The Young People Today…

There are many things in life that piss me off. After all, I am just a hormonal teenager. I clearly cannot assess issues with my own thoughts and beliefs, nor should I try. But three things piss me off:

  1. When people say they are going to pray for me
  2. When people are hypocritical
  3. When people complain about the youth of today and dream of the ‘good old days’

Today (or rather, this morning, for I am drafting this at 12:14 AM), I shall address the third number.

Be aware that this is my personal post. If you disagree with what I have to say, there are many options to choose from. You may: click off of this page because you can see that this is not up your alley, read it and then get on with your day, read it then leave a respectful comment, or read it and get angry and get the f*ck out. I doubt that this post will get anyone triggered though.

Moving on now, I would like to address my grievance. When I say “people complaining about the youth of today”, I am refering to the dunderheads that see the young adults in today’s society and condemn them as low lifes, filth, or not as upstanding as the ‘good old days’.

Gee, golly whiz pal, let’s go fishing! I have to be home for dinner, though; dinner is always at 5pm. If I am late, Mom will give me a lickin’ for sure!

hatsune miku

I was recently talking to my mom about her childhood. And, just a little hint: her childhood was nothing like this! She was raised by a single mother until she remarried. Her best friend was also raised by a single parent (virtually no parent, but that is not my business). My grandmother moved down here from Canada and never had a lot of money. All of the children ended up getting jobs. Her sister finally scraped enough together to buy an air conditioner for her mother, who used to cry because of the heat. So some people want to tell me it was so much better back then? And, oh yeah, my grandmother retired happily after remarrying for a third time and is now my next door neighbor. My mother went to Grad School.

Rosy retrospection is a state in which someone recalls past events more fondly then they would have assessed them when they actually occured. It is like how you recall summer during every school year as some sort of beacon of hope, remembering it as way more fun then it actually was. But when you get to your next summer, it’s half way through and you’re bored as shit. Yeah, it is the same phenomenon.

Now that the people who are doing the complaining are getting on in years, they have a tendency to remember things with a way more favorable reaction then they would have before. Goddamn, that paddle on the ass sure straightened me up! And I am sure glad that I remained abstinent, alcohol-free, and never once smoked marijuana for my entire adolescence! That’s a joke, right? RIGHT?

Open your eyes!

We live in a world dominated by technology and science. Chances are, the people fixing your internet connection are not eligible for Social Security, ya old fart. The young people are the ones the old are relying on; calling us a bunch of names is not exactly a pat on the back, gramps.

thanks a lot

It is more than that, though.

When I look around at my friends, I see a group of heavily motivated, successful, bright, engaging young adults. The entire marching band I am in is composed (eh? composed? haha) of teenagers. These wonderful individuals spend hundreds of dollars and hundreds of hours to put together a show for the school and for themselves. How can someone claim these people as the ‘lazy generation’? It is inconceivable and just unintelligent to do so. And, of course, we have our faults as well. Some people may swear a lot, some people drink too much, some people are oversexed. It is the way of the world. No one is perfect.

These old people need to stop expecting us to be perfect.

We don’t need our teachers hitting us to teach us a lesson, nor should we be raised without access to technology just to prove a point. Let the children be children. Let the teenagers be teenagers. With realistic expectations and restrictions, of course. Last time I checked, the so called ‘millenials’ never got us into the Iraq War, created this huge debt hole the USA is in, or caused the hole in the ozone layer (I heard the the hole is actually starting to regenerate, so three cheers for good news, am I right?). Take a look at yourselves, folks, before you start shit.

Mistakes happen (lol, duh, Donald Trump is a nominee for President), so it is best to learn from them rather than long for the time before. It is pointless. It is unneccessary. It is downright insulting.

This is CynicalTeenagerBlog, signing off from this post at around 1:00am. Good Morning, peeps!

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Gosh Darn Math

Grade school math sucks. There is no way around it. Grade school math, especially in the higher maths and the aimless word problems, is a complete waste of time.

Or is it?

I have come across a task today in which I feel a tad ridiculous. I used the damn word problem bullshit I have come to expect from Algebra 2. It is official; I have used this so called ‘pointless’ math.

I woke up this morning with the urge to make strawberry kiwi jam. Yes, you read that right. Without any prompting, I wanted to make a batch. Mind you, I have only made jam once in my life before and I did not really like how it turned out. I have never even tasted strawberry kiwi jam before.

Just for clarification, I am NOT pregnant, either.

So, I drove to the store, picked up some strawberries, kiwis, pectin, jars, lemon juice, and crystallized ginger (I did not even know that was a thing until I read the recipe). I also picked up some blackberries because they were on sale, and I have been on a diet for the past two weeks, so I figured, hey, why the hell not.

The jars only came in packs of twelve. Yes, TWELVE. What the literal f*ck am I going to do with twelve mason jars? Don’t you think it would be better to come in four, per se? For the folks like me who just want one batch and really don’t want to have to find a place for eight mason jars in a cabinet.

Resigned, I got home and made my jam. But them I glanced at the counter and saw the blueberries perched upon the granite. It was like I found Jesus or something. I snatched those up and realized that I had four cups of blackberries and four cups of blueberries. Google must have the answer!

Google did not have the answer, to my dismay. All the recipes I found were for either mixed berry, or just showed pictues. Well, excuse me if I am not Rainman here and can’t just count the amount of berries your mashing. Thanks man.

At a loss, I scanned the pectin box and found the recipes inside. I found that the blackberry needed 6 cups and the blueberry needed 5. So, that is 2/3 of the blackberry and 4/5 of the blueberry. If you multiply that, you get 5/6. So I added sugar amounts up and found 5/6 of that. Then I decided, f*ck that noise, and dumped five cups of sugar and a packet of pectin and roasted it. It tastes good, so whatever I did worked.

I had 4.3 jars full of Strawberry Kiwi and 4 jars of Blackberry Blueberry. I used the leftovers from the Blueberry Blackberry concoction and combined them. So, now I have 8.6  jars out of the twelve, with only three leftover as opposed to seven.

It’s all in a day’s work for me. And, I kind of used the jam-making as an excuse to not go to my uncle’s party.

Another Flute Cover

As the title says, I am here just shamelessly promoting my new flute video. Elfen Lied Lilium. I have never actually watched the show (I saw some clips and it just did not seem up my alley), but I heard this song and loved it. I found the piano and violin music and just figured it out. It took about an hour to record, edit, and upload. The quality is not the greatest, but it is the best I can do at the moment.

In the future, I hope to get a different microphone so I can record my flute playing with a more natural-sounding tone. Alas, this seems to be in the distant future.

In the meantime, I need to find another song to cover 🙂

Why I Love Music?

I was so bored today. So completely, mind-numbingly, rather alarmingly bored. There are no words in the English language potent enough to describe how bored I was today. I had to utilze all of my Youtube playlists to keep afloat.

Summer has indeed begun.

I am in high school, and as such, summer is a time of rejoycing, of giving thanks to the school board gods for ending school in time for some fun in the summer heat. The sun. The sand. The waves. Nothing encaptures a summer day like the beach. The ranks of instagram and snapchat are filled with beach pictures and videos.

The only problem, for me, is that I don’t really like going to the beach.

I know, boo-f*cking-hoo. Poor ME, I don’t LIKE the beach. The whole world must stop and readjust itself to suit my needs (obviously).

Let me explain.

I am pale as the moon, alabaster, white, translucent, and any other descriptors for the unfortunately snowy-skinned population. Believe me, I go outside all of the time, and I live in Florida for Christ’s-sake. One would think I would have built up some sort of tan, but alas, this has not come to pass. And as such, a trip to the beach is not as simple as slapping on a bathing suit, climbing in the car, and going. No. I must put layers of sunscreen all over my body. Yep, 100+ SPF. Sunscreen that just has to be showered off two hours later.

I am chunky, overweight, flabby, and as euphemisms deem it, ‘beautiful’, or some other bullshit. I am down with it, but I also don’t want to worry about my breasts tumbling out of some revealing concoction of ruffles either. So, I wear a cute one-piece that is a bit of a rough ride to get over and around my ass.

I am out-of-shape, wimpy, asthmatic, and just not a physical person. So, I am content to just bury myself in the sand or float in the water, but beach volley ball is just NOT my idea of a good time.

So, not only is going a pain, but it is a little pointless to even try.

Now, you may be thinking, “You’re just some dumbass kid. You really live up to your name, Miss Cynical Teenager. Are you just some other millenial I here about on Fox News?”

fox news

Okay, first of all, if you fit into the category of Fox News watcher, please go outside right now, I mean it, and spray yourself in the face with a water hose. Just do it.

Anyways,

I like music, and I consider myself to be pretty good at it.

I can play the flute, clarinet, piano, and piccolo. I have composed two piano songs of my own( here and here). And I have taught myself how to do all of these things.

I am no master, by any stretch. I am not a prodigy or even very good, all things considered. I think this is the real appeal of music for me, which sounds weird to say.

The best thing about music is that you don’t have to be very good.  Music can be a one-man show or an entire effort by a group. Music can be out doors or indoors. Music can be subdued or expressive. Music can be internal or external. Hell, music can be all of these things at the same time.

Music is beautiful.

There is no way around it. Music contains what is the best in this world. All people here about these days are shootings and bombings and diseases and wars and discrimination and debt and suffering. Malnutrition and starvation and parasites and death and injustice and ingnorance and destruction. Music, if it is even just for a moment, can make all of these things go away.

Music can expose you to the world with different styles and traditional instruments; you can expose music with your own styles and feelings. Music is meaning without language, sorrow without sadness, joy without laughter.

And that is why I like music.

Have you ever heard someone disagree about a song? Has there ever been a #Brexit decision about a piece of music? No, because I think music is one of the only things we as human beings can agree on. And thank God for that, or else my newsfeed would be even worse.

So, while other teenagers are at the beach enjoying themselves, I will be having a grand old time working on my next flute cover.

F*ck sunscreen. I have some music to learn.