Kill Shakespeare

    So, I know it's Christmas today and I should be celebrating with my family, but something happened today that made me livid and insanely jealous. I got quite a few amazing gifts today, which I am very thankful for. They include: A Pittsburgh Penguins hat, a Harry Potter Movie Magic book, a pink roots sweater, a scarf and a Sidney Crosby Team Canada Jersey. But my mother got something so cool, so awesome, so marvelous that I can not contain my dismay any longer. She received, from my father, a book. But it's not just any old book; it's a graphic novel called, Kill Shakespeare. It's like Kill Bill, but 10x better. I know this sounds like a ridiculous thing to be jealous of, but the book is the coolest thing I've ever laid eyes on.
    Basically, the book takes place in a world in which  all of Shakespeare's characters reside. His most frightening villains( Richard III, Lady Macbeth and Iago) believe Hamlet to be a prophesied ‘Shadow King’. Richard the III offers Hamlet the fantastic deal of he will bring Hamlet’s dead father back to life (with the assistance of his three witches) if Hamlet can track down a reclusive wizard… by the name of William Shakespeare. Shakespeare's greatest heroes(Hamlet, Juliet, Falstaff and Othello) are known as prodigals trying find Shakespeare to defeat the evil Richard III. Genius.
      I wanted this book since the first time I saw it, and my mother received it. But the worst part is, she doesn't even seem to care that she got it. It'll probably just get placed in her dusty, ancient bookshelf for the rest of eternity. Maybe I'll just steal it.

The Good, Old Hockey Game

   Yesterday at 7:00pm, the Pittsburgh Penguins had a game in Buffalo. Instead of watching it at home, I was watching it from about 200 ft in the air, seated in a uncomfortable, navy blue chair (Oh no! I'm typing in rhyme!). That's right folks, I was at the game, face to face with my future husband, Sid the kid. Well, it wasn't really face to face because I had to squint to see him, but it was all good.
     Before the game began, my family and I walked up the never ending staircase of doom to our "nosebleed" seats just in time to see the Penguins and the Sabres warming up. As we were treading our way up, I saw him. Sidney looked like a perfect, enchanting, handsome angel. Well, a really, really small, Polly pocket size angel. As we were fawning over our favourite hockey player , two American Sabres fans came to their seats and sat down beside us. At first, the men seemed reasonably respectful but as soon as the game started, their real, disgusting personalities came out. Every single damn time Sidney touched the puck, they'd start booing. No really, every single time. I really wanted to punch them in the face, but I decided that wouldn't be such a smart idea. One of men was clearly intoxicated, I could smell it on his tacky, Buffalo jersey. When Crosby was talking to the referee, he shouted "You're just like Gretzky! A whiner!" Uhh, dude. Gretzky was the greatest hockey player to ever live, so that's quite a nice compliment. And then when Max Talbot was hurt he screamed "Get up you little suck!" I was seriously super angry, I really wished one of the hockey players would come up and hit him. But Max was okay, so I could breathe a sigh of relief. Max is a good player, french Canadian and sexy; it would have been terrible to lose him. Whenever our goalie, Marc-Andre Fleury, made a save, the drunk guy would scream "Fleury's terrible in net. He's a girl!" At one point, I said quietly "What if I like girls..." and this kind lady sitting in front of me laughed. I liked her, even though she was rooting for the other team.
      That's what different from Canadian hockey fans and American hockey fans, we have respect. I know I wrote a blog on how we shouldn't categorize groups of people, but every single American fan I saw was the exact same way. Whenever our team got a goal, they'd boo. Whenever Crosby was on the ice, they'd call him a fag. Sorry, but I think that's so mean. I know the hockey world isn't rainbows and butterflies, but shouting and calling a hard working hockey player names is just about as rude as it gets, and those were just the Buffalo fans. A group of rowdy, drunk, American Penguins fans, in the section beside us, left the arena shouting "Pittsburgh rocks! Buffalo sucks!" I mean, you're in the other team's arena and they just lost (big time). Show some respect for the other team.
    Even though my night was somewhat spoiled by the rude drunks sitting beside me, I still had a fantastic time. The Penguins won, 5-2, and Crosby got an assist to keep up his 18 game point streak, which made me very happy. To further prove my point from before, as the lady in front of me was leaving, she shook my hand and said "Good game. That Crosby of yours in quite good." I noticed she was wearing a Canada Olympic hat and gloves.

Hockey Karma

If anyone knows me well, they know I love Sidney Crosby. Hell, even if people don’t know me well they still know I love him. I am very passionate and obsessive when it comes to him and his team, the Pittsburgh Penguins. So how do you think I’d feel when some “hot shot”, 5 foot nothing grade nine boy comes up to me and says “The Penguins suck. The Capitals are way better and Crosby is gay.” No, I didn’t beat him up. But I did tell him something that cannot be mentioned on this blog. Anyways, this child has been coming up to me on a day-to-day basis telling me how much my lovely team and future husband suck. I hate it and I’ve always tried to find a way to get back at him. Yesterday, I did.

I was walking in the hall, minding my own business and wearing my marvellous, pink Pittsburgh Penguins scarf. The super annoying child walks by me and says “Ovechkin is still better than Crosby.” I ignored the little creep this time because I had a Footloose performance that night that I was excited about, and Crosby scored a hat trick on the weekend and Ovechkin didn’t. After Footloose, I rushed home to watch the end of the Pittsburgh Penguins game, and was pleasantly surprised. Sidney had just scored a hat trick. It was his second hat trick in 3 games. I was actually beaming with joy. Then I realized the Washington Capitals lost 2-1 to the Dallas Stars, possibly one of the worst teams in the NHL, the same night. After this, I was beaming with even more joy. Karma’s a bitch Ovechkin kid.

Forever and Not Always

Taylor Swift: Country singer, actress, fashion icon, activist, and someone who needs to shut up. Now don’t get me wrong, I like Taylor Swift and her music. No matter what you’re feeling, she has a song that will make you feel better but sometimes, she really pisses me off. I’m not saying she’s not talented, because she is. And I’m not saying I don’t like her clothes, because I do but she needs to learn when to shut her mouth. She basically is a grown woman who imagines she’s classy and sophisticated, yet talks (in detail) about her past boyfriends on national television. Seriously, no one cares that Joe Jonas broke up with you on a 25 second phone call or how John Mayer tricked you into falling for him. If boys keep breaking up with you Tay, there’s got to be something you’re doing wrong too.

Taylor also is a privileged girl who acts like she’s had a hard life because she was awkward in high school. Everyone is awkward in high school. She sees herself as a deep, earnest songwriter when really; she’s just a pretty face cashing in on the same insane, slut-slamming, fairytale insanity in practically everything she does. Stop wiping the tear drops off your guitar and write a song that doesn’t have anything to do with boys or being “strong”. Taylor wants her fans to see her as a badass for writing songs about her ex-lovers but she also wants them to see her as this poor, innocent victim if anybody tries to do the same to her. No one cares what Kanye did to you anymore. Beyonce’s music video was one of the greatest videos of all time. Deal with it. Sure, she plays guitar and writes her own songs. BUT THEY ALL SOUND EXACTLY THE SAME. I mean, holy shit. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I’d be listening to the same song on repeat.

Oh, and by the way, ROMEO AND JULIET KILL THEMSELVES, THEY DO NOT END UP HAPPILY MARRIED. If you want your fans to believe that Romeo and Juliet ended up happily, go ahead, but Shakespeare is probably turning in his grave.

Too Much of a Bad Thing

     I have a good life, for the most part. I have a loving family, good friends, a bed to sleep in and food to eat every night. But sometimes, because of my father's cooking, I wish I didn't have to eat it. Now don't get me wrong, I love my father. He takes my sister and I places, buys us gifts, makes us laugh and really does loves us, but his cooking is abysmal. He has no freaking clue what flavours go well together (Thousand Island dressing does not taste good in potato salad), what colours should go together (you should never make chicken with Alfredo sauce and cauliflower with white cheese sauce on the same plate) and what not to make every single time he cooks dinner. Last year, every single night, my dad made salmon, and it wasn't even different kinds. Just plain, burnt, dry, barf-worthy salmon. When my sister and I complained, he would get all "sensitive". "Fine then. Don't eat. I'll never cook again." he used to say and " You never appreciate my cooking and there are children in Africa starving that would love to eat this dinner." He's probably right, but Salmon every night. Really? I used to love Salmon. Now, I can't even bare to look at it without wanting to puke. I know some people say too much of a good thing is bad, but too much of a bad thing is even worse.

       Thankfully, my father has gotten better with cooking over the years with help from my mother, cook books and Bobby Flay. He now makes stew, jambalaya (his specialty), chicken, fish and chips, sloppy joes and hot potato salad (which is actually, quite good). Even though my father has moved on from his "Salmon" phase, some of his cooking is still questionable. He has now obtained a new phase, "sweet potato". He probably makes them every night, and I, once again, try to ovoid coming down to dinner. Here we go again.

My Grandfather

These are photographs of my grandfather, Ross Finlayson, from W.W.II.

Lest We Forget

     As some of you already know, I played in the Remembrance assembly today with the Sr. Band. As I was getting up to drain my trumpet, I saw something that made me mad. No, not mad, livid. I saw some "I'm too cool for school" grade nine wearing his poppy on his hat. Poppies are supposed to be worn over your heart to symbolize that we remember all of the men and women who fought and are still fighting for us. They're worn to show we appreciate their sacrifices. Poppy wearing might not seem important to some people, but it really should be. By wearing a poppy on your hat or you backpack, you're basically just trying to be cool or different. I, personally, find it rude and insanely disrespectful. These men and women risked their lives for us, and people can't even wear poppies correctly?
    The reason why I care about poppies so much is because Remembrance day has always been close to my heart. My grandfather, Ross Finlayson, fought in W.W.II as a fighter pilot and lived to tell the horrific tale. Can you even begin to imagine what it would be like to get into a plane everyday, knowing that it might be your last? My grandfather and so many other men and women risked and lost their lives for our freedom and people can't even respect them as much to wear a poppy right? That sort of thing disgusts me. Wear your poppies the right way, please.

The Window

I see leaves change in the fall,

I see snowflakes fall in the winter,

I see flowers bloom in the spring,

But I cannot smell them.

I see children playing,

laughing,

But I cannot laugh with them.

I see hurt,

I see pain,

I see suffering,

But I cannot feel.

I see family and hope,

I see love,

But I can never love.

No one loves me,

even though I’m their light in the darkness,

their mirror to the outside word.

I am all knowing,

But not all feeling.

I know more than anyone; yet I know nothing.

No one can ever love me

and I can never love.

A Great Leader

      A few days ago, while I was babysitting, I witnessed something both extremely amusing and extremely frightening; Sidney Crosby in a fight. At first, I thought it was great. Crosby never fights, so this was a rare treat to watch. A couple of seconds into the fight however, I became nervous. If he ended up getting hurt, the Penguins would not only lose their best player but also, their captain. If Crosby had broken his hand or something, he'd be out for about 4-6 weeks. That would, for lack of a better word, suck. Luckily, he wasn't injured in the brawl, so I could breathe a sigh of relief. After the game, Crosby explained why he fought. When I heard the explanation, I instantly had a new found respect for him.
      Crosby explained that Brendon Morrow (the captain of the Dallas Stars), started a fight with the Pittsburgh defense man, Kristopher Letang. Apparently, Letang hurt his hand in a previous game and that was the reason Morrow picked on him. Morrow could have not been aware of the injury; but I doubt it. A few minutes later, right after the faceoff, Crosby asked Dallas defense man, Matt Niskanen if he wanted to go. And of course, he went.
        What made this fight so significant was by taking care of business, Crosby tried to stick up for his teammate and inspire his team. Crosby doesn't really have fight, since he's a superstar. This was, in fact, only his 5th career fight. Even though he could have gotten pummelled (Sid isn't really the best fighter), he still dropped the gloves. Now that's what I call a great leader. The Pittsburgh Penguins ended up losing the game 5-2, but that's an entirely different story.
  

The Game

   The heart-wrenching cheers of hope were becoming too much to handle. I felt like an ancient, haggard man, the entire nations' dreams of victory weighing down my shoulders. As I frantically skated towards the net, I looked up towards the tsunami of noise. There, in front of me, was a grand mosaic of red and white. I was a single, red leaf in thousands, but I'd never felt so alone. My face was a broken facet, the sticky sweat pouring rhythmically onto my jersey. I wasn't sure if we could win the game, but losing wasn't an option. Suddenly, I was passed the puck. With the game on my stick, I skated towards the frozen tundra of destiny that lied before me. As I my eyes saw the goaltender, auto pilot kicked in. It was as if someone had pressed delete on a computer, my memory wiped. I couldn't remember where I was or who I was, but I knew what I was supposed to do. I was a blank piece of parchment, the crowd writing my story with their continuous chanting. I had no past. I had no future. I was the present, and it was now or never. I shot the puck at the net.

Motherly Love

"I have a tip that can take five strokes off any one's golf game:  it's called an eraser."- Arnold Palmer. I don't need a eraser to improve my golf game since nothing can hide the fact that it still takes me 30 strokes to put the ball in the hole (I'm not kidding, once I was +78). But I really wish I could use one to erase the memory etched in my mind of the day we went to the Canadian Open charity golf tournament. 
      It all started when my Dad told my sister and I we were going to the Open. Since I find golf incredibly boring and am terrified of golf balls, I really didn't want to go. It wasn't until my Dad told us Dion Phaneuf and Rick Nash were going to be there, that we became excited. When we arrived in Toronto for the tournament,  I brought all of my hockey things for them to sign, including the Olympic Issue of Sports Illustrated and a Toronto Maple Leafs teddy bear my Grandfather bought for me. My sister and I even wore our Team Canada t-shirts, just to show we liked hockey. Wearing them proved to be pure genius. We actually got every hockey player at the tournament to give us their autograph. After getting Martin Brodeur, Steven Stamkos and Dion Phaneuf's (Dion was super nice and actually talked to me. I couldn't breathe.) autograph, Kate and I went looking for Rick Nash. Well, we found him alright. While he was walking towards us, I could see my mother coming closer to where he was supposed to sign. She was talking to herself and had a strange look in her eye. At first, I ignored her because Rick Nash, the captain of the Columbus Blue Jackets, had just signed my magazine. As he was signing my sister's hockey book, I heard my mother saying, really loudly, "he's so hot" continuously from behind me. Unfortunately, the shy, Rick Nash heard her and literally ran to the next hole. I felt utterly, ridiculous. Rick ran away from my creepy mother, nice. Now, don't get me wrong, I had fun at the Open but I really wish I could forget the pure terror in Rick's eyes as he dashed away from my mother. It's surprising he hasn't filed a restraining order yet.

Hot Waiter Man

    On a nippy winter's day after school, my father decided to take the family to Boston Pizza. Even though this could be thought of as a thrilling family outing, it definitely was not. My family and I had probably eaten at Boston Pizza every time we went out for dinner. For some strange reason, my father was obsessed with going there. I guess the super overpriced, average food and hideous, plastic-covered chairs really drew him in. As soon as we walked into the restaurant, we were greeted by a super cute waiter. No, really. He looked like a young Brad Pitt mixed with a young Leonardo Dicaprio with Taylor Launter’s sexy body. I could almost smell the Abercrombie and Fitch cologne he was sure to be wearing. My sister, Kate, and I decided he was absolutely, positively drool worthy. Lucky for us, he was our waiter. Kate and I squealed quietly in delight when hot, waiter man complimented us on our Sidney Crosby t-shirts. He was for sure the perfect man now.

          After talking about our sizzlingly, sexy waiter, Kate decided to act like an insane, creepy person with a terrifying, low voice (she did this often). She would say things like "I want to hurt you" or "I like to hide under your bed". I know what you’re thinking, and yes, it was very weird .Out of the corner of my eye, I saw hot, waiter man approaching our table from behind Kate. "This is going to be good" I thought to myself. Just as hot waiter man walked by the table Kate, not knowing he was there, said in an extremely creepy voice, "I’m watching you." Hot, waiter man leaped in surprised and hurriedly scampered away from our table. My sister’s face went as red as my dinner, spaghetti bolognese. The best part was he still had to serve us dessert. To this day, Kate will still not go back to Boston Pizza in fear that the hot, waiter man will recognize her.

New Directions

      I can't fight this feeling anymore. I need to explain how much I love Ryan Murphy's brilliant creation, Glee. In case you're wondering, I am the stereotypical "Gleek". I yelp whenever I see a commercial for it, get into heated conversations about how much I hate Kurt and squeal whenever I hear Matthew Morrison croon. I know Glee may seem like a moronic, cheesy musical but it's really not. The writing and the characters are truly fantastic and are actually, very real. Sue may seem like an crude, crazy and unrealistic cheer leading coach, but she's actually a very complicated and flawed individual. All of the characters are comical but also have depth and hidden problems. For example, Rachel was adopted, Finn's father died before he was born, Kurt is afraid to come out as being gay and Sue has a mentally challenged older sister that she is unable to fully care for. There's possibly a character that everyone could relate to (I personally relate to Mercedes and Rachel). 
        I know this may sound ridiculous, but Glee actually changed my life. Before I started watching it, I hardly had any confidence when it came to what I enjoy doing most, singing. After singing along with Lea Michelle (and actually hitting the notes), I felt confident in my singing abilities. I now have enough confidence to sing in front of people and ask for solos in choir. As you can see, Glee is much more than a show to me. It was a catalyst to realizing my true singing abilities. If you don't watch Glee, you're missing out. If your lucky, it just might change your life for the better too.

"It's Jersey Shore, Bitch!"

     Everyone I know has an embarrassing guilty pleasure. My friend, Sakura, stares at Taylor Lautner's sensual and spicy abs, my friend, Erica, listens to Morrissey and my Father watches Wipe Out every Wednesday night. I also have a guilty pleasure, but mine is extremely embarrassing. I like watching Jersey Shore. Actually, I don't like watching Jersey Shore—I love it. 
     Now, I know what your thinking, but I actually have a strange passion and obsession for it. I know it's, like, the most ridiculous show on television, but I can't help myself. Watching fresh t-shirt clad, fake tanned bimbos and Guidos beat each other up is so addicting. I howl whenever Snookie opens her mouth and when Mike picks up multiple grenades in one night. I think it's probably, one the funniest shows on television. The cast makes the show for me, it doesn't matter where they are, they're still jaw-droppingly hilarious. From the brainless (and kind of sexy) "Situation", Pauly-D, Ronnie and Vinny to the moronic and slutty Snookie, J-WOWW and Sammi "Sweetheart"; I love them all. My Father says I'll get dumber by watching the show. He's probably right but I don't care. I can't live without my too much cologne wearing, pickle eating and overly tanned friends! Jersey Shore is on tonight at 10 pm. I'm actually missing a hockey game on television to watch it. I really enjoy watching it that much.

Paris Hilton's Limo

    This is the brilliant paragraph my group wrote in Writer's Craft today. Mind you, it's primarily written by my magnificent group member, Asha Griffiths ( Katlin and I added some questionable sentences and concepts). No one in class was really paying attention to any one's paragraphs, so we decided to type it out for people to read. So, I hope you enjoy Paris Hilton's Limo.

Paris Hilton's Limo

Paragraph by Asha and a few sentences by Emma and Katlin

      

     Sitting there was like tasting a sour patch kid dusted in crack. Reality took a while to hit me. Champagne with an undertone of Chanel no. 5 enlightened my senses. In came the oh so glamorous 6ft 2 glamazon draped in authentic, exotic furs from Italy and diamonds and glitz, followed by a perfected fake tan, lingering with the smell of dirty sex and tequila. I sat there in amazement, frozen and taking it all in. Her entourage tipsily, tumbled into the backseat, bursting out in reels of obnoxious laughter. Their breath doused in jello shots and fuzzy navels; white powder dusting the flare of their nostrils.

     "Pass the Hennessy, you sexy bitch," Paris laughed grabbing the almost full bottle and taking a swig; a little alcohol spilling from her mouth onto her silicone ingested chest. The more the bottle was passed around, the greater their erazed, drunken laughs, with long tanned legs flailing and Jimmy Choo's flying. Skirts were slided half way up their thighs as they stood up and gyrated, then fell like drunken fools giddily into their leather seats.

    " OMG, where the fuck is Tinkerbell?" the cake faced glamorized, liposuctioned alcky- fiend implied.

    " OMG, what the fuck is that nasty smell?" said some anorexic chick in a leopard pink tube dress, pinching her nose.

     " Maybe it's you Paris!" blabbered the obnoxious brunette with no bra.

     " Close your crotch bitch!" Paris laughed, "that was hot!" They all laughed, flicking the liquor bottle in the air, sending drops of it on everyone. The backseat limo door opened.

      " Umm, miss Hilton, it appears we have a problem..." the young limo driver inquired. "We found Tinkerbell, umm, decomposing in the trunk. It looks like she's been there for around two weeks."

      Paris sat there, her mouth half open and smiling slightly.

      " So that's were the smell of rotting flesh came from. L.M.A.O!" she laughed.

      

                

Why do the Toronto Maple Leafs still have Fans?

        Have you ever wondered why some people love the Leafs. Who could actually like possibly one of the worst teams in the league that lose almost every game and are the laughing-stocks of the NHL? Well, you're in luck gentle viewers, because I know why (no offense to any Leafs fans who might be reading this but this probably why you like them).
         Sometimes in pop culture, it's easier to like secondary characters or teams. For example, my favourite characters in a book or a movie have never been the main ones. I like Fred and George from Harry Potter, Sodapop from The Outsiders and weirdest of all, Tybalt from Romeo and Juliet. I believe it's easier to like them; like it's easier to like the Leafs. By liking a supporting character instead of a main one, you never set yourself for disappointment. Bad things don't usually happen to supporting characters (with the exception of Fred Weasley in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and Tybalt from Romeo and Juliet). By liking the Leafs, a team who never wins, you never have to worry about them losing an important playoff game- they always lose, so its normal to the fans. 
       One of the less embarrassing reasons why people cheer for the Leafs is because of their history. I know it's hard to imagine, but the Leafs were good once. Some people have grown up liking the Leafs or their parents have. They are one of the original six teams. I guess people find the long, rich history of the Leafs appealing.
       Even if the Leafs had the worse hockey players imaginable, they'd still have fans. That's why they trade their first round draft picks for mediocre players, they don't need good ones. The Leafs just need a team, and fans will follow blindly no matter how much they suck for these two reasons.

Death to the Kindle

       Have you ever seen one of those Kindle or E-reader things? Those mini computers that you can download hundreds of different books on? Well, they suck. E-readers ruin the entire experience of reading. I mean, how could someone ever read a classic like Oliver Twist on a tiny, little computer that destroys your eyes?

    To achieve the entire experience of reading something, you need  to hear the spine crack the first time you open the book or the perfect scent of a new book. With that dumb computer thing, that isn't possible. You need to be able to take a book wherever you want like on a plane, or a waiting room or even snuggling with your dog on the couch while it's snowing outside. Even owning a book is part of the experience. Seeing the different colours and textures on a book shelf. Their pages whispering their darkest secrets, begging you to read them. Books speak even when they stand unopened on the shelf. 

     A hundred years ago, people didn't have stupid computers, they had real books. I love reading one of my favourite books, Gone with the Wind, and knowing that people many years ago have read it just like I am. Actually turning the pages and skipping to the last chapter to know if Rhett really didn't give a damn. E-readers obviously aren't the same.

      One of the best experiences of reading an actual book is the memories that come along with it, like where you were or what you were doing when you were reading it. For example, I remember reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on a plane coming home from France. I actually shouted "Fred dies?!?!" and everyone on the plane looked at me. It was super embarrassing, but whenever I pick up that book, I think about the memory. Memories cling to the printed page more than anything else (as quoted from Inkheart). I don't understand how someone could have those experiences on a little computer screen.

   So never bring an E-reader near me, or I'll probably throw it out the window.

Why Hate on the Greats?

   Do you remember the first time you heard about a "great"? By "great" I mean a concept of a state of superiority affecting a person, object or place. The concept carries the implication that the particular person or object, when compared to others of a similar type, has clear and perceivable advantage [as quoted from Wikipedia]. Someone like Wayne Gretzky, Tiger Woods( Pre-hooker phase), the Beatles, Gene Kelly or William Shakespeare. I remember the first time I heard about Shakespeare, that's for sure. How could one person be such a genius and write so many magnificent plays? I was blown away. All of the people I've mentioned are "greats" but no matter how "great" they are, someone always hates them. I always wondered why until a few months ago.

    I was sitting in the cafeteria at lunch about to tell my friends about my new, intensely creepy love for Sidney Crosby. As soon as I said his name, I got attacked. One of my friends all of a sudden started screaming (I'm not kidding, she was screaming.) about how much she hated him. Apparently he's a jerk, a girl, a wuss and a whiner. Now, I never believed a word she said but I still wondered if he was those things. In the end, decided I didn't care if he was a whiner. He was a fantastic hockey player and was hot. That was all that mattered. He would be always be known as a "great", even if he never played another hockey game.

     I finally realize why she and other haters, hate him so much. They can't believe that a single person could be that great. How one person could be so talented and have so much success that they'll probably never have. People also hate the "greats" because everybody else likes them. It's the whole "rebelling against conformity" thing. They think the "greats" are overrated and wonder why they receive so much attention. Now, the "greats" receive so much attention because they're great, it's as simple as that.

    I mean, even though I don't really like Tiger Woods or Wayne Gretzky, I still respect that they are great and worked hard to be that way. I can't deny that.

An Epiphany About Americans

   Before switching into art history, I was taking world issues. I thought it would be somewhat interesting to learn about issues that were happening in the world. I was very wrong but that's not what I wanted to talk about. I was dozing off in class yesterday when the teacher brought up that a American minister from Florida was going to burn copies of the Qur'an(the Islamic bible) as a protest to 9/11. The first thing that popped into my mind was "Americans are freaking stupid and crazy. They're actually thinking of burning these books because a few people of that religion caused the 9/11 terrorist attacks? Americans are really ignorant. Not every Muslim is a terrorist!" As I was about to put up my hand, the girl across from me spoke up. She said; "Americans are soooo dumb. They're the ones who have soldiers in Afghanistan killing innocent people everyday. More people were killed in this war than World War Two! I can't believe Americans could be this stupid." Now, this post isn't about how dumb or ignorant Americans are, it's about how they're not. After she said the "More were killed in this war" comment (I don't know how much of this was true or not), I realized that her and myself had done exactly what the "Americans" had done. Categorized a group of people for a sin or a problem that only a few of them had done or caused. Not everyone in a America is a loony Republican just like not all Muslims are terrorists.
I actually had a epiphany in the most boring class in Westdale. Categorizing people is unfair and also very, very ignorant. You can't categorize a entire religion based on their background or what a group of people of that religion did! Not every Russian is a Communist, not every German is a Nazi and not every Canadian is a happy-go-lucky fisherman who talks funny and watches hockey. From now on, I will stop categorizing people because of their race, religion, sex and so on. For it makes me look very foolish and very ignorant.

Who knew Nick J. could actually sing!

       Unfortunately, I was once a Jonas Brothers fanatic. I knew all of their middle names, favourite movies, every lyric to every song and every detail about their faces. It was pretty bad.

    Now that I've got over my insane obsession, I've realized the Jonas Brothers' many faults. They're straight-out-of-the-mold Disney "rock" stars that dress weird and look like primates. I used to love, love, love Nick Jonas with all of my heart and thought his voice was like "an angel sighing"(to quote Madonna). Now, he sounds like a whiny, constipated four year old girl. Or does he?

       I was recently reading a article about how Nick Jonas was supposed to play Marius in the London 50th anniversary edition of the best musical ever created, Les Miserable. At first, I thought; "Oh Lord, this will be a disaster," but I was proved wrong. I listened to him sing "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" on Youtube and was freaking blown away. I mean, I've been studying music for, like, 9 years now so I know what I'm talking about. Why doesn't he sing like that all of the time? Wasted talent, I mean really. Wasted, freaking talent. Watch it, you won't be disappointed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRZSeJTJMoY

Dear Romance Novels

I love to read and books are my passion. I consider myself a "smart" reader, so I never in a million years thought I would read a Nicholas Sparks novel. I mean, eww. Romance novels are mostly tacky, unrealistic, cheesy, predictable and written by some student in university trying to earn some cold, hard cash. I usually read things like The Kite Runner or The Giver. Novels with depth and meaning, not cheesiness and crap.

      I read Dear John at my cottage in Bayfield. There is nothing to do in Bayfield. There are only so many times that one can browse in the kitchen stores that claim that everything in the was made in Canada, are for old people and that smell faintly like Made in China stickers hidden on the inventory. Anyways, that's when I read the marvellous, literary masterpiece of Dear John. Everything in the novel was not what I expected. It wasn't tacky, but charming and sweet. It was actually quite realistic (even though I don't believe in love at first sight) and was totally not predictable. The ending tugged at my heartstrings so much, it made me sob uncontrollably. I loved it.

    I now have read 4 Nicholas Sparks Novels and absolutely adore them. I guess you really can't judge a book by it's cover after all.