You're Weird by Ashley Lasko

I’ve always loved irony, especially situational irony. Whenever something ironic happens I'm always at least smiling, if not struggling to stand in the midst of a fit of laughter. One thing that I always thought was so ironic, and puzzling, was the concept of something being weird.

Something is unusual or different is often considered weird. Wearing polka-dots with stripes or socks with sandals in considered weird. Having ketchup on something other than fries or acting a certain way can also give you the title. However, if something unusual is weird wouldn’t being completely normally be as weird as you can get? If someone had nothing to define them, they were as plain and normal as someone could be, they would be weird. They would have no personality or something to make them different. By this logic, being weird in some way makes you normal. So what makes everyone different, makes them weird, in the same way makes them normal. Ironically enough, the idea that to be normal you have to be weird and to be weird you have to be normal is weird itself.

Another thing that makes this even weirder is that for something to be weird, something has to be normal. Socks and sandal are only a weird combination since no socks and sandals are considered normal. Certain genres of music are considered weird since Pop is considered normal. What this basically means is that something weird is an opinion. The majority agrees what is normal and what isn’t, causing things to be normal or weird. However, if whether something is weird or not is an opinion and not a fact, than nothing can actual be weird, since what is weird depends on each individual. Saying something is weird is as accurate as me listing the best desserts. It’s biased.

This makes things even more convoluted, since that means that the totally normal person that seems weird may actually be weird to someone else, which would make them normal to that person. However, this does not make them weird since weirdness is a matter of opinion and no matter how many people view them as weird s/he cannot be weird on a factual level. This then brings into to question of possessing characteristics altogether. Can someone actually be funny, cute, smart, or weird if they only are because the opinions of others say so? Is this the wrong way to look at characteristics, should we be looking at it from the perspective of time, which a human creation that does not exist? Is this at least slightly over exaggerated and something we probably should not invest much time into?

I don’t have the answers to the first two questions (and arguably the third is asking for an opinion, and opinions can arguably never be fact so I can technically never have to correct answer for the third question) but in regards to the third question, going any further into this would spend some time you could definitely put elsewhere.

As my final blog, I wanted to do something a little different. Admittedly, this is still along the basis of trying to introduce a perspective on a topic and expand on it; however I obviously changed things around. Instead of focusing on issues or something impactful, I decided to look at something simple and twist into something far more complex. Unnecessary? Yes. Confusing? I did have to read my blog a few time to actually understand what I was saying. Was it different and eye-opening? I hope so.

Thank you all for reading my last blog and, to students, good luck on finals this year and years to come. I may seem like we have some breathing room until June, however as students we all know that what really spans a few weeks of the calendar passes in a matter of seconds.

My Favorite Color By: Ashley Lasko

I am an indecisive person, specifically the kind that will list every pro and con and compare everything before deciding what to do. This has helped me in some scenarios, but it usually ends with me spending 15 minutes to decide to do what I had originally planned. When I was younger, I’d stare straight up, debating my choices for half an hour; this inevitably drove my parents insane. I’ve gotten better as I’ve matured, picking out random half-decent outfits for the next day (with an exceptional lack of fashion sense) and just selecting a book or project to prevent the otherwise inevitable 30 minute period where I stare blankly at both options until something clicks.

However, as you’d assume from the phrase “I’ve gotten better”, I’ve still got a long way to go. There’s the all-too-real student struggle of whether ‘A’ or ‘C’ is the “more” correct answer or having your entire ice cream size, flavor, and toppings picked out to discover you’ve missed a whole separate board of the daily specials. Which, unless you're the person who orders the same flavor at every ice cream stand, will cause you rethink your entire order.

My point among this two-paragraph intro is that decisions are hard. It’s difficult to forever say “yes” or “no”. However, do we really need to have an answer for every decision? Obviously you can't go through life with deciding your end goal or what you need to do to get there, but there are little decisions along the way that I feel fit into the category “Do I really need to answer this?”.

One such question, which is the only reason I came up with this blog idea in the first place, is “what is your favorite color?”. You probably haven’t heard this since you spoke it yourself when in grade school, unless you have a constant connection with a younger generation. I don’t know how most people respond to the pestering of an 8 year old, but I immediately go to pink or blue. Pink because that was my color when I was 8 and blue because it’s blue. I don’t know why everyone likes the color blue, it apparently “looks cool”, but that’s them and not me.

So, as children don’t tend to do but they sometimes do which doesn’t make sense but it’s hard to tell if children actually do this or the media is portraying something different than it actually is which they probably are, I started to look at the question with a deeper meaning. What would my favorite color be, other than because it “looks cool”? After taking a few art classes to escape life, I've learned that different colors represent wealth, maturity, intelligence, and nearly any other trait you can think of. This made picking a favorite color easy; I just pick a color that matches my personality and then the larger than life problem was solved. There was no point to the introduction of this blog. Anyone can pick one thing or another with enough dedication.

Except, as indicated by the paragraphs below, my quest for a perfect color was far from over. No one is just smart or just happy or just angry. You can’t define someone by one trait. So, I still had no idea what my favorite color was. I decided that I would think on this a bit longer before deciding on a color. Despite how long it would take, despite the many bus rides staring out the window and the constant wondering, I would figure this out. Then, I came to the realization that answers the title of my blog.

Why do I need a favorite color? I can do what I’ve done for four or five years and simply tell those 8-year-olds that I think pink is an awesome color. They won’t think much of it, they’ll simply go into a tangent of why they love purple the best, since it was the newest pop figure’s hair color (or something along those lines). So, why did I choose to narrate my quest for the best color anyway? Especially if it ended basically where it began?

It highlights the idea that we don’t need to decide every little thing, and nothing has to be a favorite. You don’t need to have you favorite dish at that one restaurant or pick a Harry Potter character over the others, because (to me) one J. K. Rowling's biggest strengths of her novel was her characterization. Maybe you do have a favorite color, or maybe Neville Longbottom is undoubtedly your favorite character. We can have our favorites. However, I think we should be able to say we can’t decide on a favorite with as much appreciation and as little pressure as someone who knows what they like best.

Jack Before The Crash by Carlie Wilson

While reading the Lord of the Flies, I thought it would be interesting to look into the life of Jack before the plane crash. I decided that for this month’s post I would write a diary written from Jack’s perspective just days before his trip. The entries will not only show the everyday life of Jack before the island, but also reveal the meaning behind his behavior in the book.

Dear Diary,

My name is Jack. I am 12 years old and will be starting the 7th grade soon. I am writing in this diary because my mum and dad have decided to send me and a few other boys in my school choir to safe grounds until the war is over. I thought I would be a good idea to get a head start on writing about my life before the trip just in case I never come back and forget it one day.

Today after school I went straight Saint Pauls Primary School to pick up my little sister and walk her home. My father usually walks us home at 3:00 everyday, but ever since he got sick things have changed and mum says that I have to learn to be the man of the house. When we arrived home I made Emma and I a snack. My mum had just finished giving my father his medicine and I could hear his deep cough coming  from the next room. She always encourages me to go see him when I come home but I’d rather not to be honest, unlike Emma who runs to him as soon as we arrive home.

I found out at school today that I would be the official boys choir leader. It didn’t surprise me because my mum has always told me that I am a natural leader and when I put my mind to something it’s a guarantee that it will be done. When I was younger I often got in trouble for starting exclusive clubs during recess. Teachers would complain that I was exhibiting dictator-like behavior. I, however, don’t understand why it was such a big problem. In the real world there is always going to be someone on top, it’s just up to you to get there.

Dear Diary,

Emma took my stole my diary last night after she had seen me writing in it. I told her to give it back but instead she began to read out out loud and run around the our tiny living room. I told her that she would be sorry for embarrassing me and that I would get her back one day. I decided that day would be today. When she was off talking to dad I snuck into her room and ripped off the legs of her favorite stuffed animal. The ripping of the stuffed piglet only felt good for a short moment but when I was through I looked down at it and immediately regretted what I had done. I found a perfect hiding place for the pig inside a cupboard in my bedroom.

At dinner today Emma asked mum if she had seen her toy. When I had heard how upset she sounded I suddenly didn’t feel guilty about ripping the animal apart. Instead I felt like I had won and I liked that feeling a lot. As the new man of the house it was my responsibility to do the manly chores like take out the trash feed the dogs out on the porch. Although ever since the war started mum stays out and watches me, which doesn’t make me feel manly at all.

In a few days I will be on my way to America. I am very excited to leave but the thought of leaving behind my family is a bit scary. However, at least I’ll know that I will be safe. Mum and dad have been preparing me for this trip and I think that I will be ready in just a few days time.