The Check, The Story, The Test

Hi. I'm Halle, but I bet you already knew that if you're here reading this blog. Well, I, like most teenagers, lead what I believe to be a highly eventful life. Even when it's not. And when it's not, it really is, because I make it eventful. So what you read from now on, may, or may not be totally true, but as far as I'm concerned, it happened.

The Check:

Yes, I opened up my mail to find a check for $1,000.00

...of course it was made out to Project Our Turn so I wasn't actually going to get to buy that new pair of headphones I'd had my eye on... or the gigantic chocolate bar.... or pay for college.... or build my rocket ship. But I was going to get to help girls who had been torn from their families, forced to be soldiers, eat their companion's brains, and have the officer's children recieve an education. So that was good enough for me.

The Story:

Every once in a while, you sit down to hear a story. I sat down with my family of superheroes to hear the great American story. Prarie Home Companion, an old radio show that I keep half expecting to hear come rattling out of my old transistor radio on my windowsill came to town. Garrison Keelior walked around in his bright red socks, sneakers, and baby blue suit while they broadcasted from Eugene. It was all about summer love with singing, reminiscing, and pining after someone. I, of course, bemoaned the fact that I was single thouroughly. Guy Noir, Private Eye waltzed through the scene, latte's, term papers, and sound effect marriages the topics of much debate. But what really got me was Lake Woebegone. Suddenly, there were hundreds of Eugene hippies, Bend hillbillies, and Portland coffee-drinkers sitting silently, wrapped up in a story of regular people leading regular lives. American regular lives. Which is important. Since this is America. Yet there we all were, listening to this story, using our imagination to see the "Rapture of the Birds" and lying on the grass late into a summer night. How beautiful. How magical. How perfect. How fragile. How endless it seemed. Everything a summer should be and more.


The Test:

Nine hours. NINE freaking hours of SAT prep. And am I anywhere near done? Hmm. Not really.

"If Alfonso is baking cookies...." WHO CARES IF ALFONSO IS BAKING COOKIES?!? ...and Alfonso? Dude. I can't stand SAT people. "Hey guys, let's call the guy 'Alfonso' instead of Joe or George. THAT'LL make it original!" Bullshit But it's okay because the SAT will help colleges decide if I, as a person, fit their college well. No need to look at community service or personality, just check out that GPA and SAT scores! Yeah!


...P.S. The muffins are taking over. Prepare your spatulas in advace of the war. Metal advised as the muffins can smell the plastic from 50 feet off. Good luck soldiers.