I was made to love magic,
All its wonder to know,
But you all lost that magic,
Many, many years ago.

Nick Drake understood. He understood the importance of quality over quantity. If you don't know his music, then you certainly won't know what I'm talking about and you are free to ignore this post entirely.

Sitting here, flipping through the pages of this CD jacket, reading through the scanned images of Nick's handwritten lyrics... I feel happy and discontent all at once. Happy to know Nick lived to write music, discontent that there are not as many artists presently seeking to influence music in the same way he did, which was not seeking that influence at all.

"Nick's studious approach to performing well-chosen standards of the time had allowed him to perfect tunings and techniques that were to serve his own songs well - acting as a signature, making his early recordings distinctive and setting himself apart from the fashionable singer-songwriters of his era." - BryterMusic.com

When music like this can exist, I cannot help but wonder why there isn't more like it. Why there aren't more artists aspiring after the same understanding that Nick had. His love of magic and the moon, the fact that he wrote more about trees and grass than actual women, makes Nick one of the best songwriters of all time. Instead of the drib beats, predictable melodies, and juvenile lyrics of mainstream music today, Nick wrote with real passion, real love, and real life.

With lyrics like, "If religion were a thing/That money could buy/Then the rich would live/And the poor would die," and more like, "The list of fallen stars/And crumbled, broken hearts/Comes from a need/To play so many parts"... Man. How then, can anyone prefer to listen to something like this?? Please tell me why.

During my second year of community college, I took Cinema 201 (American Cinema). And as a result, I saw some of the best films ever made, some of which became favourites of mine. Movies like The Rope, directed by Alfred Hitchcock and Empire of the Sun, starring Christian Bale when he was just an itty boy. Had I never taken the class, I would have never seen these movies, and that's a terrible thought.

Another movie we watched was 1962's Manchurian Candidate, starring the young - and sexy version of - Frank Sinatra. Directed and produced by John Frankenheimer, this Cold War thriller had me captivated in the first 30 seconds. At the time it was made, gruesome images like gunshot wounds, bloody shirts, and the breaking of bones were prohibited in filmmaking. Even still, the movie formed pictures in my mind enough to make me forget to breathe.



The remake of The Manchurian Candidate opens in theatres tomorrow. The only reason I'll go to see it is because I have seen the original. If the original black-and-white version can make me gasp in terror, I can only imagine what this uncensored, contemporary version will do.

If you can go to your local movie rental store and find the original version, I highly recommend it. It will be a good prepper for when you decide to see Denzel as he desperately tries justifying his "far-fetched" paranoia.

And if you've seen the previews and are still struggling with the story behind the movie, Google up "Manchurian Candidate 1962" and you'll find the basic synopsis of the original film. It will tell you generally what it's about without giving away the end of either films or stripping them of any thrill or shock you will likely experience watching either one.

With Garden State, Manchurian Candidate, and M. Shyamalan's newest, The Village... I feel that this is a great time for movies.

Awkward silence... It's the killer of all good conversations, if not all conversations period. But when it takes place inside a psychologist's office, there's a simple remedy: say something else about yourself. That's what it is. An hour dedicated to yourself. You're in a room with a stranger asking to know everything there is about you - when will you ever have another chance to be self-centered? Unless you're naturally a self-centered person, you'll probably only have this chance once a week for an hour at a time. At least I will, because I'll be going back again next week, same time.

When is the worst time to experience awkward silence? I can think of a few scenerios, but the first one that comes to mind is when you're on a date. The second one that comes to mind is during a job interview. Which is almost like a date. In both situations, your desire is to put your best foot forward and hope they like you - really really like you - and ask to see you again.

In my best effort, I have thought of every question the recruiter might ask and answered them to the best of my ability. My dad spent an hour on the phone with me, prepping me for the interview. My outfit has been picked out and screams "I want to be a bank teller, dammit!!"

Tomorrow morning at 10:00am, I'll find myself sitting in front of two banker men, desperately seeking the most perfect person to be their next teller. I am such person. I'm so perfect, it almost hurts. I am going to tell like no bank has ever seen anybody tell before. You can imagine it, can't you? Picture this: "I can help whoever's next in line! Hello, Mr. Johnson, how are you today? Is that all I can do for you today, Mr. Johnson? Thanks for coming in! I can help whoever's next in line!" How awesome am I?

Okay, really - I'm nervous as poo. Even as I practice walking around my living room in these dreadful black heeled shoes, I find my bottom lip quivering everso slightly in anticipation of that first handshake. I hope I'm as cool as I'm trying to be. And I hope I don't trip in these... I really hope I don't trip.

Sixth grade was probably a coming-of-age year for me. I'm sure it was like that for most of us. Once we graduated into sixth grade, we were on top of the world - or monkeybars - and finally considered the "big kids" on campus. We officially owned the backseats to school buses. We possessed most of the power during recess, particularly over the basketball court. We were "Safety Patrol Officers" during the last 20 minutes of class, making sure no "little kids" cut in line, ran in front of, or missed their bus. We... were The Sixth Graders.

This particular year was both difficult and exhilerating for me, because there were several incidents where I needed to choose whether to back down or stand up for what I believed was right. Ultimately, these moments would greatly affect the way I felt as I entered junior high and have become defining moments in my life, no matter how small.

Ms. Hatala and the rest of the sixth grade teachers had to take us all through several weeks of Sex Education. Unsure of who felt most awkward - the students or the teacher - we would all do our best to simply stare forward and wait for it to pass. While I'm sure whatever the boys learned in Mr. Wooton's class was interesting, I don't think anything could beat the fascination all the girls had when Mrs. Johnson showed us what happens when a tampon is dipped into a cup of water.

Of course, there were videos too. Wonderfully orchestrated videos depicting very real situations involving young men and young women, all going through changes in their - ahem - anatomy. Allow me to describe one such video...

Enter "Mary", a cute and everso slightly timid girl, unsure of the transformations her body appears to be going through. Her breasts are budding, there's hair "down there", and she just got her very first period. Worst of all, it's come at the most inopportune time - during school. The bell rings and students rise to go to their next class. Mary runs to her best friend and confidant, Julie.

"Julie, quick!" Mary whispers desperately. "I've started my menstrual cycle! What am I going to do?!"

Julie, obviously the rock in this relationship, takes hold of Mary's hand and reassures her, "Don't worry, Mary. We're all going through these same changes. It's a part of life."

Mary smiles, remembering her confidence, and follows Julie to her locker. As students fill the halls, Julie fiddles with her lock. "I've got just what you need," she says and opens the door. Reaching deep inside the confines of her locker, Julie feels around. Mary stands on the tips of her toes, anxiously waiting for Julie's magical remedy. Finally, Julie pulls out and holds in her two hands an entire package of maxi-pads.

"Here you go," Julie hands them to Mary with a huge smile.

"Thanks, Julie," Mary says relieved. "You saved my day!"

As Julie turns to leave, Mary stashes the maxi-pads into her backpack and, having a restored sense of self-esteem, strolls toward her next class.

However, just when we think it's over, when we think that Mary has prevailed over her unfortunate circumstance, something horrible happens!

Mary trips! She falls, head-over-foot onto the ground, sending her backpack flying and the contents therein! And there, resting at the feet of Mary's studly crush, lay the entire package of maxis... A large crowd of boys begin to point at Mary and laugh at her expense. Face red, Mary tries pulls herself up and suddenly finds herself gazing into the eyes of the one she most admired.

"Are you okay?" the handsome boy asks.

"Yes, I'm fine," Mary answers quickly, covering up her embarrassment.

"You dropped these," the boy says, adding the most genuine smile to the end of his sentence and handing Mary the feminine product.

Realizing how much he understood, Mary takes the package and smiles back. "Thanks," she replies.

"You're welcome," the boys says, giving one last gaze before he heads down the hall.

No longer afraid of puberty, Mary holds her head high as she enters her class. She has endured probably the hardest day of her life, but in the end, she feels that much stronger. She's becoming a woman... And she's proud of it.

The film ended and Ms. Hatala flipped the lights back on. My sixth grade teacher was a snooty woman who wore a gold elephant belt around her beige suit and no matter how much she tried to relate, it just wasn't going to happen. And even though I knew she shouldn't, Ms. Hatala decided to speak.

"So now that you know what to do whenever something like that occurs, do you feel more confident in the transformations your bodies are going through?"

The silence spoke for itself.

"You girls should be proud of the changes your bodies are enduring. You should not be afraid to tell people what's happening, because it's natural."

It was at this that I decided to speak.

"Ms. Hatala - That's so fake."

"What was that, Ms. Bishop?"

"That video we just watched. There's no way anything like that would ever happen."

Crossing her arms in front of her, "Oh really? And how do you know so much?"

At this point, I had not gone through what "Mary" had gone through, but I was a smart, and very logical 12-year-old.

"Do you honestly think that if Mary got her period in the middle of class that her best friend would fly to her rescue and deliver an entire package of maxi-pads?"

"It could happen, Carly!" Ms. Hatala argued.

"No, Ms. Hatala," I stood my ground, "It couldn't. For one thing, we don't even have lockers here. There would be no place to keep them. No one brings an entire package of maxi-pads to school. Ask any girl here."

She continued to stare at me.

"And secondly. There is no way that a cute guy is going to pick up an entire package of maxi-pads and hand them back, as though they're just another textbook. He would have been laughing at her, just like the rest of those guys."

"Not all boys are like that, Ms. Bishop."

"Oh yes... Yes, they are."

"Well, that's your opinion." She turned and walked toward her desk.

"I can assure you it's everyone's opinion, Ms. Hatala."

At this, several girls around me started nodding and raising their hands. And so began a real talk about real situations and real answers to the real problems.

And I became an assertive, stubborn, outspoken little wench and maintained that persona all through the rest of high school and college. And I don't express my opinion at just any given moment, but rather only the right moments. The moments when my heart tells me to "Speak up! Rise above!" and only those.

It is at this time that I feel I need to speak up and rise above. Stand up and face the plague I have been forced to endure for the last 12 years. I'm finally ready to battle this asphyxiating problem and bring it to resolve.

The war with my Anxiety Disorder will begin Tuesday at 4:00pm with a counselor whose last name I cannot pronounce. I have allowed this to go on far too long - I feel the need to kill that which hinders me.

Prayer appreciated.

Signed,
A Former Sixth Grader.

How is it that I've only heard of them now??



Let Go
Frou Frou

Drink up baby down
Are you in or are you out?
Leave your things behind
'Cause it's all going off without you
Excuse me too busy you're writing a tragedy
These mess-ups
You bubble-wrap
When you've no idea what you're like

So, let go
Jump in
Oh well, what you waiting for?
It's all right
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown
So, let go
Just get in
Oh, it's so amazing here
It's all right
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown

It gains the more it gives
And then advances with the form
So, honey, back for more
Can't you see that all the stuff's essential?
Such boundless pleasure
We've no time for later
Now you can wait
You roll your eyes
We've twenty seconds to comply

So, let go
Jump in
Oh well, what you waiting for?
It's al right
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown
So, let go
Just get in
Oh, it's so amazing here
It's all right
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown

Yet another anticipated release.

On a side note - why do the most beautiful and underappreciated artists die so tragically?

What a waste!! Of all things, who would ever agree to use a Nick Drake song for a Nestle's Oreo Cookie commercial?! Those bastards!!!

During my senior year, I was obsessed with film and studying the art of screenwriting. I told my best friend and my family that I hoped to achieve a degree in screenwriting and vowed to make quality films, real films - films that touched the hearts of those who truly care about things like love, beauty, magic, and truth.

While I may not be persuing the same dream, my hopes of writing a screenplay one day have not disappeared completely. I have the beginnings to a few different manuscripts lying around in places, none have come close to being finished. But while my dreams of being a revolutionary screenwriter have been put on hold, my desire to see good filmmaking remains just as strong.

For the first time since seeing previews for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, I am excited for a film. Excited like telling my friends, saving the movie link in my "Favorites", and marking the release date on my calendar.


Zach Braff, writer, director, and star of Garden State, also stars in Scrubs, which happens to be my favourite night-time television show on NBC. While he may play a goofy and eccentric medical resident on the hit sitcom, it is obvious to me that Braff shows great range and ability as an actor. And I certainly look forward to seeing this displayed in his upcoming film.

Not only does he have a star cast, with actors like Natalie Portman and Ian Holm, Braff has also compiled a star soundtrack. With artists like Travis, The Shins, Coldplay, The Postal Service, and - can you believe it? - Nick Drake, this is one soundtrack I won't hesitate to buy.

I highly recommend skipping over to Garden State and watching the trailer. Afterwhich, move on to Zach's blog, which is so good, I've added it to my list in the slide menu.

August 6th marks the date of this movie's limited release and you can count on me being at the theatre that night, even if I have to go alone. There are movies you see because they're funny, others because they're tragic, and more for their action. But then there are movies with stories that stay with you. Movies that, when you see them, you never forget when and where you were when you saw it for the first time. I strongly feel that this is one of those times and I'm giddy just thinking about it.

I just now realized that for the last several months, it's been nothing but me me me me me me me and me. Me thoughts and me life and me subjects and it never ceases. Why I've only recently noticed this must be because my focus has been on - you guessed it - me.

This is gonna change.

Excuse me for liking someone this much...

After a nice break from retail, I've decided it's time for me to reenter the workforce. But this time, it's going to be a lot different. With nearly a year's worth of retail sales experience now under me, I am now qualified to apply for a bank teller's position, which happens to be my original job supreme.
 
Amy and I spent more than two hours writing up my new and improved resume. The only thing left is permission to use my Person Reference person and then it's apply! apply! apply! until someone says, "You're hired!"
 
I am so ready for this, it's hard to even express how much. After spending the last few months housesitting, while it has been leisurely, I've come to realize that I would much prefer to rely on a regular paycheck rather than on the hope that money will come... someday... somehow... It has been nice and most certainly has been fun, but I am ready to get professional. And it feels great.
 
September will still see my removal from the apartment. To mom and dad's I go, hi-ho! Which will be refreshing, no matter how often I'm asked to do the dishes. Certainly, paying rent will not be missed. And neither will the stomping neighbours living upstairs.
 
This is definitely a turning point in my life. I have a sweet and caring boyfriend who supports me all the way and a new found determination to make some "real" money. And I'm positive that my friends and family are excited for this time in my life as well - that rules. It all makes me want to say "Chyaw! Totally!" but I won't.

Once a blogger, always a blogger...
 
They just can't stay away. Wahah.

This next post is dedicated to Travis. And you will all know why in a few (several) sentences...
 
I have always felt different. Especially compared to other members of my family. While on the outside, we appear quite similar - outgoing, friendly, aggressive, determined - my internal appearance has always been a substantial contrast.
 
For instance, my brother Kyle hates being alone. And I don't think he'd mind me saying this. Because even he knows it. When he's alone, he becomes devastatingly bored. If he had his way, he would always - ALWAYS - have someone to simply "hang with" at all times.
 
I, on the other hand, love (adore, long for, crave) my solitude, my private time. I enjoy the night, when all is quiet and my mind is free to roam its many thoughts and I can create in peace.
 
When in a group, I am that part of myself which is loud, talkative, and socialable. Everyone will tell you that I can tell a great story or two. But there is another part of me that enjoys being alone just as much.
 
Now how does someone such as myself go about finding a man who is not only compatible with me, but also right for me? Not right for you... Right for me.
 
Because within my bursting, slightly-rambunctious, laughing exterior is an observer who obsesses over detail and simply loves to shut up and listen. I am one big fat human complexity with two opposing sides, and most have only taken the time to stare at my surface.
 
And that is why when Andy took me to dinner one night and said to me, "You know why I think you get full so fast at restaurants? I think it's because you drink about two or three full glasses of pop before our meal even reaches the table. I noticed that about you," I knew I had found someone much different than anyone I've met in the past. He noticed me. He observed me. He watched me. And he saw me...
 
There is more to this man than anyone can see in the first two or three times you meet him and unfortunately, doesn't give much room for people to form an opinion. He is not shy, but rather has fewer words to say. He is not artistic, but appreciates it as much as I do. He worries, but I stress. He listens, I vocalize. He has brown eyes, I have blue.
 
We fit.
 
Yet questions linger over our heads and skepticism is thrown at me in heaps. I feel weighed down by those who lack confidence in me. I could say that I don't care what others think, but that would be a lie. But what I want them to think and how they really think cannot compromise.
 
But amidst this discouragement, there has been a moment of uplifting, a sort of burst of sunshine. Travis, who went to Poland nearly a year ago on a mission, said something to me (over Messenger) that pasted a smile on my face the whole day. And that was something to the following affect: 

I have been praying for you and Andy every day. I feel absolutely at peace about it. I feel like I already know him somehow... And I don't usually feel that way about guys involved with my female friends, but there's something different about this. And you have my blessing.

 
And I feel blessed.

In the last 30 minutes, I have visited a mere five months of the archives for this blog. I am surprised--nay!--stunned to realize how much I have changed since November of 2001. This whole ridiculous blog documents my transition from late-adolesence to mild-adulthood, which apparently is still transpiring.

I don't know who reads this because hardly anyone comments and that's alright with me. Because my only motive from the very beginning of this was simply to write out my thoughts and if someone were to enjoy them, right on. Great. The fact of the matter is that between November of 2001 and July of 2004 is a healthy chunk of time.

The early days contain horrible things. Things I wish I could erase, but won't, because I refuse to be dishonest with you or with myself. The truth is that the following sentence really does exist somewhere in the archives of this blog:

I wish I was the awesomest guitar player in the world.

If I could take it back, I would! Particularly the "awesomest" part. Augh... So much of me was putting on a show during that time in my life and I'll admit it here and now. Which might even surprise you, because I didn't even know a commenting system existed at that point. I didn't discover comments until October of 2002! Well over a year after I started this stupid thing.

My enthusiasm to talk or write about my faith has greatly decreased. Especially in the last year since moving out and having been to church a grand total of four times in a 12-month period. If my Current Self were to have a discussion with my 17-year-old Self and if my Current Self were to jokingly use the word "ass" (let alone "bastard", "shit", "hell", or "boob"!), my 17-year-old Self would probably roll her eyes and say "You don't have to use the word 'ass'."

But I still love God. And He most certainly loves me. And I tell myself this fact every - single - day.

So my posts have lacked in creativity as of late. Perhaps they've lost your interest. That's probably because in this place and under these present circumstances, I have lost interest myself. And despite how much I try to intrigue you, I seem to be failing. Although, I don't beat myself up too much about it.

Didn't Jason Killingsworth start his blog so he could meet chicks? At least my original intent was noble! And if it wasn't noble, at least it was normal!

I could never write for the sake of others. That just isn't me.

Woodinville Skate Park Junkies...

I've converted. And by that, I mean I have switched from fotolog to photoblog. Thanks to Wied.

www.photoblog.be/carlybish

Interview

Where do you live?
Welcome to the Great Northwest, where the evergreens reign and the smell of salmon hangs in the downtown air. Today's hot topics of the area include the three consecutive Storm losses and a petition to re-vote for the newest monorail concept. Whether or not you care is really not up to me.

Who do you live with?
Here's a story of a girl named Amy, who does not bare any children of her own. She was born on the 12th of December, the year was 1982. She was adopted and grew up with two older, also adopted, brothers. She likes me and enjoys the fact that her once white walls now adorn fancy, colourful pieces of art painted by me.

When do you want to leave?
Now. Can you help me?

What do you want to do?
My answer is boundless. It cannot be restricted to any one thing. As a Christian, I could say "Through Christ, I can do all things" and I would know that this is true, but it would also be the easy answer out. Instead, I'll give you the most complicated answer possible: Everything.

How do you plan to live?
As cynical as I can be sometimes, I still want to love. I miss loving people. I miss their magic. There are days I wish I could go back to high school and go through the whole self-discovery process all over again. I have felt too much like an adult these days. What I'd give to do just one simple homework assignment... Just one.

Newest painting for sale! Click on "search" in the eBay progress section of my sidebar and it'll take you to its auction.

I have a grand total of $6.70 in my checking account. The money I made from my last housesitting job all went to pay for this month's rent. I had a bit of money leftover for when Andy was here (to pay for gas and admission to the EMP). Andy paid for just about everything else.

So basically... I'm broke. And I have no more housesitting jobs coming in. None. Zip. Nada. Zero. I told my mom I'll have to move back home, but she said "No way!" so she'll be paying my August rent for me.

In the meantime, I've started painting like crazy. CRAZY. So please do me the huggest favour and head over to eBay and look for things for sale by "yogibish" and tell all your friends. Because I need money. Desperately! For one thing, it'd be nice to fill my gas tank again and it'd also be nice to buy some groceries. But most of all, I need money if I'm going to move to Tennessee.

I trust that God will provide me the means to get there. But in my own selfish heart, I'm praying that it won't be for terribly long. I can't stand being away from him for a minute longer than I have to.

So hear my plea. Go to eBay. You can click "search" in the Slide Menu under the "eBay progress" section and it will take you to the paintings I have for sale. But I've also put up some music equipment, so be sure to check that stuff out to.

I need all the help I can get. And that's usually pretty difficult for me to say, because I can't stand asking for help. I wish I could do this on my own, but I'm starting to realize that I can't. I'll admit that I do not have all the power in me to make this happen.

So yeah... Help. And thanks for any prayer you can provide. That helps greatly too.

I'm moving to Tennessee...

Andy left last night. My heart hurts.