Hallo, I'm Erica-May and I don't usually type with proper capitalization, but I'm doing so for the sake of this blog, in which I will rant, rave or banter about a particular topic. Feel free to read my Personal Blog, add my Facebook, follow me on Tumblr, stalk me through Twitter or ask me for my MSN. Happy reading! xx

The life of a prince – what a thrill.

There wasn’t a minute the boy wasn’t grateful that he was born into royalty, but sometimes he merely felt that he was dealt a lucky hand by fate. Something about that just wasn’t fulfilling – it was a feeling akin to playing a game you knew you’d only win in the end. Was there really any point in putting forth any effort at all? No matter what he did, unless it was suicide or martyrdom, would result in a spot on the throne, full inheritance of the castle he hadn’t even yet explored the whole of, and a beautiful queen at his side. Would he go through no trials or tribulations to get there?

Oh, pray, he’d never sacrifice the ease of his own life for one filled with the thrills of danger! May the gods not misinterpret his convoluted sense of thinking for the ungratefulness that could easily become a discrepancy to anyone else. As his eyes cast around his room – so elegantly decorated, he let himself redirect his thoughts to a more frequently thought wonder: was it his mother who decorated this room, or the ancestors before them? Although his mind always fell upon the subject when he was alone, he could never seem to remember when around his mother – but, then again, as gentle as she may have been with his curiosity, to ask about something he could have (should have) asked as a child would be entirely foolish.

The lovely sounds of Ludwig Van Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and Second Movement filled his room, as he was a great fan of music, as it was. He would, most times, find himself seated still on his bed; boredom never caressed him when the sounds of his classical music were able to entrance him. Adjacent to his seat on the bedside table was a curious little doll of the most beautiful porcelain. He always made sure it sat upright and never fell to the floor, for he was told it was a great family heirloom and, silly as it may be, he was haunted by his childhood fancy of toys coming to life when they weren’t under great speculation. The last thing he would want if his dear, French maiden were animated would be for her to plot a deceitful task of murder against him.

He raised his hand to her little head, letting his fingers touch the synthetic fibres of what would be her hair, in unscented and thick curls. He could always marvel and appreciate the handicrafts that went into such a fine piece of art. The glassy eyes, although unnerving as they might have been to other people, were absolutely haunting – in the way of purity and elegance. He could only dream of being able to produce something so perfect – not a crack of a flaw tainted her porcelain – but, sadly, being born into royalty did not mean, at all, that he was talented in any useful way. Anything he could do, he was taught to do. At a young age, he was taught the art of dance (simple waltzes and trots, such was necessary for any heir, of course) and even given vocal lessons that defined the voice he had today. Aristocrats and teachers made their way in and out of his life, but he had a creeping feeling that if it weren’t for the power of his family, he would be positively useless. Were dance and song not to be the expressions of the soul in truest form? What a sin it was to reproduce one’s own gift to benefit a future king...

The tall clock in his room chimed with the hour and he was caught with a start. Getting up, he glanced at the face and hands, distinguishing for himself what time it was (to cancel out the sleepy timelessness of such a simple day it had been, lounging about his bedroom and trying to find amusement in the average castle activities) and then made his way to peer out of the bedroom window. The sun was already setting fast along the horizon, painting Versailles in a magnificent, beautiful twilight glow. Very soon, the lanterns would be turned on as it would become evening. Seven in the night, it was, and only an hour would there be until he would be seeing his guests.

However, from where he stood by the tall glass, the only surface separating him from the chill of the outdoors, he could see a carriage with a young woman and man descending. Surely, this was one of the princes to make his acquaintance tonight for his arrival was met by Charlotte, a familiar face Silas had come to know, and then another woman, who the young man couldn’t even begin to recognize. Though he may have seen her before, the anxiety and excitement (prove they not to be the same thing) was beginning to rise in him and he could not wait for the masquerade. The Prince of Paris had plenty of good company among the servants, albeit he always had a fancy for new faces. In his eyes, the more was always the merrier.

A feeling of discomfort suddenly dawned upon him as he realized he had spent the entire day waiting for this moment, cooped up in his room with naught else to do. In a bit of whimsy, his excitement allowed him to waltz his way over to the bedside table and even speak to the little doll. ”Ma cherie, il y a la grande soiree tres bientot,” he began, smiling more to himself than to the little figurine. The smile dropped as he allowed his fingers to brush over the porcelain face and arms. ”Malheureusement, je vais paraitre comme un fou si je vous accompagner tout la nuit,” His French was clear and sweet, despite the fact he was speaking to an object so inanimate. He often had dreams of himself falling in love with such a gorgeous maiden, and sometimes he liked to think that if the doll would ever become human, there would be no doubt that he would fall in love with her, for she heard often the ramblings and secret thoughts he had, as she sat there in his room. ”I hope you can pardon my ways at this time, cher,” Another smile tugged at his face and he turned to his closet to pick out the attire he would wear for the dinner, and of course to greet the guests as they arrived.

Dressing was so simple for men: formal occasions meant a dress shirt, a vest, tie and jacket, as well as trousers. Women, naturally, had to own numerous gowns and jewels, which he learned, so accustomed to his mother’s style. He gave himself a quick brush-up in the mirror before whisking himself out of the room, down the hall and down the great stairs. He greeted people with nods and smiles before stepping out into the chill evening, where the prince stood; one of the ladies he had seen from the window had already gone. He turned to the beautiful blonde girl with a warm smile. ”Merci pour tout de votre effort, Charlotte. Vous etes une merveille, comme toujours,” Silas then turned to the prince and bowed. ”Bonjour, I am Silas Julian West-Laurent; so glad to make your acquaintance,” Now that he was closer up, he could identify the woman who held the prince’s arm. She was beautiful and he did see her often, but never did they speak for something about her frightened him. Perhaps it was her eyes, so full of such knowledge of things he would not want to know; or maybe it was the coy way her lips turned up into a haughty smirk, like the cat’s tail sways before it pounces upon a prey.”Bonjour, Mademoiselle,” he bowed to her as well, though he fought to keep his hesitance off of his face. With a breath, he took a step back and gestured to them. ”Please, let us not remain out in this cold.”

TRANSLATIONS:
1) My dear, there is the grand gala tonight.
2) Unfortunately, I would appear a fool to accompany you all night.
3) Thank you for your effort, Charlotte. You are a marvel, as always.

Alright, since I (somehow) don't have much to rant, rave, or banter on about, I'll be leaving my writing pieces here, too. I think I just needed to divide the serious writing from my "emotional" writing. Cool.
PERSONAL BLOG, IF YOU LOST IT.

Now that school is coming around, I have a chill sent down my spine recalling some of the attitudes of the pricks I'm familiar with. One of the most common and most obnoxious traits, to me, is the disrespect of teachers. Oh, fuck all, you're probably sat there like "here comes another do-good" but honestly?

Kids are always talking derogatory of their teachers and their methods, whining about schoolwork and just giving a difficult time in general. Frankly, what do you get out of it? Calling your teacher a bitch for telling you to stop being an idiot (which, really, you are) or pulling some rebellious stint to make your peers laugh?

Do you realize that these teachers are your superiors, but they all have lives and compassion. One day, when given a broad span of choices in life, they made the insignificant decision to gain and process knowledge and share it with insolent (and sometimes willing) kids. They were naive as you are, and when their peers told them, "students will only disrespect you, and you won't even get paid that much," they shrugged it off and decided to take the challenge?

Teachers have a salary that is definitely not worth the abuse they get throughout the year, and you need to realize that. While exploring their youth, they could have come across thoughts of great success, great wealth, great ease, but they strayed from that path and decided they wanted to do better. They're practically doing all of this work just for your own good.

Yes, teachers aren't saints -- neither are you! They have moments when they could rip your flesh from your bones and suspend it over a lion's cage, but did you ever stop to wonder what could possibly be going on in their life while you're sitting there complaining because a page of science or math homework kept you from watching some bullshit television program? No, you never do. Because maybe, just maybe, that man with the tired eyes who's at school way longer than you are, going home only to keep working with you in mind, is stressed out and possibly reconsidering his life. Just because you have to deal with relationships, homework and the fact your parents don't like you drinking out at two in the morning and seeing some cheating, good for nothing slag, you think the world revolves around your teenage issues? The "problems" you might have right now are nothing compared to the problems of others, and maybe if you took a second to stop worrying about your looks and "lack of freedom" and be considerate. You contribute to the future. You're an example of human life and you're setting a pretty bad one right now.


Thomas Sangster is absolutely amazing, and I'm not just saying that. Unless you watched Nanny McPhee or Love Actually, you probably won't understand his significance as an actor, so I will list that out for you. Firstly, let's take in the basics; he is a British child actor who was probably referred to as a ginger with a strange head for his auburn hair. Above that, die hard fans of Phineas and Ferb will know that he is the voice of the very quiet Ferb. Many will agree that Ferb is one of the best characters on the show, because although he speaks around once an episode, whatever he says is gold. He's humourous even when he isn't talking, but that British accent of his, mixed with his monotone quips make him a pleasure to watch, and wait for.

Sangster started off with small television roles in the 2000s, one of which being Hitler: The Rise Of Evil in 2003, where he had the rather distinctive role of a ten-year-old Hitler. His first film, Love Actually, drew attention to him, and was a start -- so to say -- to his career. While he may not have had a starring role, he had the privilege of working alongside Liam Neeson, a very famous actor who played Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn in Star Wars: Episode I The Phantom Menace and is the voice of Aslan in The Chronicles of Narnia.

The next film he did was of course Nanny McPhee, which was a success for him. As more of a family film, it won viewers for enchantment and entertainment and is easily an enjoyable film for plenty of viewers. But above that (in my opinion), he starred in two episodes of Doctor Who, the longest running science fiction television series in history, the first episode airing right after JFK was shot. In those two episodes (or single episode, as they were a two-parter) Thomas is peculiarly intelligent, supposedly able to see into the future, though unliked by plenty of his classmates. Upon visiting his teacher, John Smith (who is really the Doctor in human form, with a human body, completely oblivious to being anything but human) Sangster is lured towards a pocketwatch sitting on his teacher's mantle. Curiously, he opens it, unaware it contains the Doctor's Time Lord memories and knowledge. In releasing it, he absorbs the knowledge and also attracts the episode's villains. David Tennant is a brilliant actor (the absolute favourite actor to play the Doctor in the eyes of majority), Doctor Who is a marvellous show; and for that reason, Thomas Sangster is a wonderful enough actor to be involved.

His most recent film was a title called Nowhere Boy, in which he acted alongside Kick-Ass star, Aaron Johnson. The film chronicles around John Lennon's life, Sangster playing the role of Paul McCartney.

It's positively remarkable to see there are such amazing teen actors these days, yet the most people can seem to focus on are American kids, working in films and television with less-than-stupendous plotlines. While people are getting paid more to remove their clothing on cinema screens (to make up for terrible acting, no less), there are brilliant actors definitely not getting the recognition they deserve. So this one's for you, Thomas Sangster, and I wish you all the best with your future productions!

You always hear those whiny, hipster teens complaining about how they knew a band or an artist "before they got famous", and you just want to punch them in the face - politely, though, since it would be a bad idea to just punch a random hipster. But, basically, it's annoying. Especially when they make you listen to a song that's really good but absolutely refuse to give you any information about it. "Sorry, I'd tell you, but I don't want them to be ruined by everyone knowing them, you know?"

Well, as obnoxious as that is, it's very understandable once you look at some reasons why people would be absolutely terrified of their music styles being exposed.

Owl City is amazing. Adam Young was a hero and a heartthrob to fans at least two years ago. He worked from his basement on various songs and experiments with his friends, or just spawned lyrics from pure imagination (really, I don't know; I'm not here to write a biography, you can just Google that). Anyways, after various popular (with his fans) songs like Rainbow Veins and Westcoast Friendship, Adam produced cute little Fireflies, which went maybe a full few months before it finally showed up like a blip on the radar of "THINGS EVERYONE ELSE AT SCHOOL ARE SURE TO OBSESS OVER".

Now, there was nothing wrong with sharing Mister Young's greatness with all the little kiddies at school and around the continent, but trying to be an 'original' Owl City fan was like trying to peak your head out of the ocean after getting lead weights attached to your legs. Everyone liked Owl City - it wasn't unique at all. Time to burn out your originality like those old Boys Like Girls posters, right?

Even worse than what people thought of you was how people thought about Adam Young. Of course the hip-hoppers wouldn't accept someone singing! "Owl City is garbage, yo, he ain't nuttin' but white trash, dawg!" Well, maybe if you talk like that you wouldn't accept him.

But the claims are still so outlandish! Did it ever occur to people that:
1) Fireflies is not Adam's best song.
2) Adam is a genuinely amazing person.
3) He may use autotune, but he can at least SING, which is more than T-Pain can do.
4) His studio is his basement.

Now, Owl City will always have a fanbase greater than initially predicted, and they'll continue to support him through the thick and thin - even if he pulls a Hayley Williams and posts a nude photo, although I'm very sure plenty of the fans would enjoy that, cheeky bastards.

Love,
Erica-May.

I foresee myself being the only one to write in this blog, so I believe I might as well provide a little bit of an introduction to anyone who should find this in the future.

Right, so I was born on a nice little spring day (potentially a lie, but it sounds nice) on the 25th of May in the year 1995, making me exactly fifteen years and nine days old from this very moment. I have an interesting taste and a twisted humour, not finding enough places to make my snide little remarks, as there's only so much one can stick in a Facebook status, right? Wherefore, this blog was created (and because I was looking for nice templates and was torn between two) and will be edited rather freuqently (hopefully, at least, as controversial topics only cross my mind so often).

Now, a disclaimer; You have the right, as the reader, to agree or disagree with any topic that may be loved, hated or talked about, and I've left numerous ways for one to contact and/or correct me, should need be. But with your right, mind you, comes the right for me to post my unaided opinion on such topics. I'll consider you of weak moral fiber if you choose a single blog post to decide my worthi- or unworthiness. You may not like one post, but what if I have other posts that make you laugh? Ponder that before ignoring me.

Much respect if you read this all and may the rants, raves and banters begin!

xx

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