Lets Talk About Spaceships: I'd Bombard Your Alamo

I've finally figured out how to post mp3s, so maybe this will become less of a teenageanst blog and more of a useful music outlet. i highly doubt it. Anyways, i managed to survive the SAT IIs, and figuring that i was finally done with all my standardized tests (until i take my LSATs, which has become inevitable now that my entire family has decided that i must be become a corporate lawyer. seriously guys, i'm not that huge of a bitch), i arrived home in a state of jubilation, itching to burn all my notebooks--until I saw this.

My flashcards, illuminated and glowing with the light of my skylight. Could it be a sign from god? i tried really hard, but just couldn't find Mary's face. however, i have visited a a church in Santa Fe that claims to be the site of a miracle simply because the priest once saw a light on the floor, perhaps i deserve an equal status. Besides, it would make a seriously snazzy postcard.

On another note, junior year is finished (finally), and i'm feeling pathetically nostalgic. all my friends are at a graduation party till four, so i'm stuck lazing around my house, flicking through my iphoto gallery. i really should get these printed, since somehow i feel like frantically clicking the arrow keys doesn't have the same feeling as flipping through a photo album. There are several hundred snapshots of prom, and sorting through them is wonderful. in all my glorious vanity, it doesn't pain me much to admit this-- for a bunch of faux-indie kids, we had a damn attractive limo. our limo couldn't fit down the street, so were forced to have the now-necessary bag search in the middle of a perpendicular road. Nico seemed nice, but appeared to have a bizarre fear of chewing gum and shoes, going so far as to loudly declare "No gum. If i catch you, you're out. Respect me, respect the limo." he did a pretty shitty job searching bags, although the presence of oh, every teacher ever prevented foul play. for the socially impaired such as myself, its excruciatingly painful to dance under the judgmental eyes of all our 20-something year old teachers..... especially when they then begin dancing far better than any of the kids themselves.

oh, the embarrassing flashbacks just hit me. i can't dance, what the fuck was i doing? how many feet did i mutilate?

thank god i don't have to face these people till september.

in parting, here's part of my AP US/SAT II review playlist, the title's above.

The History of Excuses - Bishop Allen

Girl in the War - Josh Ritter

Master and Slave - Cherry Poppin' Daddies

Elvis- These New Puritans

Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then) - The Decemberists

American Life- Madonna

Paragraph President - Blackalicious

Revolution - The Beatles

See America Right - the Mountain Goats