Author: Katherine Scroggins

Hey guys! Can you believe it? This is one of my last blogs for this school year. It feels like yesterday that I wrote my first blog. I’m not going to lie, blogging is not my strong point. I forget to write and then I forget to post but when I do, I enjoy every second of it. And even though our MSA year is ending and some of our high school careers with it, it’s the beginning of beautiful, frightening things. I personally am looking to a summer of friends, traveling, and stressing over family and next school year. Our seniors are stressing over leaving for college, moving across the country or to other continents, getting apartments, or just now deciding what they want to do. And you know what? That’s totally fine. We can do whatever we want. If you want to have road trips around the country sleeping in a hippie bus, or be a librarian, or even just be one with your art, that is something beautiful. Because you’re staying true to yourselves. And In the spirit of new beginnings and staying true to ourselves, I’ll be providing a recipe for Fettuccine Alfredo, one of my favorite dishes.

Fettuccine Alfredo

Ingredients

• 1 lb. fettuccine (those are noodles guys I totally didn’t know that until i cooked this)
• 1 stick of unsalted butter
• 1 pt. of heavy cream 
• 1 cup Parmesan cheese (grated)
• ground black pepper
• 1/4 cup of finely chopped flat leaf parsley (optional but it does taste good)

Directions

1. In a medium pot, simmer cream over a medium-low setting until it steams. Then whisk in the butter. When the butter and cream are combined, slowly whisk in the Parmesan and black pepper to taste.
2. Cook fettuccine, drain, and return to pot.
3. Pour sauce over pasta, add parsley, and stir well to coat the entirety of the noodles.
4. Serve with a parsley and Parmesan garnish if you choose.

    Hey guys. I know I normally write about cooking, but today I just didn’t feel it.

It’s that time of the year again. Yep. Spring. Everyone  has a few months out of the year where they just feel sad. Mine are in the winter and spring. Yes Christmas, New Years, Valentine’s Day, Easter, and Prom. Those events have one thing in common: companionship. 

The winter holidays are one of the most stressful times of the year. First there’s the pressure of exams-fun. Then there is the pressure of buying the perfect gift for your loved ones and panicking if you got the wrong one. The stress of going home for the holidays. And for us students dealing with COVID, the stress of being quarantined during the holidays (me). 

But for me, the worst part of these events is being lonely. I’ve always been alone. I’ve never had any real friendships that have lasted. I’ve definitely never had any relationships that were good.

So, every Christmas, while my friends are doing secret Santa or throwing parties without me, or my sister spending all of her time with her boyfriend, I do anything to take my mind off of my loneliness. I play video games, or listen to the unbelievably cringy depressing music that makes me numb inside. When it gets really bad and I can’t stand it, I go outside and find a remote part in my humongous yard, play some Chester Bennington, and cry until I get mad. Then I start pulling the soft clover from the ground and rip up fallen leaves. It helps and… just for a few minutes I’m no longer angry. I’m just…sad.

But the spring is different.  In the spring, I’m here at school. There’s no peaceful beds of clover for me to unleash my wrath upon, there’s no crying into my sister’s shirt, there’s no blaring Linkin Park in my empty dorm. There’s only crying in my shower for hours playing quiet classical piano until my legs can no longer hold myself up. There’s only shielding people’s questions about prom plans because I can’t tell them that I don’t think I could survive watching them dance happily with loved ones. There’s only sitting alone at meals with my headphones in to mask my anxiety and sadness. There’s only skipping those mealtimes so I don’t feel so lonely in the crowds. There’s only me avoiding everyone who flocks to do school activities. There’s only friendships that don’t last and love that never blooms. 

Hey guys! Mick here and back with another recipe! This week is exam week (I know, I know, but we have to take them.), so I thought that I’d give you guys a breakfast recipe. Who doesn’t love fluffy, homemade pancakes? (I prefer waffles, but pancakes are nice).  

You will need these ingredients: 

• 1 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour
• 4 tbsp. melted butter 
• 2 tbsp. granulated sugar
• 1 tbsp. baking powder
• 1/2 tsp. salt 
• 1 egg
• 1 1/4 cups warm milk (not scalding)
• 1 tsp. vanilla

Now that you’re back from your trip to the supermarket, you can finally make these fluffy golden clouds. Here’s how:

1. In a medium mixing bowl, combine all of the dry ingredients (flour, baking powder, sugar, salt). 
2. In a smaller bowl, whisk the egg with the milk and melted butter. Add the vanilla extract.
3. Pour the milk mixture into the dry ingredients (slowly or you’ll get flour everywhere) and whisk lightly until all large clumps of flour are gone. Do not overmix the batter or the pancakes won’t be fluffy.
4. Either using a piece of butter or a tablespoon of oil, brush a skillet until completely covered. Then use a large tablespoon, and spoon (There’s not really a better word for it) the batter into the center of the skillet and quickly, spread it into a circle.
5. Cook on the bottom side until tiny holes appear around the edges (sorry trypophobia people it creeps me out too). The bottom of the pancake should be a golden brown. (Takes about 3 minutes).
6. Flip and cook on the other side until it’s the same shade as the cooked side. 
7. Add your preferred toppings and serve. (I like maple syrup and sliced apples.) 

This is the best homemade pancake recipe I’ve used by far. I really do recommend it but be creative! Explore different foods and find what you like! I personally love putting chocolate chips and a dash of cinnamon and sugar into my pancake batter. You should always be expressive and cooking is one of the best ways to do that. You’re creating something with your own hands. There is no right or wrong way to cook. (Well, there are a few, like burning your house down or putting cinnamon into chicken and rice. I was eight, okay.) 

I know my blog is about cooking and recipes. But it’s about more than making a dish. I’m writing these blogs because I’m combining two of my favorite things; cooking and writing. And I think you should do the same and incorporate some of your favorite things into your everyday life.

Stay awesome.

-Mick

Hey guys! I can’t believe it’s March already 🙁 The juniors are becoming seniors and getting their stuff together. And the seniors….my babies….(sobs for a few minutes and sighs while wiping a tear away before pretending I’m fine) I’ll miss you so much.

     It feels like just yesterday I went on a picnic with my new cool friends and met my favorite two people in the world. I remember when I hated this place. Boy, times really change.

      I remember the first time Katie played the cello for me and we bonded over our shared interests and our dread of going to first block instead of sleeping.

I remember the first time Stephyne called me beautiful and meant it. She taught me to love myself and that everyone can use a little bit of kindness.

     I owe so much to Maple, who invited me to sit with them that first day. And for the hour-long texts when I felt like I was drowning in this sea of students.

I thank my student body president who, even though she didn’t know me except for a ten-minute interaction months before, stayed on the phone with me for hours while I broke down daily.

    I thank Azya for encouraging me to be myself and not to worry about everyone’s opinion all of the time.

   I thank Bri for sharing my love of Pink Floyd and being so compassionate and empathetic even though she barely knew me.

     I thank Morgan for showing me that I don’t need to conform for them to accept me.

    I thank my beautiful juniors for creating this beautiful bond with me so I don’t feel so alone anymore.

    I thank one of my beautiful best friends, Callie, for never making me feel ridiculed, for giving me food when I forget to shop (all of the time), for encouraging me to dress like Rob Zombie, for taking me thrifting for the first time and introducing me to Depeche Mode. You are so beautiful.

      I thank Mrs. Sibley for being a maternal figure to me. For helping me unlock a part of my soul when it comes to writing. For being ever so lenient when it came to my late work.

       Thank thank thank you Zayne for being my best friend. For staying up till four A.M. all of the time on FaceTime. For laying on my lap while I’m on the phone. For walking me up the stairs when we have to go to our dorms. I thank you for many more things. You are my rock. I love you and when you graduate, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. We’ll hang out. I don’t care if I have to drive four hours to see you. We’ll FaceTime, call, play games together.

I’m not ready for you to leave me, but I am ready for us to make new memories together. I love you all and I’m sure that this is just the first of many bittersweet blogs that no one reads. I can’t wait to continue to bond with you all. I love you guys so much!

This has been your friendly neighborhood weirdo with a new blog.

-Mick

Content Warning: addiction and dependence, drug culture

Dr. Feelgood, Kickstart My Heart, Same Ol’ Situation, Livewire, and my personal favorite…Shout At The Devil.

I have heard a few Motley Crue songs I didn’t like, but they are one of my favorite ’80s metal bands. Hair metal was crazy, not gonna lie. Def Leppard, Iron Maiden, Dokken, Ratt, Guns N Roses, Warrant, Whitesnake, Aerosmith, Twisted Sister… I could go on forever.

The point is, all of these bands were crazy. Ozzy literally bit the head off of a real live bat onstage (granted he didn’t think it was real.) The drugs mixed with the booze, toxic masculinity, money, lack of restrictions, and groupies shouldn’t have made the band that much wilder than the rest of the popular hair metal bands of the ’80s; but these guys went nuts.

One time Sixx dared Ozzy to snort a trail of ants… and he did it. These guys were the baddest of the bad. And while there were a lot of bad times for the band, the things they did were memorable.

To watch my idol play guitar in his prime? No brainer.  I can just see it now… leather pants, fishnet sleeves, leather jackets, hair that’ll catch fire if a lit match is twenty feet away. I’d be jamming backstage cheering on Tommy Lee while he’s drumming spinning in the roll cage. Or watching Vince be almost attacked by groupies onstage. Or idolizing Mick Mars as he does complex guitar solos while scoffing at his immature bandmates.

Sure, there were some bad times, really bad times. Like when Razzle died, or Vince’s daughter died from cancer, when Nikki overdosed and everyone thought they were going to lose him forever, and my personal favorite (sarcasm) the band replaced Vince with Corabi. Thank goodness it wasn’t for long because it wasn’t working. Finally, they (with Vince not Corabi) made amends and started playing together. They got sober over and over again and it didn’t seem to work. But, after Vince came back, sobriety seemed to stick for them, and they continued to perform until their last show in 2015.

Since the ‘80s, rock hasn’t really been the same. In the ‘90s, grunge was all the rage. Self hatred, deprecation, and broodiness seems to be the style of millennials. Because the last time they were happy was the nineties. Early 2000’s was about more of the same thing from the nineties but mixed with a bit of screaming and pop. Now, we mix Ozzy with Post Malone.

The glory days are behind us.

Your russet strawberry blonde hair glistens in the enriching sunlight,

your tall, boyish figure that you complain about, is entrenched in the most uniquely you clothing.

Burnt orange trench coats, knee-high converses,

 black berets, golden beaded dresses, 

dazzling deep blue one-shouldered dresses that belong in a disco club. 

We read tarot on your carpet and discussed your birthday,

We danced together at the valentine’s day dance, 

We watched the perks of being a wallflower until 10:30 last night. 

You have multiple paintings from me in your room.

You give me food when all that is in my room is water and I’ve missed dinner.

I had been pulled to you by an unknown force the day of our meeting.

You have become one of my favorite people in my life. 

You are beautiful. Your body is beautiful. Your personality is beautiful. Your wardrobe is beautiful. Your writing is beautiful. Your soul is beautiful. 

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. And you need to believe it more.

I love you and so does everyone on our floor.

Callie, you are so beautiful, smart, sweet, talented, important, and many more things.

Hey dudes and dudettes and everyone else. I volunteered as a library assistant for over four years in my hometown and I loved every second of it. I knew when I started that I wanted to do something like that for the rest of my life. I thought many times about what my library would look like and I came up with a little piece of writing to bring it to life for you and me. I really hope you enjoy it.

The clouds outside are in a battle with the sun. Rain pours down like a beat made by the oars of the Osberg. The warm cream colored walls lined with walnut stained wood trim are warm and inviting. Fairy lights and cozy lamps line corners and rest above the bookshelves. Luscious green plants teem from windowsills, overflowing with life. Tall bookshelves line the walls, their color matching the trim of the interior of the shop. Cozy mismatched armchairs and loveseats covered with throws and pillows. Tables accompany them. Upon one, a marble chessboard lies, an interrupted match on the arena. Piles of novels lie on every table, resting in every nook and cranny. Peacoat-covered bodies accompanied by umbrellas and their favorite worn platform shoes as to not get their feet wet are all over the bookshop that doubled as a library. Most of them spend their lunch time here, losing themselves in the magical worlds inside each book. We play classical piano over the speakers softly, to comfort the customers. Maps litter the walls, each one portraying a world from the books in this shop. From The lonely mountain, Erebor, to the Shire, we have maps of everything here. There are little café tables scattered for those who like to eat or catch up on some work on their laptops. There is a little coffee bar for those of us writers who need the liquid nectar. Occasionally, a few children and their parents will come in, asking for hot cocoa. The little tykes usually skip to one of the old, large beanbag chairs and grab Curious George, begging their favorite staff member to read with them. Teenagers, plagued by depression and isolation, practically live here, having found a nice quiet place to drown out the dullness of their existence. They delve into Anne Rice, Poe, Steven King, of Ellen Schrieber for hours at a time, only leaving their fortresses of solitude for refills of their coffee. My little bookshop is home to people who love it just as much as I do.

Hey guys! So I’ve been thinking about writing this for a while but couldn’t form a coherent story (as you can tell from the ending). But I really applied myself and churned this bad boy out. I hope you enjoy it!

The thick smoke like fog is a deep chartreuse. It seeps into every nook and cranny. Nothing grows out of the earth’s rotted soil. There are no pine-scented evergreens, no lilacs blooming in sunny meadows, nor any soft dahlias placed in font of loved ones’ tombstones. In the poorest parts of the country, houses are old, dilapidated, and the wood is diseased. Cancerous mold grows feverishly, covering the interiors. There are no family portraits, no plumbing, nor happiness. The families that have managed to keep the squatters and pillagers out live in squalor. The people inhabiting these slums have turned to cannibalism due to the lack of food resources and funds. The homeless have taken to robbing the dead of their resting places for places to sleep.  The lowest class of humanity has devolved into their most primitive mentality. However, not everyone is like that. The upper and middle classes are snobbish, treacherous, and selfish.

Elle overlooks the rooftops of London. She is perched on the windowsill at the top of the old clocktower she calls home. A voice she knows too well breaks the peaceful quiet. “Elle. What do you think you’re doing? You need to rest. You fell a few stories through the roof of the Baron’s Manor.” She rolls her eyes and continues to look at the jeweler’s across the cobblestone street. The general’s Watch dogs have been prowling the districts looking for them. She feels his rough calloused hands on her waist. “Garrett, come on. They are looking for us. We can’t just wait for them to find us. We need to get back to work. And it wouldn’t be so bad to find out what happened while we were gone.” Garrett sighs in exasperation, “Elle, you are the most stubborn person I know. I didn’t say that we wouldn’t do the job. I just think you should rest for a day or two before we do start again. Your side still has a nasty gash.” She rolls her eyes again, “Garrett, it’s fine. That’s just from being cauterized. Besides, Barbus needs us.” She climbs back in the tower and looks for her equipment. She can’t find them anywhere. “Garrett, where are they?” He smirks and shrugs. After an hour of searching and coming up empty, she shrugs and shuffles to their shared bed, slumping into Garrett’s side. Her side burns and her legs are screaming under her weight. “All right Garrett.  We’ll stay in today.”