Not exactly entirely "friends only."
comment to be added :)
| You scored as Alphabet City. Alphabet City lies to the east of First Ave., south of 14th St., and north of Houston St. Alphabet city is a bohemian paradise filled with artists and poets. It helps if you know some spanish. There are not many subways out there. But, it's fine if you ride a bike.|
If you lived here you could buy most of your clothes at thrift shops. You might want to go to this famous poetry cafe and art gallery. Don't forget to go out clubbing every night. The best nightlife in the city is found here.
Thanks for taking my test! -Susan
Upper West Side/ Morningside Heights
Hell’s Kitchen/ Theatre District
Upper East Side
Financial District/Battery Park
Which neighborhood in Manhattan is best for you?
created with QuizFarm.com
photo diary of my first trip to NYC
( yay for nyc!Collapse )
Post 10 seconds of dialogue for each of the following people.
53 year old male banker
15 year old girl
35 year old female English teacher
25 year old mother
basically, just write a sentence or two about something you think a person fitting those criteria would like or say, but write it like the person is speaking.
at some later time I will put what I came up with.
what's your battle cry? |
mewing.net | merchandise!
Things like this make me wonder.
How do you know when something is alive?
If it has a soul? or is it just a parasite?
here is the link
( babyCollapse )
my wings don't sail me to the sky
on my own these wings won't fly
trouble is, we don't know who we are instead
it's just enough to be strong in the broken places,
confused enough to know direction
and see enough to know i'm blind.
you sit and stare at the sky and think of ways to fake a smile
you think that hope was left behind
i picked it up a mile ago
i built another temple to a stranger
i gave my heart away to the rushing wind...
your love of a jealous kind
amazing grace i feel you coming up slowly now
heat like sun on my face
ash to ash and dust to dust
steel on steel or rain to rust
what mortal breath blood money brings forth
from the altar of the lesser things
i'm only alive with you
we can drown in mixed emotions
or walk an angry sea
this is the cost of being free
This is too funny.
( 4 year old takes mom's car for a midnight spin.Collapse )
Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence
You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well.
An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly.
You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view.
A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary.
You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.
Ok, here is a story I wrote for a feature writing (journalism) class last semester behind the cut.
I will put one here, and another one on my Xanga, and if anyone wants more I can perhaps post at some other time.
(can you tell I'm procrastinating?)
(this one was in the campus paper)
( Cancer Survivor Beats OddsCollapse )
I feel the need to post writing on here. This is my final "exam" from English 101 freshman year with Kanitz.
This is the unchanged version from almost 2 years ago. I remember I felt the need to add church in there. I don't know if I would now. The class liked it. I'm not sure if I ever did. But I will put it anyway. And we can all have a jolly laugh.
Sarah stepped back from the canvas and tilted her head. It was finished.
Setting her brush down, she turned her back and walked away. Shutting the door behind her, she moved out into the bright sunshine. Tilting her head back, Sarah lifted her arms and drank it in, spinning there on the busy sidewalk. Finally she was free.
It had been one year earlier that a much younger Sarah rounded the corner on her way home from school to see the road in front of her house swarming with flashing lights and people in uniforms. It was an accident, they said. Sarah’s parents were dead. The days after that were a blur of well meaning people pushing, talking, planning. She couldn’t think straight. She was 17 years old, a senior in high school. Her parents were not supposed to die before her. But it had happened and Sarah as going to the city to live with her father’s sister, whom she had never met. She didn’t want to leave the town she had grown up in, but she had no relatives there.
Numbness had settled in and she simply moved through the day mostly unaware of what went on.
The city and her aunt resembled each other in that they were both big and loud. They meant well, but neither was home. It wasn’t that bad, and her aunt not unpleasantly reminded her of her father. Outwardly, Sarah adjusted well, but inside she ached from missing her parents and the guilt. That last morning, she had gotten in a fight with her parents about going to a party that weekend. All the cool kids were going, and Sarah had been invited for the first time, but her parents wouldn’t let her go. The last time Sarah had spoken to her parents it had been at the top of her lungs as she slammed the door on her way out. She kept replaying that morning in her mind. How she wished she could go back and change it. If she had known it was the last time she would see her parents, she would have said “I love you” on her way off to school instead of the hurtful words she had spit out. Maybe it was somehow her fault that this had happened.
But Sarah was unable to tell anyone. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, but she couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come, and she was uncertain even of what she wanted to say. So Sarah continued in her silent world, alone.
And then one day, she met him. Unassumingly, he came into her life and showed her how to feel again. He was Kenny, a boy at her new school. Not exactly popular, he talked about God and "what would Jesus do?" But he reached out to Sarah in a way no one else had since the day her parents had died. He had a peace about him that Sarah wanted in her life. She felt like she could talk to him about anything and everything and he would understand, and it was true. Sarah went to church with Kenny and finally let go of the hurt she had been holding on to. She knew her parents had loved her despite everything that had happened that day. She no longer felt numb inside.
There was only one more thing for Sarah to do. She hadn’t painted since her parents’ death, and it was time to tell the story. Onto the canvas she poured all the pent up emotions, and the grief. She told of the numbness that had melted into hope and new life. This was her story and Sarah told it in the best way she knew how.
Weeks later, she stepped back from the canvas and tilted her head. It was finished. Setting her brush down, she turned her back and walked away. Shutting the door behind her, she moved out into the bright sunshine. Tilting her head back, Sarah lifted her arms and drank it in, spinning there on the busy sidewalk. Finally she was free.
There's so much different I would do now. It's so melodramatic. But now I'm so trained in my journalistic ways. It's different.
Hehehe this is so dorky. The whole class loved it though, when I read it. Maybe it was the way it sounded out loud. It was a nice feeling though, everyone clapping.
another google image search
( again googleyCollapse )
this is several times i have seen this, so jump i shall on the band wagon.
You must type the answer to the following words into google image search and post one of the results:
( googleyCollapse )
so. i found my webshots community. it took me down memory lane.
it felt like all so old, but i have some in there from this summer. anyways.
here are some of the good times from freshman year, when life was good
and the sky was blue, and my wall was decorated with pictures torn out of a magazine.
( high heels, lobsters and haircutsCollapse )
I'm liking David Crowder Band lately.
yes, the name sounds like a knock-off of Dave Matthews,
but they're pretty different.
They have nice lyrics, nice sound. I think so anyway.
What I've been needing to hear lately, I guess.
( lyricsCollapse )
In other news, the semester has started again. Finally, haha.
Last night was the first night of copy editing. Started at 4 p.m. and got back here right about 1:30 a.m.
I can see me getting sick of Mondays real soon.
It's cool to involved in it though. The people seem nice.
I have lots of reading to catch up on already, which is why I'm sitting here updating.
It was an interesting weekend.
I have a Xanga now too.
my user name there is pie_in_the_skie. However, I probably won't use it all that much.
I now feel like including some pictures from this summer.
I guess I am nostalgic for spring.
( summerCollapse )
this is the second time I've seen this today, so I must do it.
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don't search around and look for the "coolest" book you can find. Do what's actually next to you.
"With his chin tilted up and his lips peeled back tight against his teeth, Willy Jack gulped for air, fought for breath."
this break is getting long
but i know as soon as i go back, i will wish it was vacation again
yay for the weekend away coming up soon!
my hands hold safely to my dreams
clutching tightly not one has fallen
so many years i've shaped each one
reflecting my heart, showing who i am
now you're asking me to show
what i'm holding oh so tightly
can't open my hand, can't let go
should i show you?
does it matter?
can't you let me go?
surrender you whisper gently to me
you say i will be free
i know, but cant you see
my dreams are me
say you have a plan for me
and you want the best for my life
told me the world has yet to see
what you can do with one
that's committed to your call
i know of course, what i should do
that i can't hold these dreams forever
but if i give them now to you
will you take them
or can i dream again