My B-side: 05.05

Bonfiring it up!

I'm a collage-making fiend!!

The Scientist

50 bucks for whoever can tell me the artist's meaning behind this song...

Come up to meet you,

Tell you I'm sorry,

You don't know how lovely you are.

I had to find you,

Tell you I need you,

Tell you I set you apart.

Tell me your secrets,

And ask me your questions,

Oh, let's go back to the start.

Runnin' in circles,

Comin' up tails,

Its only science apart.

Nobody said it was easy,

It's such a shame for us to part.

Nobody said it was easy,

No one ever said it would be this hard.

Oh, take me back to the start.

I was just guessing,

At numbers and figures,

Pulling the puzzles apart.

Questions of science,

Science and progress,

Do not speak as loud as my heart.

Tell me you love me,

Come back and haunt me,

Oh, when I rush to the start.

Runnin' in circles,

Chasin' tails,

Comin' back as we are.

Nobody said it was easy,

Oh, it's such a shame for us to part.

Nobody said it was easy,

No one ever said it would be so hard.

I'm goin' back to the start.

Class of What??

Most people get drug to graduation ceremonies kicking and screaming. I, on the contrary, was happy to make myself present. I thought it might be fun to join in on the town festivities. About midway through the name reading I remembered how much I hated the "juniors" (they'll always be juniors to us). Bry and I had a death grip the entire time. I think she was holding on for the harsh sadness of a familiar scene, but I used the hand to anchor myself to the prickly bleacher. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't all rotten and boring. (And neither is all of the Class of 2005.) The gym felt like the Warped Tour minus good tunes plus an excess of shiny maroon. But in the commotion I collided into several old friends with whom I chatted up the weather and such. Comfort conversation, ya know. I hung out with the coolest toothless kid this side of the Wabash. Not to mention all the time well spent with my bestest friend in the whole wide world...even if we were both edging towards delirium. After embraces and flashes and 30 pieces of Big Red, it was over. Time for cheesecake. We headed to the Redman's (Bryana's little sister’s boyfriend's) and reviewed the "Best Of’s", I SWEAR there had to be a few typos. I wasn't the only one making that claim either. After Vegas chat, recipe swapping, and basement bowling we loaded up for Steak and Shake. Yes, more food. We screamed Kelly Clarkson all the way there, never mind that the song is really only 3:32 minutes and the drive 16. Steak and Shake was crazy busy, and of course we bumped into familiar faces...and NOT so familiar faces. Mallory's cousin, Erica, greeted us as well as her ex from Sophomore year, oh Derek. Erica looked at me funny for not noticing guy #2. Hmm... OH MY HECK. Andrew, Mater Dei Andrew. This would be a guy I dated 1.534 million years ago. And when I say dated I mean we went out once and I never called him again. Awkward, but nothing a root beer float couldn't cure. The evening closed with conversation on past visits to S&S and Brookee falling asleep on the table. My feelings exactly, Brooke.

Xenocide...at last!!

Acknowledgements: "Above all, I give thanks to my wife, Kristine,...responding so favorably to those aspects of the story that worked well that I found in her the confidence to go on. I have no idea who I would be, as a writer or as a person, without her; I intend never to have an occasion to find out."

"You could spend your entire life looking for a perfect blossom, and it would not be a wasted life."

Props to Johnson

It's not everyday I'm graced with an admirable blog neighbor. Usually I'm jammed up next to a foreigner, I don't even have a chance to get to know them. So today, I hit jackpot. This will be a blog to re-visit. One reason why I love it: "There's an odd silence between two people sometimes. A silence where you look them in the eye and you can't help but see who they are. Sometimes you don't like what you see." If you want to see more visit http://webley.blogspot.com . I stand impressed.

Ode to Naivety

I sat under my desk-turned-fort and made a legendary verdict. I, Melissa Gerth, as of this day, will be grown-up. Don’t think I chose it on my own. Terrible, gut-wrenching/my-heart-stopped-pumping-blood-for-five-minutes news rained acid on my parade, murdering my soul in a most malicious manner. Like waking up from a pleasant dream to a world much like the one Neo saw in The Matrix, not IN the Matrix, but in the movie the Matrix...Anyway, I had no other choice than to grow up and fast. No more seeing good in people even when they are mostly awful, no more thinking people can change into something better rather than worse, no more faith in those who never deserved it. Even with just this said I feel like an unhappy middle-aged mess already. I need Utahopia, Indiana just breaks my heart.

Adventures in Weed Eating

I’ve undergone an immense amount of wander-wondering in the past few days. Through this experience I created my own understanding of hell. It is a most torturous place where tenants are forced to continuously weed-eat one spot of grass only to have the weeds just cut instantaneously grow back. What an eternity that would be! My cheeks are embedded with remnants of grass. My nose is quite possibly broken in several spots from rock spinning target practice. My body is a mess of ripped cartilage and torn muscle. My right fingers have serious carpol tunnel. And I have to wake up at 6:30 A.M. Not quite hell, but VERY VERY close. 85 days seems like eternity. PRAY FOR RAIN.

Book Six - The End

Acknowledgements: "My wife, Kristine, remains my first reader, the one who recieves my pages at her bedside when I finally crawl downstairs at three or five or seven a.m after yet another late-night writing session...the most important work of my life has been and continues to be my family, and she is my collaborator and partner in every aspect of that oeuvre." -Orson Scott Card

Melissa Disaster

A REALLY REALLY REALLY bad day. So much I think I might bust out some Fuel.

One of THOSE days...

My life is just one big Self-Fulfilling Prophecy. It makes me a bit nauseous. Probably nervous too, like crunchy food nervous. Isn’t that weird though? If I was asked, “Where do you see yourself in the next 10 years?” And I answered, “Married with 5 kids, living in a suburb of Boston.” It’d probably come true!! And I don’t even WANT that to happen. Except maybe the Boston part, I like New England. I always predict the BAD outcome and then it happens. See, so it’s ACTUALLY a string of Self Un-Fulfilling prophecies because what I get is never welcome! And I can’t believe I just wasted a blog on this.

Onto Book 5

Acknowledgements: "As Alvin wanders the world, it is his wife who provides his harbor; this my wife, Kristine, also provides for me. All my stories are told first to her." Awwwwwww.

Cheapens the Taste

Tonight I dove deep into the Abyss of the PG-13 Movie. My poison: Wicker Park. Number 3 of my Top 5. Up until this very moment I had only seen the censored PG version of the movie. Two HUGE scenes were brutally chopped out of the Clean Flick. One, not so plot-imperative, as it was representative; while the other changed the entire character of Josh Hartnett. In the clean version you believe Josh is this desperate romantic, longing for his long lost soul-mate, constantly searching, practically vestal (her being the exception); but the “normal” version completely demeans his character classifying him as a man whore, a mere sample of an ever-rising population of men who cannot seem to keep their pants up. In the end he isn’t worthy of a cow let alone crazy love with a soul mate. No, no; she could do A LOT better. I couldn’t even cry, The Scientist and all, and that pisses me off.

Esther Lives!

[yesterday] The Mount Vernon Democrap, excuse me, Democrat is graced with such skillful writing it would be hardly a surprise to anyone who has ever read it that I would gladly stop my library searching to become familiar with the May 4, issue. I lazily leafed through each page, finding nothing to suit my interests. Then I hit the obits. I’m hardly a morbid person, I do not delight in death and I wasn’t particularly looking for despair either. But a face struck me, one that I could identify, heaven forbid. It was Esther, my friend in the nursing home whom I visited every Sunday back in the eleventh grade. My heart broke. I felt immense guilt for not stopping over more often. I read the rest of her obituary to suppress my grief. Her real name was Clara! Clara Esther. She never told me that, but all the rest I knew but was quite upset that her love for the Rock (WWF wrestler) had been left unmentioned. I called Diane immediately; she as well had become great friends with Esther. That night we spoke of Esther and all her greatness. Di confessed to a written poem she had blogged a few hours earlier. Sad day. This evening Diane worked at IGA. Pearl, a nurse at the home had come through Diane’s line. The two recognized each other immediately. Diane extended condolences to Pearl in regard to Esther’s death. Pearl looked more befuddled than a Pimp-My-Ride winner. Finally, she vocalized her confusion asking Diane what on earth she meant. Diane explained what I had found in the obituaries a day earlier. Pearl like to died (no pun intended). She laughed and verified that Esther was in fact still very much ALIVE; she had just talked to her today. My bad… Ya know a lot of elderly women look identical; I think Esther and Clara were probably twins separated at birth. Or maybe it’s just that I’m a fetchin bat and can’t see anything unless its 2 centimeters from face. Oh well, I’m looking forward to visiting Esther REAL soon.

Oh my, Lollapalooza!

My heart has not loved til now!!!!!!

Pixies…sure

Weezer …cool

Killers…oh?

Ben Kweller…really???

Dashboard Confessional…nuh uh?!

Death Cab for Cutie…oh my shiz!!!!?!?

Lollapalooza = HEAVEN

Chi-Town or bust!

Yawn

I just awoke not 5 minutes ago. And I had this dismal feeling come over me. I don't really know how to describe it...Attempt 1: Ok say you were to have this brilliant idea that could aid the masses and save the planet but you were stuck on an island with people who speak a similar but different language. And so a few pieces of the puzzle are comprehendible but of course nothing every really fits if it’s not all there. Therefore, the idea is never carried out. Attempt 2: I just feel like no one really knows me. Who I am, what I love, what I feel. But does anyone ever really know anyone else? And that's a scary thing when you think about it. Maybe that’s what we are all looking for? Someone to just get us. And not that fake-get, or the occasional-get but rather a no matter-the place-the time-or-the circumstance-ALWAYS-day in-day out-type-of-get. Is that possible? ...I need sleep.

Book Number Three

This is becoming a tradition... Acknowledgements: Thanks most of all to Kristine A. Card, who listens to me ramble through the many versions of each as-yet-written, reads through the dot-matrix printouts of the early drafts, and is my second self through every page of everything I write. -Orson Scott Card ...melt

you ... seem ... so ... out ... of ... context ... in ... this ... gaudy ... apartment ... complex ... a ... stranger ... with ... your ... door ... key ... explaining...that...i'm...just...visiting ... and ... i ... am ... finally ... seeing ... why ... i ... was ... the ... one ... worth ... leaving

Simply Ridiculous

So, ha, I just took this God-test offered up by random-comment-guy in the last post. Apparently, I’m breaking five of the ten commandments because I have in fact told a lie, stole a sucker at age 8 and may have had a lustful thought once or twice, not to mention I’ve said God in a not so praiseful way in the past. At the end of my results page I was asked me to plead innocent or guilty. I picked guilty, we all make mistakes, and I’ll live up to them. The next page states: “that is correct, you are guilty” Well, thanks. Then it asks if I’m going to heaven or hell. I click heaven. The next page reads: “WRONG, you are going to hell! Does the fact that you are headed for hell concern you?” Hmm, not really….BRING IT ON!!!!! (Whatever happened to the repentance process, yeah that’s a somewhat important key point, don’t ya think?)

Measure

I finally completed The Red Prophet. What a stellar read…possibly better than the first of its series. I meant to have the feat in a day’s time But as I comprehended the text nonstop for hours I realized it was too good not to savor. I’m about to ruin the book, be aware: Last night at two a.m or so I began to edge toward the last few chapters. I hit a part on my preferred of Alvin’s brothers, Measure. (Yeah, what a cool name, I know.) In an intense scene Measure is brutally massacred by a river rat called Mike Fink. Orson graphically explicates each break in every bone, in fact EVERY bone. By the end of it stuff was dislodged, parts dismembered. I thought I might yammy. Still not over…Mike Fink then becomes Mike Tyson and bites off Measure’s ear. Purposely snapping his neck in the meantime. I began to cry. When I say cry, I don’t mean sniffles. I was lamenting so loud the dog came in and barked at me. It took twenty minutes to calm down. I was grateful my Dad and his wifey weren’t home, it would be tricky to explain the circumstances. I was so pissed and displeased that I lobbed the book and vowed never again to read another like it. I was reading on like five minutes later. Two chapters passed and then Alvin heals Measure. I felt RIDICULOUS. That’s what you get for mourning fictional characters. It reminded me of Alias. Vaughn totally “died” at the end of the first season. I called up Diane, bawling. She kept telling me he would make a victorious comeback in season two. Even still, I moped around for days inflicted by the loss. And yeah, he too made a miraculous recovery from the almost-grave. Moral of the story: It’s one thing to laugh out loud while reading, but sob-fests are a whole different bawl park.

Hi...I'm in the landscaping business??

Yeah, life...well it sucks. This summer was to be a summer of cash. I hated working during the schoolyear, so I promised myself that I'd save up this summer and stay out of the job madness this fall. I had a sure-bet job set up via my Dad at Country Mark. I would roll out of bed at 6, be at the office at 7:45, and then file my life away til 4. Unfortunately, the office was all full so they bumped me to the next job. I got word today with details and all. Apparently, I will be weed eating for the next 4 months. SCORE. It's pretty demeaning if you ask me. And CRAZY, I've never even touched a weed-eater. I just pray I get bumped up to the riding lawnmower position. Anyway, I call my dad who is STILL hanging out in Cali. And I'm all like: WHAT THE H!? Do they not realize I'm female? He simply reminds me that my hourly wage will be the same hefty amount as it was with the office job. So, I really can't turn it down. No job at the mall or even waitressing could compare. I'm going to have to grin and bear it. My partners in crime, Kyle Rutledge and Joe Lee...that's not awkward or anything. There is a brightside, I'll be black by the end of the summer.

I am bored out my flippin mind.

Isn't This Moving?

The Waltz by Camille Claudel

Romeo and Juliet can't even compare to Rodin and Camille. The best part, it was real. Someday, I hope to write a screenplay inspired by these lovers.

BYU's Own

Last night I read the last four chapters of Seventh Son to pave the way for long-awaited Xenocide, which would be made available today. First thing, I headed to the public library. I didn’t even bother with the catalog and what not, I knew the spot where it was to be. But of course whoever checked out the book just has to be oblivious to due-dates. SO, I book it (no pun intended) over to the checkout lady after grabbing read-two in the Alvin Maker Series and ask if she knows anything about Ender # 3’s current standing. She tells me that it is in fact past due and that a notice would be sent out. I thought of asking for the phone number of the culprit to possibly hurry them along but oh well. Then she offered to place the book on hold for me, I gratefully accepted. Who knows when I’ll receive the call for it, so I decided to begin the Maker book and attempt to finish it in a day’s sitting, just in case. I was lying in bed a few minutes ago admiring the cover art. (Now that’s a dream job.) I realized I never judge a book by it's cover or even know of its existence excepting the moment it's hard corners dent my palms. Anyway, I thought to extend my tour to the TOC and then the author’s note. Orson is such a cool guy. I read as he acknowledged literary geniuses and famous historical characters. But his last dedicatory paragraph stopped me mid-sentence. “As always with my work, Kristine A. Card has influenced and improved every page in this book.” Holy shiz, that’s an acknowledgement! Now, I was curious as to who this Kristine A. Card is. Possibly his sister-turned-editor? The mail woman who happens to share his last name? Or maybe even the his wife of 25 years?? So I grabbed my copy of Seventh Son and made my way to the author’s acknowledgements there. Sure enough, the last section was saved for Mrs. Card. “Above all, I am grateful to Kristine A. Card, for the incalculable value of her criticism, encouragement, editing, and proofreading, and for single-handedly turning our children into wise, kind, well-mannered human beings, who readily forgive their father when he is not a fit example of those virtues.” Wow, one question: Does he have a son? How I love BYU boys and the sacredness they hold for their wives and children. It doesn’t get better than this.

It's Times Like These You Learn to Love Again

I’ve become a huggy person. Last night was my ex-high school’s prom. I think I went because all of my friends were going...I swear I could count the dressy-kids I knew on my left hand. Anyway, there was an abundance of people from my class present. Which was somewhat relieving. Classmates I never addressed in the hallways I was embracing the life out of. It’s crazy what one-year away will do to you. They say 10 hugs a day allot you 10 extra years of life. I’m good till the year 2025 after last night. I can’t go on without commenting on how surreal it was to be on the-photo taking-complement making-looking fugly in normal makeup and normal clothes-end of prom. I felt ANCIENT and as previously stated, fashionably-handicapped. It reminded me of the Thanksgiving I was allowed to sit at the “grown-up” table. I had adult conversations, used big words, and laid the napkin in my lap. While last night I hardly remember delving into my oh-so-extensive vocabulary, I did converse more with the 40 plus crowd than the kiddies. What an ode to growing up. But Bryana and I decided yesterday that we never REALLY grew up, we must be the only two people in the history of the world who act and feel and dream just as we did when we were 16. Which is why neither of us has ever let go of the past, why we’re so sad of the people who are “grown up” because in a sense they left us behind. We were about to leave for Hacienda. I was standing outside the Green’s old house about when I yelled to Bry as she entered her car, “Bryana, this moment right now, this 5 seconds…it just feels right.” (kinda cheesy but...very true) And in a sea of moments that feel gravely wrong, you cling to those 5 seconds with all that you have. I was clinging, boy I was clinging. Bryana and I ended up sleeping over at Grandma Sharon’s, it was so sad to think how few of these slumber parties we have left. Of how I’ll probably be married next year or how she may not make it back to Mt. Vernon after graduation or how this is my last summer in Indiana. It’s no wonder we never grew up, just look at what we have awaiting us there.

Click for a better take on the evening.

Oh, Prom

Top Left: B.O., Di, Me, Bry Top Right: Bry and Me Bottom Left: Britty and Tara Bottom Right: Whit, Sar, Di, Me

-Mother to dressy daughter "Now honey! Watch out for those graduated kids, they are trying to take a picture." Classic.

My B-side

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Currently Watching...

Dienstag, Mai 31, 2005

Bonfiring it up!

Sonntag, Mai 29, 2005

I'm a collage-making fiend!!

The Scientist

Samstag, Mai 28, 2005

Class of What??

Dienstag, Mai 24, 2005

Xenocide...at last!!

Montag, Mai 23, 2005

Props to Johnson

Samstag, Mai 21, 2005

Ode to Naivety

Mittwoch, Mai 18, 2005

Adventures in Weed Eating

Montag, Mai 16, 2005

Book Six - The End

Melissa Disaster

Sonntag, Mai 15, 2005

One of THOSE days...

Samstag, Mai 14, 2005

Onto Book 5

Freitag, Mai 13, 2005

Cheapens the Taste

Donnerstag, Mai 12, 2005

Esther Lives!

Dienstag, Mai 10, 2005

Oh my, Lollapalooza!

Yawn

Montag, Mai 09, 2005

Book Number Three

Simply Ridiculous

Sonntag, Mai 08, 2005

Measure

Freitag, Mai 06, 2005

Hi...I'm in the landscaping business??

Donnerstag, Mai 05, 2005

Mittwoch, Mai 04, 2005

Isn't This Moving?

Dienstag, Mai 03, 2005

BYU's Own

Montag, Mai 02, 2005

It's Times Like These You Learn to Love Again

Sonntag, Mai 01, 2005

Oh, Prom