I'm really bored and have nothing to do, so after going through our previous posts and putting all of Basil's words in Times New Roman to make a clearer contrast, I decided I'd actually type something. That's what blogs are for, anyway. Typing nonsense. Well, at least this one is.
I'm sitting in a chair and swaying to Paramore music. Oh, just so you know, Paramore is heaven put into music. I love them. With a passion. I'm legally obligated to loving all of their songs. Even if the song sucks. Just like I have to see that movie with the creepy trailer because James Marsden is in it. If it were someone else, I would completely ignore the movie's existence, but because it's James Marsden, I have to see it.
You know who else is as awesome as James Marsden? Anne Hathaway and Amy Adams. Have you seen that movie, Confessions of a Shopaholic? The stars of that movie look like they're almost Amy and Anne (will they be offended by my use of their first names?) but they're not. It's kinda frustrating, because I want to love Isla Fisher like I love Amy Adams, but I can't. And the same goes for Krysten Ritter. And Hugh Dancy for that matter, because he reminded me of James Marsden.
I was just watching this video of an insane martial art or something that originated in France. It's called "Parkour" which must be French for "Jumping off roof tops, doing backflips, and performing stupid and life threatening stunts without a spotter." It's ridiculous, these people jump from roof top to roof top, doing front flips while traveling through the air and then tumble rolling instead of sticking the landing. And then they jump like cats or some sort of animal and leap over obstacles like it's second nature. And then they walk over to their porch, look out at the grass and decide "it's a lovely day, I think I'll do a backflip off my second story porch balcony and go frolick in a nearby meadow," so they just flip off and roll and move on with their lives. If I tried Parkour... I'd die. No, I'd already be dead. I'd walk over to the ledge to leap onto a roof top and my brain would tell my body "We can't do that, might as well shut down now" and I wouldn't even get to die doing something awesome, I'd just be lying on a roof top, a dead, pathetic heap.
There's this girl in my school. She's really peppy, like someone gave her one too many chocolate bars one day and the effect never wore off. She's always smiling. Always. At least, that's what she wants the world to think. But every so often, I catch her frowning to herself, just frowning and thinking about something that seems important. Whenever I ask her about it, she plasters her smile back on and pretends it didn't happen, but I've always wondered what she's really like, who she really is. I've always wondered what's behind her mask.
It must suck to be the one at the bottom in the circus. Whenever you're watching the contortionists, there's always one girl doing a bunch of crazy stuff while balancing on another girl's toe or something. And everyone just stares at the tiny one on top, twirling away and bending her body into crazy positions. But no one cares for the one at the bottom. The base, the one who holds it together. In the trapeze acts, there's always the one getting thrown through the air and the one catching her. And everyone claps and applauds the one getting thrown, not the one catching. But all she has to do is trust that she'll get thrown and caught. The ones catching and throwing, they deserve applause. They are responsible for that person's life and they're strong enough to throw the other girl around the arena. But maybe that's in their job description. Maybe there's 2 circus worker applications. One that says "tiny, pretty, light acrobat who is trusting with a great stage presence" and another that says "strong, steady, trustworthy acrobat who doesn't mind being ignored." I think we should all take a moment to clap for the person at the bottom. Because without a base, the whole structure would collapse. And if we don't recognize the people holding us up, someday they might just get bored of it and let us fall.
I was just thinking about the saying "dance like no one's watching." I was at a dance for the last day of my camp and there was this guy who was an amazing dancer. But he wasn't dancing for anyone but himself. There was a crowd of clapping people around him while he danced to "Thriller." But after they dissipated, I looked over, and there was the kid, still dancing his heart out, like no one was dancing. I think he had accepted himself. He stopped thinking about how other people wanted him to dance and just danced. I wonder what that feels like. To stop thinking about the world and what the world thinks and just let go. To accept yourself, and more importantly, accept that other people's opinions aren't what matters... yours are. I wonder what it feels like to dance like no one's watching.
The title of this post kinda sounds like a song title or something. You know who has good song titles? Panic! At the Disco. I bet they brainstorm some catchy sounding titles and then put them in a hat and draw it to go with each song. They are the awesomest but most absurd and irrelevant song titles ever. You know what else is absurd and irrelevant? This blog post.
