April fools day is for fools. Coming soon to a fool near you!
My blogs are like foreign cuisine. You can never fully know what’s coming. Normality is rare, consistency is never well-done. Some of my entries have the consistency of omelettes. You’ve got a bit of everything, and then some. I am aware that my train of thought is never going in a straight line. There’s always something random following another. In the rare even that I have my reader in mind, I pity them dearly. The reason I lichen it to foreign cuisine is because you need a sense of bravery. However, that bravery goes seldom unrewarded. I’m going to Paris next week, and I’m going to be trying froglegs and escargot. I’m stoking myself up for this one. Usually trying new foods is not a scary thing for me. Dangerous physical things are what put me over the limit. Trying new foods is not really a problem for me. I’ve had so many random things here. One of the reasons I’m relatively fearless about Swiss cuisine is the fact that they have high standards here. It’s not like I’m in a third world country. I find that it’s the hardest for me to make myself do things like rock-wall climbing or skiing. Climbing the 222 steps of the stone spiral staircases of Bern’s Cathedral presented itself to me as more of a mental than physical challenge (as indeed it was). I think that’s the reason why I found it so rewarding. I really liked the surge of self-confidence I got after doing something like climbing the tallest Cathedral tower in the country. Then of course riding home on the back of my Papa’s moto gave me a surge of epicness.
then BAM new thought!
Whenever I realise that another one of my Christian friends is now dating another one of my Christian friends, I begin to realise how ingrown these sorts of things are. It’s like a bad toenail infection. I mean, why call it a youth group/summer camp when you obviously know it’s a dating service? It’s not the dating service that’s the problem. I just get worried when they start marrying. Pity the kids to be.
I have so many fun things that happen everyday, I’m trying to siphon the rainbow waves out of my hippocampus.
I finally got rid of the ketchup bottle which I’d had in my locker for a while now. It was one of these cuties.
The other day I threw my family for a spin when they saw me shelling a hard boiled egg. I usually roll them across the table, only 360 degrees, because it splits the shell into two nice hemispheres. My Papa’s wide eyes and WHOA! were priceless. Another day in an epic life. I can shell eggs like a nun.
My french is coming along. Sometimes my grammar could make any Frenchman run away screaming, but most of the time it’s not too bad. The problems start when I don’t think through each of my sentences before saying them. I pause in the middle of a sentence and then I’ll keep going, filling it in with other which propel the sentence more or less in the right direction. Then my family will probably ask, “wait, what do you want to say?” yeah.
Today in my history class we were learning about Swiss sovereignty. It’s cool to observe different countries and customs.
Today I was also in the library. I was in the philosophy section. For the size of my school’s library, they have an extensive philosophy section. I wisely turned around and didn’t pick anything out of that section after standing there for a solid three minutes reading the titles and authors. Aristotle, Sartre, Kierkegaard, among many others. I was just thinking to myself the whole time: I want to be smart. The day I tackle french philosophy is in the future for me. I wisely picked a smaller book about jazz. The glossary is amusing beyond words. It defines words such as: “hard-bop, be-bop, reefer, rug-cutter, scat, shake, stomp, tailgate, tap dancing, vamp, wahwah, kazoo, lick, jam, corny, dig, bopper, blue note, etcetera.” Some of my favourites were:
Heebie-Jeebies – Delirium tremens. Choquer quelqu’un. Pour bleue.
Jelly Roll – Gâteau roulé à la confiture. Symbole phallique.
Gimme some skin – (donn-moi un pea de peau). Serre-moi la main.
Alligator – fanatique du jazz.
Cat – Un amateur de jazz. Un gars à la page, ou mieux, un musicien de jazz.
Whoever thought that a jelly roll was a phallic symbol needs to go join a Freudian cult.
The trees here are really absurd. I told my friend they looked like they had leprosy.