Hi, friend.

I know. Somehow, the most clichéd title I could pick.

I’m getting really freaked out by this movie. In books, kids with swords and crossbows always made me feel empowered. The whole “don’t underestimate children” crap. I could be totally pro-war as long as the ten year old had the grenade. Yay, triumph of innocence!

Unfortunately, they now make movies of these books. Major plot points involve encouraging a teenage boy to kill. His sister’s against it, but once he kills a wolf, yay! Sissy’s gonna go train.

What? How is that a moral? I guess I never noticed it until this movie. Sped up pacing and oh so vivd graphics are now sort of making these stories disgust me. Why do we teach our boys to prove themselves in violence?

Uch, childhood. I miss you.

I watch Late Night television shows. Not when they’re actually on, but hours later when I am still awake.

Anyways. I have learned things.

Robin Williams is an absolutely horrendous talk show guest. It’s like watching a conversation between a human being and a living wikipedia race. Jarring, to say the least.

Also, bands are absolutely hilarious. The band was called All Time Low. If that name doesn’t scream confidence, I don’t know what does. It’s as if they’re preparing for their ultimate failure by sailing under the ruse of planning it all along.

Next step: full out, to the nose, straight-haired bowl cuts. These hairdos are magnificent for all forms of head shaking. Which the guitarist did, on beat, with alternating angles, for a full 20 seconds.

Third point: the guitarist. My new favorite. While every other member of the band played within a 2-3 foot radius of their respective microphones, the guitarist chose to run around. And dance. And play guitar at strange angles. And keep head shaking. Now, I understand hamming it up, but the best part of this? The guitar line was completely unimpressive. All the more reason for dancing, eh?

Last reason why this band was amazing to watch: there was a guy all the way in the back on the right with a microphone whose one job was to scream repeats of words like “go” twice in every chorus. DREAM JOB.

I just read an entire Facebook wall-to-wall in which every post started with “___ man.” THAT is confidence. That is devotion to phrase reserved for the chummiest of male acquaintances. I wish I had that type of direction.

My consistency? Awkwardly organized emails and scrunched faces.

Observe:

Haha, that’s really great! I loved that CD when I first got it and I just rediscovered last Tuesday.

No, sorry, I can make it to your birthday party tomorrow. But I do have your present! So next time you come back into this hemisphere, be sure to come pick it up!

Also, hi. I miss you.

See? That is NOT a real email, but anyone who has received a Jenna email knows that that is, if anything, better than my normal attempts at correspondence.

And for the scrunched up faces remark? You just have to know me.

I need to practice posting more often.

……………………..

Currently: watching a show called Castle. The basic premise is that a mystery writer tails a detective to get good material for his books. I began watching it because I enjoy free things, it popped up on Hulu’s homepage, and it stars Nathan Fillion (who I found was funny when I watched Firely for free on Hulu). It’s actually relatively fantastic. Not because police dramas are ever truly original (I mean, it’s difficult when they are 80% of every show ever), but because the dialogue is funny and the vehicle is really interesting. Storyboards within storyboards are just the type of clever plots that are sure to get a show cancelled. Still, I am now totally invested in the first season.

Also, the music’s pretty good.

And crap. It’s 4:15. Oh well. Waking up for Target tomorrow.

Did I mention I’m going to college in a month?

I only made one kid cry today.

…

……

……….

……

…

She deserved it.

Does that make it less awful to say?

Oh well, the kids had a fun opening night. Overall good day.

To begin, yes, in case you’re the obnoxious type who would note this, when I post this it will not be 2:40 a.m. I started this post at 2:40 a.m. And you wasted minutes of your life trying to catch me on the pointless title I made up. But then again, I did type out this whole disclaimer. Ultimate question: who is lamer?

…………………………………………………………………………

Anyway, I’m such a lurker trying to get my friends to write blogs, I figure I best be an example. So, here goes! First post in a loooong time!

…………………………………………………………………………

I’m interning at Lovewell Junior. It’s tiring and exciting and cheerful and stressful and a wonderful way to spend a July. Things it has made me realize:

1. At Lovewell, I am a dancer, not a choral obsessor. This is especially odd to get used to when you are choreographing dances as the middle schoolers you just music directed in a show do vocal warm-ups. I’m biting my lips not to shout out “diaphragm” and “life your soft palette.” It’s actually a sort of pleasant shift, but it’s really tough hearing all of these young girls singing so low. (Every Lovewell song is written for tenors. It happens.) Oh well. I’m a dance intern.
2. I want to adopt children. Right now. But not just any children…specific children. Who full out have parents. I would like to steal them and take them with me to college and let them be my best friends. And as pedophilicious as that just sounded, there are some really cool kids who do Juniors.
3. Eating at the staff table is weird. Especially with my pink “Crouching Cupcake, Hidden Strawberry” lunchbox and adorable thermos lunches.
4. I love the laughing game. You stand in a circle and say a single word to the person next to you. The winner is the last one somber. Pretty much as soon as you can make it through “fart” and “booger” without a gigglefest, you are set. I own at that game.

…………………………………………………………………………

If you’ve known me for over a month, you know I go through phrase phases. The times I can’t stop saying one expression/word to the point that it’s really annoying. This week? “Mull over.” Listen for it.

………………………………………………………………………..

Going to college is scary. And to make matters worse, I like my parents. So I get to miss home, my puppies, and my parents. Which means sadness and a high probability of poorly done laundry.

………………………………………………………………………..

I now have a Mac and a ukulele. Which makes me feel like I now have so much in common with my brothers. This is, of course, untrue. The latter fact will not, however, stop me from trying to initiate a iChat ukulele lesson.

………………………………………………………………………..

Am I interesting yet?

And no, it’s not 2:40.

After driving through pouring rain, a car speeds up and passes me. I’m psyched because I love driving the speed limit/like an old lady. The car gets pulled over for speeding. My stomach is a strange smoothie blend of empathy and glee.

……………………………………………………………………….

I got a letter from a Florida senator “congratulating” me on my class rank. I use quotation marks because it was the most contrived sentiment I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing on paper. The typed out letter meant nothing. Just words that went in circles. PLUS she asked me to keep in touch. As if we would stay pen pals for ten more years.

The best part? She typed out “Ms. Iden,” then crosses it out in handwriting and wrote “Jenna.” Because she’s too caring for formality. Unfortunately, that entire plot of people skills hinges on the idea that she did NOT write the original letter. Since she would have to reason to type out “Ms. Iden,” only to cross it out later. And she will never figure out how hilarious that is.

If my pimpin’ new Mac has taught me anything, it’s that I am easily distracted by technology. And that the Internet is shinier and more addictive via Safari. And I am a different type of musical elitist.

See, my brothers boast that they’ll listen to any type of music. And they really do. Minus country, for the most part. And I pretend to be the same way. I do listen to some rap, more classical, plenty of pop, a crapload of rock, and a sampling of whatever gets stuck in my head (including country). Which would make me seem very musically tolerant.

Yet I am not. I am totally psyched because I am finally listening to all the music I have because it’s SO easy on Macs. And I spent this morning listening to a bunch of alternative bands Daniel gave me to listen to. And I couldn’t stand them. But why? The fake mantra I tell people is that I like music “as long as it’s interesting.” And it was definitely interesting, unexpected, and all that.

But the lyrics were completely unintelligible. No clue what the lyrics were.

I am a lyric elitist.

(I say elitist because I have been called that twice. By one person. And it makes me giddy every time.)

I love music without lyrics. Classical, electronic, jazz, fantastic. But if a song is going to pretend to have lyrics, there better darn well be understandable adjectives and nouns.

Because isn’t that what makes music human?

Now I’m just listening to Ben Folds’s voice crack.

And I’m good.

Commercials for Dolphin Carpet and Tile. It’s a CGI dolphin who talks. Fine. That’s great. Except that she’s clearly trying to sound sexy. Which I don’t understand. It’s a creepy looking animation. That point aside, it’s a dolphin. Anyone who is sexually aroused by a dolphin to buy flooring elements deserves the man-fish he will one day spawn. Bleh.

Weston. Also known as Stepford. Because it is so eerily planned. Street are all named after exclusive rich person activities (Saddleclub, Raquet Club…). Street lights and light posts are all white. There are practically no streetlights anyway (hated signs of modernity) so Weston after 6 pm is a dark haven for the creepers assumed to live in Weston (outside the pristine gated communities).

Anyway. I just saw that commercial again and I had to drive through Weston. I’ve decided to go to sleep entirely weirded out.

Good plan, Jenna. Good plan.