what valentine's day means to me.

I'm going to get a nosebleed.

Possibly tonight.

Maybe it's the weather; maybe I'm ill. But for the past day and a half, I've been on the verge of a bloody nose.

I have a macabre fascination with bloody noses. So much incandescently bright mess and it doesn't really hurt at all, only tickle. My brother gave me a bloody nose once when we were kids and kept each other in line by punching each other in the face; it's a harmless American phenomenon.

Speaking of American phenomenon, it's not long until I leave the continent for the first time. I'm terribly, terribly gauche; I don't know the language--how unpleasantly touristy of me. I dress like someone barfed up a college student. An acquaintance of mine is an au pair in Paris; I've looked with envy at her pictures, all the extremely French people with their black-on-black and the little hats--not berets, that's a stereotype--and wished that my closet was French. I think one day it will be; I think one day I'll get rid of all of my hoodies and t-shirts and jeans, invest in about three trench coats and just be chic for the rest of my life. I'm tempted to keep a pair of overalls, though, because I'm Appalachian at the core.

So, last night I had my first frozen margarita, mango flavor. It was the best slushie I've ever had--it wasn't the tequila; tequila sucks.

My cousin just uploaded a bunch of pictures of us when we were kids onto a facebook photo album.

Funny how surreal my childhood is in photographs.

There's me... five or six... in a pink swimsuit that I don't remember, my mouth open like a wide-mouth frog, posing with jazz hands for a group picture as my brother tries his hardest to escape.

There's pictures I don't remember being taken; pictures of the epoch, the year I was thirteen.

My cousin was there for those pictures, in all his freckled glory, happy, only two years before we would lose him.

My legs were toothpicks--in jorts. I wore jorts that year.

My sister was the blondest she'd ever been.

Bittersweet years, my childhood. There was so much I just never figured out back then.

And now... well, I get older all the time. It's bittersweet and fun and tomorrow it will include some form of alcohol.

So, the theatre festival was a real learning experience.

We usually say that when things suck. Or when people suck at doing their jobs.

Oh, well. It was a learning experience.

But this was a good learning experience. As in, I actually learned a lot, and it was good.

I got to meet some swell people whose talent was a visceral reminder that I've got to get on my A-game if I want to be brilliant by my thirtieth birthday--and I bonded with them over our shared nerd-love for theatre history.

I mean, I went with these people to Super Taco. I met a guy who wears a WWJD bracelet a good nine years after the trend peaked. I met the owner of the highest metabolism known to humanity. I met girls who write better than I do. I met people who almost made me contemplate starting a Fellowship of Christian Theatre/English People chapter at my school.

I got 25$ per diem for food.

So I'd gladly go again next year; I'll probably enter more competitions, dress more nicely for those.

And then I went back to school; it's a little bit of a downer. I've had to do homework.

However--this week something important will happen. I won't become a raging alcoholic; but something important will happen.

Deutsch in Seiben Lessons

So today, I had an epiphany, and it was this:

Maybe I'm supposed to learn German.

The show we're doing now has a lot to say about destiny; it's one of those absurdist shows with a moral, and the moral is that maybe your destiny is eating breakfast or noticing that it's sunny and that Niagara Falls is amazing.

And while I want to say I don't think learning German is part of my destiny, I sort of think that yes, it is.

In any case, I was listening to Der Glockner today, and I thought, "Why don't I just learn German instead of just listening to it?" Because the thing about listening to it, for me anyway, is that I develop an ear for the flow of the language without really comprehending the structure. And German structure is very different from English and French structure. It's intimidating.

So I have been procrastinating, all day, when I could have studied for my chemistry exam. That's what makes me weird; most kids procrastinate and mess around, have fun, surf the internet, watch TV. I learn a Romance language or research 19th century literature instead of whatever I'm supposed to be doing.

Most of the time when I learn something "unnecessary" it's so I can impress people with it later. But it's different with my desire to learn German.

It's not even so I can read Immanuel Kant in his native tongue.

It's so I can go to Germany.

First... Whiplash the Cowboy Monkey. Google him. My dad sent me an email with the sole purpose of informing me of Whiplash the Cowboy Monkey's existence, so it must be important.

Dad said that Whiplash the Cowboy Monkey was akin to Mr. Winkle. I respectfully disagree; Mr. Winkle, that slanted pup to the left, is inherently unique--even alien.

Second... have you ever felt both not secretive enough and too closed off? Because I do. I do, very much.

Third... my Austrian-musical phase continued with a brief flirtation with Elisabeth, which would have been more fun if it was Elisabeth! Das Musical (or included "Wie Wird Man Seinen Schatten Los," which is still my favorite Levay-Kunze song with "schatten" in the title; I think it means shadow).

Oh well; I can't have everything. Oh well; it has Serkan Kaya in a leading role--I'm intrigued by this German actor; the main reason why I'm so intrigued is because I really cannot decide if I like his looks or his voice or his attitude or his acting or not. I really am on the fence. He compared Jesus Christ Superstar to Finding Nemo, so I really WANT to like him.

Fourth... I can definitely recommend reading Les Miserables in the original French. I recommend reading it fifty-eleven times in English beforehand to avoid confusion as well.

Fifth... it's time for the Monk season finale already? I just started watching it again! It's been pretty predictable lately but Tony Shalhoub's characterization just gets better and better. Plus, it's followed by Psych, which is one of the most brightly colored shows on cable. Even if it is pretentious. It's also clever, which has redeemed many a pretentious individual.

You only get one chance to not mess up a first impression.

I've been emailing the regional chair of the National Critics Institute competition in my district with some questions I had, and immediately after sending email #2 or 3, I realized that I had been referring to it as "Critic's Institute" instead of "Critics Institute."

ME. Anal, neurotic, grammar-fascist that I am.

I want to crawl in a hole, take some Excedrin, and DIE.