Ozymandius

Sorry I haven't been posting a while guys, I've been. . . uh. . . laz-- I mean busy.

I gots a letter from my host family in Denmark and I'll be staying with a 17 year old girl and a twelve year old boy. I also got in the same batch of mail, a little program by Pimsleur that's supposed to help me learn Danish, and learn it fast. In about ten days, actually. I'm hoping it works better than that Rosetta Stone stuff everyone keeps bugging me about.

 I have the German edition and for anyone under thirty and remotely skilled at languages it *sucks*. You go over the same stuff twenty times and in ten different ways. It takes *forever* to learn anything new. It became such a chore, I just gave up and stopped trying. Which is actually for the better as I'm not going anywhere that speaks German.

The stuff I bought you listen to and it teaches you common words and phrases you'll need to know as, according to the guy who pioneered the stuff, people only really use about 2000 words. So I learn the important ones of those and I'm set. Well, maybe not, but at least I'm a bit more prepared for Denmark than before.

In other news. . . I get a week off from work to go to 4-H camp! w00t! Camp is really the only reason to be in 4-H. The meetings consist of a bunch of red tape, the books aren't better at all, and are, quite frankly, insulting to any sane person's intelligence. Camp is great tho', and not just because I never get out. You know why?! Well, me neither. But it *is* fun, and, after camp, (Friday or Saturday. . . in July with my procrastination) I'll see if I can pin a name on it. 

Unfortunately, since 4-H is a state-sponsored organization, it does have quite a few strings attached to it. Last year we had to watch this stupid civil rights movement during one assembly. The movie sucked, but I took heart in noticing that most everyone visibly slept through it, and not just the white nationalists!

Sorry about the reallly reallllly long post right there. I swear that thing's a half a book. Anyways, you've got my word that this one'll be shorter.

So this weekend my church youth group had a lock-in at, well, the church. First tho, we did a little scavenger hunt where we drove through town wearing bat-man masks, brightly colored wigs, and these funny $-$ glasses. We got a *lot* of funny stares, especially when me and my accomplice ran screaming "To the Bat-mobile!" back to our car after buying $.33 worth of gas. The funniest thing we did was in pizza-hut; we went there to ask for a piece of pepperoni, and my friend had brought along his clappers. They were three plastic hands attached at the wrists, the middle one not moving so that if you shook them, they clapped and made a reallly loud noise. Well, when we walked in the crowded Pizza hut, my friend clapped them and got everyone to look at us. Then, while we were leaving, he raised them over his head and clapped again while the rest of us pretended not to notice him. Then, when we were all out in the car, I had an evil idea. I got Ramsey to get out of the car, run back up to Pizza hut, stick his arm and clapper through the door, and clap it one last time. It was hilarious, well, I thought it was at least.

Back at the church we played this fun game called Sardines. It's basically hide-and-go-seek, but with one person hiding, instead of one person seeking. Once that one (or sometimes two) person is found, the person who found them, hides with them. When it came time for my friend and me to hide, the youth group leader suggested I hide in the bathrooms as noone had done that yet. My friend, Adam, hid in the church basement. Well, the bathrooms are tiny, and I had a little wall space near the door in the girl's bathroom (the door to the other one was open, leaving me nowhere to hide without closing it and giving myself away), but I was wearing all black to I figured I was fine. Then someone opened the door, looked in for a half a second, and closed it. I figured it was one of the little kids running around with the rest of us, and thought no more of it. Finally, at the end of the game, it was just one person left, my friend Kelsie. She was down talking to the space where everyone else was hiding, but refused to believe they were there because they weren't talking back. Then, of course, Adam jumped out of nowhere and scared her half to death. They were all laughing and talking like mad in the basement when I walked in. Turns out it had been Kelsie who'd opened the door and looked for me. I swear I've never laughed so hard. Maybe you had to be there, but it was great. 

Here's an update on Denmark, tho. I got in contact with my teacher's Danish friend, and it turns out that Denmark is a lot less formal than I thought it would be. I'd talked to a German girl who told me that it was much harder to make friends in Germany than it was in America, that they almost never used first names until they'd known each other for a long while, and that they didn't call 'acquintances' friends for an even longer while. I was hoping and praying that Denmark wasn't like this. It isn't. As a rule, the Danes always use first names, even when it is student to professor, young to old, they all use first names and are polite, yet informal. I think I am going to enjoy my stay over there. 

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. It's been a busy weekend, and uh. . .two days. Yup.

First things first, I did get to go to COSI this weekend and mess around. While it was as big and well done as I remember, things just aren't as fun when you're sixteen as they were when you were twelve. I did meet this little Bearded Dragon named Sally. She was being held by this one guy from COSI, all alone, but then after I'd been petting her for about a minute I was swamped by 12-year olds and forced to flee for my life! And yes, I did make it.

Then, after randomly walking through the entire museum a coupla times with my mother, I went outside and rode this generotor thing. You step inside this big, hollow metal circle (go to the link for a picture; I'm not so good at describing stuff) and stand at the edge. It spins faster and faster and you get pinned to the wall until the floor drops out. Then, of course, you stay pinned until the generotor slows down and you slide to the floor. Lotsa fun. 

Back inside, I watched the a fun demonstration about liquid nitrogen. It was pretty interesting; the performer guy would pour some nitrogen in a bottle, put a cork in the bottle, and shoot the cork three or so stories, pour it in a beaker and then squirt it into the air, and then, something I hadn't ever seen before, he put his hand in the the stuff (which is below -320 degrees Fahrenheit, I might add) and pulled it out, unharmed. Pretty mifty, to say the least. What was cooler is that once all the little tykes watching the show had left (it was about five minutes till closing time) the guy in charge let *me* put my hand in the liquid nitrogen. It was awesome! The stuff felt like warm soda, very bubbly and fizzy. Of course, that's because it was boiling, but I'm rambling. The secret, I was told, was that my hand was so hot, to the liquid nitrogen, that when I put it down in the thermos holding the stuff, the liquid nitrogen instantly evaporated and my hand was surrounded by some warm nitrogen gas. If, however, I'd kept me fingers in there for a few seconds longer, the temperatures would've evened out, and I woulda got frozen. 

Anyways, the next day I went to an orientation with AFS to get me prepared for Denmark. While it was nice sitting around chatting with all the other exchange students and former exchange students, I didn't learn much at all. In fact, the stuff I did learn about Denmark you could apply to pretty much any country! For info, they gave me a sheet of paper with quotes (I should say endorsements) about people's experiences in Denmark. "Keep an open mind" "Don't be afraid to try new things" "The people are shyer than most, but don't be afraid to talk to them" stuff like that. In fact, you could apply that kinda stuff to really any country, so I wasn't too enthused (whatever that means :P). It was cool meeting this Ida girl from Germany (an exchange student, can you believe it?!), but, unfortunately, the most she could tell me about Denmark was that, as she says, and overenthusiastically I might add, was that they make good licorice. Licorice!! Urk.

Luckily for me, my former teacher knows someone from Blacksburg who is currently living in Denmark. Hopefully she'll know more about what it'll be like for me than everyone else to date. The funny thing is, this is the second person my teacher knows from Blacksburg who moved to Europe. The last one lives in Switzerland, OK, but still, it's kinda funny. Ok, maybe not, but for me it is!

Back to my life's story: I was gonna blog all this on Sunday, but I got distracted by a big graduation lunch for the two seniors at my church. It was good, lotsa food, lotsa cakes, lotsa friends, but the highlight was when I talked to the new guy at my church about taking a practical/gun safety course down at his range. Not only would he teach me to shoot, reload, and safely handle a handgun (probably onna my dad's) but he's going to teach me some practical applicational stuff! w00t!

I procrastinated about me blog until Monday, when I would write a lot, I promised.  I get up in the morning to hear that I'm going to bike up the road about five miles and help build a church. Cool, I thought. So I hop on my bike, head up the road, and about forty minutes later (it's all up-hill; I'm not *that* out of shape :P) I get to the church. The church, Sinks Grove Baptist, decided to add on a Fellowship hall and someother stuff and wants it under roof by Friday. They brought in a missionary group, and placed an article in the paper saying they were open to the public for help. So I tell them my mom read the article and drafted me into helping out. Everybody gets a big kick out of it and I get showed around to *everybody* at lunch. But the food was good, the work wasn't hard, and we got five walls up before quittin' time. Fun stuff too; I got to whack stuff with me hammer, use a nail gun, and help out a bit with the sawing. All-in-all a good-day's work. 

Then I come home to a 4-H meeting with all the kids from my church (no, this story will not end! never!). We mucked through the bureaucratic stuf, old business, new business, you know. And then we got to break for cupcakes as it was the birthday of one of our members.

And, finally, nothing interesting, besides a piano lesson, happened on Tuesday, so I'll blog about something completely unrelated (I don't want this post to be *short*, now do I?) We've got a little square fish-tank on a dresser near our TV, in the living room, full of fake plastic trees (I couldn't resist), surrounded by those flashly little beads you put in fishtanks. The only thing is, there isn't any water, and there sure aren't any goldfish, not even ones named Tucker, sadly. Mom killed off two of the last three and put the survivor in out in the water-trough with all the others, where they'll wait until all the goats and horses slurp their lives away and then they'll just swim around in an inch of water before flopping sadly on the black plastic bottom, quietly wishing for a rain that'll never come because all the storms get stuck at the bottom of the mountain, hailing on the neighbors while we enjoy the blue sky and the fish suffocate. 

Ouch. That title phyiscally hurts my eyes. And don't ask why I wrote something so freakishly long; I can't say why. My best guess is that my digestive system inexplicably reversed directions during a particularly violent burp. Well, after reading/writing that sentence, I've decided it's not just the digestive system. :P I'll just get the widdle kitten sleeping on my lap to claw my eyes out. Then I won't read any more titles like that, and I won't be able to write them. Peace at last. . . 

That's right; a kitten. I blogged about her before, but she's cute enough to deserve another mention. She's tiny, either hyper or asleep, gray, and named Fanka. Please don't ask how to pronounce it; I don't know. It's lucky enough that I managed to figure out how to spell it. And *really* don't ask how I knew how to spell it if I don't know how to pronounce it.

And yes, my sister picked out the name not me. (I woulda named her "PoohB." after, well, you know :P)(please don't kill me, zebra-fan) It's polish, so she says, but she really doesn't look like a sausage to me, and that's the only Polish thing I know (the cat, not my sister; let's not go there). And while the name may be Polish, we tain't got the slightest clue what it means. I had suggested naming the cat after my sister, as the cat will meow until it gets what it wants, but she didn't like that. So that means I'm open to pretty much any other good name; I'm just unimaginative. If any of you (two) readers have an idea, please let me know!

Well, back to work on making Mapquest give me direction to Columbus. I'm going up to Ohio tomorrow for an orientation with AFS, the organization sending me to Denmark. Along the way, I'm going to stop in the best science museum evar: COSI. It stands for Center of Science and something or other. I forgot and am too lazy to look it up. Anyways, the last time I was there, every exhibit in their three wonderous floors was hands-on. Many of the rooms were themed and decorated to a tee, including an extremely realistic jungle adventure where you search for clues in order to uncover some long lost mystery. It'd take too long to describe everything in that museum, and I still need to pack, so I'll just fill you in on the stuff I see when I go. I'm really looking forward to it ^^ 

I'm taking a break from writing semi-serious blogs for a bit. Noone takes you seriously when you're blogging on a site like pooh blogs. Goodness gracious, of all the names in the world, why that one! Today, then, we're going to learn about something that interests me: West Virginia. That's right, I bet ya'll wouldta never guessed that I done come from Weeeeest Virginia. Hyuck hyuck hyuck. Anyways, it's really purty out here in the mountains, 'specially now that everything is all green and leafy.

But the real reason I'm writing on West Virginia isn't just because I live there, or because I want to write a bunch of silly W.V. jokes and type with an accent. However, today's Fred Reed article is titled "Uncle Hant Defends West Virginia, Terror in the Backwoods" and it's actually from yesterday, but bear with me, people. 

Like I say on the little link on the right of this weblog, Fred Reed is one of my favorite online bloggers; he talks about everything; homosexuals, marraige, feminists, evolution, gummint, the works. Most times he's serious and well worth your time. This article is worth your time (I'm bloggin' about it, after all!) but a bit more on the fun side. Here's a taste:

Anyways, Hant. The old scoundrel was standing next to the cooker, emptying a bag into it. He’s tall and scrawny with a jaw like a front-end loader that needs a shave and when he sits down he kind of folds up in sections. He don’t really exist. He’s a Literary Apparition. West Virginia’s full of them. Some folks say they come out of the old mine shafts.

“What you dumping in that brawl starter this time?” I asked.

“Mothballs.” He looked real close into the cooker and started stirring it with a stick. He don’t always say too much. I knowed why he was doing it. He likes to give that death juice of his a little extra kick for the yups. He’s tried brake fluid, wood alcohol, rust dissolver, everything.

“Oh. I bet you got a jug of Beam somewheres. You got that crafty look about you. Gimme a hit. You hear the Feddle Gummint’s done put in a six million dollar A-bomb finder at Lou Bob’s?”

They did, too. I saw it. This eighteen-wheeler came in from Washington and they put up this thing that looked like a big door you had to walk through to go into Lou Bob’s Beer, Bait, and Tackle. I didn’t see why. The door Lou Bob had seemed to work just fine. These three men that wore blue suits and had one ear plug, ‘cause I guess they couldn’t afford both, looked at everybody. I got tired of it so I went around back and used the other door.

“Yeah? What they do that for?” He reached under a log and pulled out a bottle of Beam. He don’t drink them bobcat squeezin’s he makes. He may be a apparition, but he ain’t a damn fool. I took a three-gurgle hit and felt better.

“So nobody could blow up North Fork with a A-bomb. I never thought of that.”

He was nursing so hard on the Beam that I thought he wasn’t listening. But he was.

I said, “Crazy Ray Wiggens come in wearing that radium watch he got in the army in Germany and all these horns blew and they took him off to jail.”

Hant thought for a bit and said, “That’s just good sense. A radium watch ain’t nothing but a arpeggio A-bomb.” Then he looked smug.

“Dammit, Hant, you’re getting out of character again.”

“Oh hell. It ain’t as easy as it looks, being a Literary Apparition. Gimme back that jug.”

Now go here and read it nice and proper.