that I did not have to hear, or worst of all feel its demise.

I never claimed to be a fan of creepy crawlers.

When She Was Born They Looked at Her and Said...

Cause even if we can't be together

We'll be friends now and forever

And I swear that I'll be there

Come what may...

I threw a CD into the player on my drive to work this morning. I needed to sing a little to get myself. It was just a silver unmarked disc, of which I have many in my travel case. I put it in, and heard the words, Of all the things I've believed in... I listen for a while to the CD as it passes song after song, Goodbye to You; Say Goodnight, Not Goodbye; Superman...; music that brings back floods of memories. Feeling sorry for the people in my car pool, I skipped the Backstreet Boys, but when the next song's lyrics touched my ears, I could not bear to hit the SCAN button. When you have no light to guide you/ And no one to walk beside you....

I was not a Hanson fanatic in grade six when everyone else was all about them. Isaac, Taylor, and Zack were never plastered all over my binders or lockers. But when the craze died down, I had Weird and Speechless and Yearbook playing in my player every night. At the end of middle and the beginning of high school, I put them in my shelf between the G and I albums I owned, not wanting to admit I liked the three "are you sure they are not girls?". Every once in a while I would pull it out, place the orange disc in the boom box, and be carried back to once upon a time (for the past is always a little sweeter when reminiscing).

Come tenth and eleventh, I was connected with a friend who appreciated the Hanson vibe as much as I. I did not need to hide the fact that I had all the lyrics written out on my computer or that I listened to it perhaps a little more than once a week. I was in the Middle of Nowhere with a friend who was right there with me.

Around that time, about a year or two ago, I was watching one of the late night talk shows when three guys walked onto the stage, singing an acoustic song. The sound was vaguely familiar, although I was sure that I had not heard it before. Their look was just as recognizable, as if I was looking through a frosted, tinted window at something I knew.

Slowly, the realization came to me. Was it really Hanson? If so, they have cleaned up, both their look and their sound. As the new album came out into stores in April of 2004, I was in the music store in Kings Square Mall, purchasing Underneath.
Suddenly, Here's to the Night came on the speakers. I will reserve my opinions on that song. Following that, Am I the Only One? by the BNL, geniuses that they are. This got my mind wandering to one of Bryn's most recent blog entries and the song What a Good Boy; admittedly one of my favorites. In fear of stealing Bryn's thunder, I must admit that this song would snapshot my life quite accurately as well. I find this especially true during times when I find myself at crossroads or attempting to grow up, when instead, I feel stifled.

...When you were born, they looked at you and said,
'What a good girl, what a smart girl, what a pretty girl.'

We've got these chains that hang around our necks,
People want to strangle us with them before we take our first breath.
Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same,
When temptation calls, we just look away.

This name is the hairshirt I wear,
And this hairshirt is woven from your brown hair.
This song is the cross that I bear
Bear with me, bear with me, bear with me,
Be with me tonight,
I know that it isn't right, but be with me tonight.

I go to school, I write exams,
if I pass, if I fail, if I drop out, does anyone give a damn?
And if they do, they'll soon forget
'cause it won't take much for me to show my life ain't over yet.
I wake up scared, I wake up strange.
I wake up wondering if anything in my life is ever going to change.
I wake up scared, I wake up strange and everything around me stays the same...