Thursday, December 25, 2008

2008: A Texas Oddity

First, let me say that this blog post is dedicated to my Dad, the most avid reader of this blog and the man with the cattle prod that screams "WRITE, YOU FOOL!". Much love from me, and God bless us every one this merry Festivus.

As the title suggests, this uber-post is in regards to 2008. Ah, 2008. It was the year of the rat. In my favorite TokyoPop Shojo Manga (*mom's head explodes*) Fruit's Basket, the rat is named Yuki. I really don't like Yuki very much. Kind of reminds me of Richie Rich, whom I also hate. Shigure wins all. But unlike Yuki, 2008 was a year worth remembering, with many fond memories I hope will never be forgotten as I party wildly in celebration of my 15th birthday. (OWOWOWOW! FIVE-FOR-FIGHTING SUBJECT MATTER IN THE HIZZOUCE!)

Come, let us take a leisurely stroll down memory lane...

(while a-strolling, we come upon a large billboard.)
Brooke: Alas! What have we here?
Imaginary Snake Friend: Aye, it appears to be a billboard of great magnitude.
Brooke: Brilliant! Let us read it!
Imaginary Snake Friend: I concede!

By You Know Who.

(Imaginary Snake Friend: How very titillating!)

2003 was defeated.

Anyone who is anyone in my life should know by now that I long believed 2003 was the most incredible thing to ever grace the new millenium and could not be beat for a myriad of reasons. Due largely in part to the great number of movies that it spawned (*cough*VANHELSINGUNDERWORLD*cough*), and Mrs. Graf, among the most epic in great educators, and the fact that ten is the coolest birthday you get until you turn sixteen. This facts are true. However, 2008 virtually fell screaming atop my head, bursting the bubble that was my strong belief in 03's infallibility. The movies owned (*squeal*IRONMANTWILIGHTDARKKNIGHT*screech*), and while I do not believe any teacher in Texas will ever be as awesome as my favorites back north, I do get to be fifteen. Which leads to 16. And we all know what that means...
*giggles delightedly*


One thing I will say for San Antonio: this place attracts brilliant entertainment like flies to a BugZapper. Phantom of the Opera brought me to tears, laughter, muffled wails of delight, and eventually a panic-attack when the flames went shooting across the stage. (I did not EXPECT that.) And as for Warped Tour...well, I feel that crazy, albeit unforgettable, experience is best represented in our sheer exhaustion.

(Those last two were taken ten seconds apart. Guess which one was last. No, guess.)

Get Political

You know, I always swore I would never become a politician of any sort. This namely stems from a deep resentment that we elected Kelly Morones as class president in the good old Washing of Ton. But when the opportunity arose to run for student council at Johnson, I said hey, why not?

This would result in my election by default, to the post of Freshman Rep. I, alongside my painfully short and thick-as-a-brick counterpart Alec, strode across the football field for our homecoming game. Which we lost. And then I had the greatest non-strawberry milkshake I've ever tasted. It was a good night.

Our Abbeford

We got Abbey one morning when I was in full-force BROOKIE NEEDS A DOG mode. I'd done my research, but that ending up meaning next to nil, because Dad simply scanned the classifieds, found our little girl's listing, and off we went. Abbey was a name brought up in the car, amongst suggestions of Violet, Rosie, Bella (*only twilighter in the car at the time could not stop laughing about this*), and eventually (it was my idea!) Abbey. As in Abbey Road. As in the Beatles album.
She was ours from the moment we pulled in front of a shabby home to see her wiggling through the grates of the fence to come up and greet us. We were about to drive away to consider it and "maybe pick her up once we'd moved in...", but hey, we're Nowakowskis, and that dog was MIIIINE. So, *thump* goes Abbey into the backseat, and *vroom* goes the Axiom back to the accursed Monte Cristo.
She was far from potty trained. One nostril was decidedly misshapen. But what can we say? She's just a little Abby Normal.

In Which I Become a Minor Celebrity

Its a scandal that continues to this day. I couldn't wait for Breaking Dawn. And as something of an internet informant to the more emotionally involved fans of my community, I had a duty to serve. So, armed with bottled water and an arsenal of rumors, I sought. And found some very big spoilers. And, like any good informant, I was the first to share them with the world.
Currently pushing 63,000 views and nearly 1500 comments, my video has become a hotbed for fans who need a place to vent and complete idiocy. To this day I receive comments claiming I have committed literary blaspheme. As this seemed a result of people thinking I'd posted this after the book was released, I even put up a message stating that these were predictions, not justified statements of fact.
But alas, the stupidity never ceases to amaze me. A few pearls from the long strand that has been left to me by the world. All spelling and grammatical errors left in place for comedic effect.

"Don't believe everything you hear on boards, its just people chatting and making stuff up. Stephenie Meyer has stated that Bella will NOT get pregnant more than once. And Nessie? thats a horrble name. I don't believe this for a second. The only thing I believe is the Rosalie thing as i've heard it before."

This, unfortunately, is the most intelligent response I received. Skeptics are okay. Brainless minions of evil are not. Oh look, here they come!

"I would like 2 believe this is real but I am not convensted. Sorry."
To answer the obvious question: yes, I did mock this commenter in a response. And I don't feel bad either!

"Well Robert Pattinson is my cousin, and when they were filming Twilight I would go with him everyday to the set, and Stephenie Meyer was there one day, and she gave everyone a copy of Breaking Dawn. So I got it in April."
This one made a lot of people very angry. Very, very angry.

"Im kinda scared to watch this. I paused at 3 seconds. The person in the video said that is all real but in the description, its says it might not be real. Which should i believe??? And about the Nessie thing Skyeeeeeee is talking about, im like "whoa!!!" cause i have a friend who's nickname is Nessie. She's actually my bestfriend. She made that nickname up for herself cause she thought it was cool... This is really weird. Should i continue watching???"

"OMG!! JACOB I HATE YOU!!! FSJDfhlkgipskdlfgSGSDGSDfg that is how mad i am."

"ive read chapters 1114 of breaking dawn. THIS COULD BE FAKE! people have put things up all over the internet to freak us out and do you THINK Smeyer would make bella have a VAMPIRE BABY that sucks the life out of her and almost kills her!"


And this had nothing to do with the book, but I found it kind of funny. The second is in response to the first.

but i think that jacob nevver will do that, i dont think so, really, i don´t think that jacob raped her, no no and well, i knew that the vampires can´t have childs, but now, i´m in doubt, u think the same?
why'd you spell never with a w? are you polish or something?"

Oh, the people I met when experiencing the everyday life of a tuber. There was JenniferTwilight, who cussed out everyone on the comment board, and spoke those immortal words:

"Well, I'll definitely be revisiting THIS video once the book is out. Can't wait. (:

You guys are going to look like complete idiots, lol."

Her and I had a nice little chat.

"...You don't have the book, seriously. I don't know why you would lie, I don't have your brain, but it's just pointless. Well, we'll see tomorrow who's going to look imbecilic.
Ah, that we most certainly will..."

Suffice to say, Jennifer never came back.

The Two Weeks of Terror

The equation for pure, unadulterated awesome was another discovery of this year. It happened in late June. It is as follows:

Batman + 4 (to the power of cool) = AWESOME.

I must say, whether it was the terrorist campaign launched on Mitchell's room and all who inhabited it, getting messed over by Six Flags, or perhaps writhing in the agony that comes from killer sun exposure and swimming at night like a moray eel, it resulted in what were possibly the best two weeks ever. (AND WE GOT WILLIAM BECKETT'S AUTOGRAPH FTW YES!)

Jaguars are *clap, clap* ROWDY!

High school. Let me describe it in a form all can relate to. Haiku.

Nothing is finished
Upperclassmen drive, yell
"Lets murder some fish!"

Fish being us. Freshman. The "leetle cheeldren". And oh, the pain of being the youngest. No matter what you may do, say, accomplish or immortalize in graffiti, you will never attain the glory that is Seniordom. You have no one to pick on. The sophomores will simply scorn you and the juniors, mock you. But I like high school, very, very much. And if college is all its cracked up to be, I have a lot to look forward to.

Even still, there are some things that you only get to experience once; events exclusive to grades 9 through 12 in the North East Independent School District. Say, homecoming!

Ours coincided with Halloween, and given I was headed for the dance with my cluster of pre-spinsters, it only seemed appropriate to pose with tall, dark and green himself. So far, as the insider to my fellow frosh, we aren't really doing much until the talent show and prom. Which I get to go to FOR FREE. Because I am awesome. Student council=VIP, yo.

Brava, brava bravissima!

Pirate, eh, it was alright. But another highlight of my year was one of sheer tragedy, plain and simple. Enter: The Trojan Women.

(That's me in the derelict old woman coat. Note the dingy car. It is mine. And car, thy Brooke is a jealous Brooke.)

As "Injured Woman", shown here at curtain call (the only point at which I could forget my injury and skip about like the joyful creature I am!), I would deliver a short monologue, get beat on by cast soldiers Yogi, Aaron, Nick and even Laura the Office Woman, and do a whole lot of pathetic groveling when Menelaus leered over me for a good two minutes. Now, the most memorable part of this production has a great deal to do with that particular part, so let me set the stage.
We, the women, are all on our lonesome because Menelaus keeled our men and sad violins are sad. He comes, and we say we want Helen keeled because we are not happy no sir. So Chris (Menalaus) goes around beating on us and then, after the verbal abuse of moi, faces the audience.
Then, "it" happened. The rental tux was an unwieldy fiend at best, and we knew that. But when his cummerbund literally flew off, it was too much. The entire cast fell into stifled hysterics, while Chris proceeded to kick the cummerbund into the audience in a sudden "fit of rage". Backstage, whispers of "NICE SAVE!" could be heard in multitudes.

A Crazy Little Thing Called Fredericksburg.

I suppose I would be loathe to neglect Fredericksburg, the day that will remain in eternal memory as a brush with hellfire and death itself. The facts have been disputed. The weinerschnitzel has been consumed. (It was a very tasty weinershnitzel, as it happens.) Only the main points are clear, and motivations aside, it may still be too difficult to comprehend. As a wise man or frat boy once said, "you just had to be there, man." But this is Fredericksburg, as far as we know.
- Brooke is PMSing.
- The Nowakowskis are in Fredericksburg.
- Chocolate is overpriced.
- Samples are love.
- Streets are dangerous.
-Brooke is neglectful of others.
- Brooke is a catalyst for street-danger.
- Dad is not pleased.
- Brooke is PMSing.
- Dad is kicking.
- Brooke's shin is not pleased.
- Dad is, if it were possible, less pleased than aforementioned shin.
- Tourist stores are repetitive.
- Brooke nearly goes all emo on the locally grown canned salsa.
- Nowakowskis etc. are of mixed feeling.
- Antique stores are fun.
- Brooke is insidiously unrepentant.
- Did we mention Brooke is PMSing?
- German eateries are modestly priced and worth the drive.
- Weinerschnitzel does not heal all wounds. But it does stem the flow of tears.
- More antiques. Rrrrr.
- Drive home is awkward.
- Discussion is fervent.
- Fredericksburg becomes a meme, taboo, and catchphrase within the span of a single day.

As for the rest...well, we learned many things at Fredericksburg. And lets just say we haven't been back lately. I do miss the schnitzel, though.

O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A! (and Arkansas)

Oklahoma was an experience indeed. Made an experience by three key things.

(Imaginary Snake Friend: Oh my! It is a list within a list!)
(Brooke: How very revolutionary a notion!)

1. Seeing my Uncle Wesley again was a blessing in itself. I believe there are concepts and ideas that cannot be understood by rote knowledge alone, and have to be experienced, but visiting his home was another thing entirely. When I look into the life I have lived, and see not only the comforts I have been surrounded by, but also see the difference in the world I am raised in, I have new levels of appreciation for all I consider normal.
2. Uncle Wes alone is truly a pleasure to meet. When you spend your time in the presence of people even as young as I that spend all their leisure time in careful calculation for the next move in business and society on any level, it is almost shocking to see a person who really has no malicious intent toward others. A pleasant surprise, though. A kinder, gentler individual than Uncle Wes would be unheard of amongst the people I usually find myself in the company of. It becomes clearer and clearer, the more time I spent in his presence, that what the world labels a disability is in fact the ability to do what few others can: see the world without the filter that makes so many of us cynical and cruel in the face of hardship.
3. Last, and probably least of all, was a series of frightening coincidences that ended up keeping me awake until late hours of night, listening to 30 Seconds to Mars and praying the ghost of the Judge didn't come for me in my sleep.

It is Nowakowski lore 101. Joseph Smith, who is not a mormon, is instead a murdering hothead sentenced to death by His Honor, Judge Isaac Parker. He is hung by the man known better at "the Hangin' Judge", and time goes one.
Enter NOW. We check into the Best Western. Up the elevator to our room.
The Isaac C. Parker Suite.
Panic ensues. Over the course of our time in Fort Smith/Nowheresville, OK, we visit Parker's courthouse. The gallows that hung great-great-great-great-granpappy Jo. Stand under the trapdoor. It's all fairly eerie.
Then the moon is a bright orange color, our last night in town. I decide insomnia isn't that bad after all. And by the time we get out of there, I'm too distracted by Oblivion to write the novel I'd sworn to write about my ancestral hiccup in fate. Someday, maybe.

Imaginary Snake Friend: Now, that was quite the large billboard, was it not?
Brooke: Oh my friend, you have yet to even see her playlist of 08!
Imaginary Snake Friend: *yearns for companionship*
Brooke: Fret not, scaley one. Someday he ought remember.
Imaginary Snake Friend: *sigh*
(they walk off...into the sunset...FIN)

From me and everybody who <3s you, Merry Christmas Dad!