I bet Abe was a great skier.
I celebrated my love for Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, and (of course) George Dubya swimming in a foot of fresh powder. Levi (from Evansville), Paul, Mary, and I drove up to Sundance at 8 a.m. (Take notice: the only time I’ve woke before 11 a.m. this semester.) The boys (both stellar boarders) grabbed their gear while Mary and I rented skis. I watched as five-year-olds soared down the mountain effortlessly and thought: “The snow is toast.” Then I put on skis. Needless to say, it all went downhill from here (no pun intended.) Paul had to pull me via ski poles through the lift line. Mary however, was pole-less and out of control. The three of us watched as she plowed through 10 people, knocking fifty percent of them to their knees. Most thought she was a vengeful line jumper, but changed their minds after watching her many attempts at peace with her skis. It was our turn; the four of us stood side by side on a thick red line. I crunched my eyes tightly and prayed that my butt would connect with the seat of the lift. I’m sure it would’ve worked out had my poles not tangled with my skis. After almost losing it I made the boys exercise the safety bar. We hopped off at midway. Paul and Levi tried to explain the basics of skiing. I picked up half of it and then launched forward down the hill. I was a bolt of chaos; my speed must have peaked at around forty. The last thing I recall: Levi screaming, “SNOW PLOW, SNOW PLOW!?!?!!’’ I never got the snow-plow (a.k.a. stopping) technique down. The result: My body twisted itself in ways that I cannot describe. I laid lifeless in the snow. Paul flew down the slope to my rescue. With much awkward effort I was back on two skis. I took off again and ran straight into the bank. I peeled my mess of existence off the snow once more only to crash five additional times before ever making it to the bottom. Mary stayed at the top, helplessly edging down the hummock. Paul and I headed back for another go. I glided down the hill in a more orderly fashion. After the third round Paul and I rode to the top of the mountain. He pointed at a ninety-degreeish slope, “Let’s do that one!” Ha, funny. I convinced him that the blue square could easily be more adventurous than the black diamond. So, down Old Bear Claw we went. Just give me an E for effort. At one point I braved a steep decline, no force could stop me. I felt hopeless and screamed for my life as the guardrail-less bend neared. The gap between me and the-point-of–no-return was drawing to a close; I violently chucked myself at the snow. My method kicked the-snow-plow’s trash as far as effectiveness goes. I removed the ski wedged in my back and laughed. Paul came rushing over, “Are you ok!!?” But, I couldn’t stop laughing. He caught the infection and exclaimed with amusement, “That was the best one, yet!” I never topped off that fall, thank the Lord. I walked away (just barely) from Sundance with a beautiful goose egg, vibrant sunburn, and a broken body. It was an incredible day off
It's me and the moon.
I crossed four lanes in five seconds during Salt Lake City rush hour; all for the love of piano rock. Mauren, Mary, and I had endured 45 minutes of intense heat (lost efforts to defog my windows) and insane Utah driving. It was time to claim our prize. Unfortunately, I overestimated my self-mastery of the Utah street coordinate system. We looked for a hint, such as the venue’s sign once in the general vicinity. Five left turns and twenty minutes later we found it; practically the size of my left pinky nail. Ice fell from the sky, unwelcome by those who opted out of coat wearing for the eve. The line moved quickly, in no time we were flashing I.D.’s and undergoing the-frisk-process. Breathing came to a halt; a
camera was concealed in my purse, swaddled in a black sock. “Enjoy the show.” Exhale. I headed straight for the merch. I fell in love with a white
Straylight Run baby tee.
I asked the hired hand for his opinion on the design. “What’s up with the rabbit costumes? Does it have some sort of link to the band?” (It was a bit Donnie Darko.)
“No, no. Nothing to do with us really; some artist just got a little creative.”
I laughed, “Um yeah, I’d say so.” Woah, wait...he said US. “And which bunny are you?”
“That one.” He said pointing to the warm, fuzzy drummer. SCORE!
“Well, nice to meet you.” I reached out to shake his hand. I know, I know. I’m forever branded 'dork.'
“I’m Mark.” He smiled. “And the bunny shirt is hot.”
So, of course I bought it and got a few pics while I was at it. People were packing in; we found a spot near the left speaker and anxiously awaited what was to come. The Academy Is served up a high energy screamo performance. The moshing began as did the apportionment of my small group. I was pushed into the middle; I hated this part of concerts. I’m always left to fend for myself, its times like these I wished to be that of an Olga complex. Nevertheless, I made do and enjoyed the music. Prior to Armor for Sleep’s entrance, I was able to fight my way back to Mary; for yet another round of body smashing. We dominoed to the ground, twice. A few songs later I found myself laying dead center in a mosh pit. I have no idea how I got there, but a random guy dove in and carried me out. I thanked him via hug. All in all; the band sucked. Their music served little consolation for the stampede like torture plunged upon me. After the umpteenth song they closed with the only one I recognized. It was eye-level with par. This brings us to the moment we’d all been waiting for. At least the moment I’d been waiting for. (I came to the SoCo concert for the opener, Straylight Run.) I knew every song, making sure those around me were well aware. It came to a perfect end, Existentialism on Prom Night. Yeah, you would kill for this. Who wouldn’t? It was lovely. Something Corporate was ready to wrap up the evening. I worked my way to the very front and embraced the barricade for cherished life. Waves of people crashed into me, but the feel-his-sweat closeness easily drowned out pain. I recalled lyrics to a whole five songs; Cavanaugh Park, Down, I Want to Save You, Space, and the beloved Konstantine. Lights were dimmed; Andrew sat still at his upright. Given the first three notes I knew it was time for my favorite so-raw-it's-bleeding love ballad. The beauty of the sound that filled the leaking venue could lull anyone into submission. I was no exception, and stood rapt. Andrew left his piano after the third verse and sat on the edge of the stage. He began to intertwine lyrics from a local Indiana band, Mock Orange, into Konstantine's magnificence. I continued to sing along (and alone) through the new addition. My reward; an Andrew smile. There was no encore; much deserved, yet unnecessary. We drove home spent but satisfied. Luckily, rush hour had long ended. I’d lost the verve to cross four lanes in five seconds, and my motivation was a quarter way to Vegas.
Concert Pics
Mates of State
I’ve lost all hope in BYU heads. They walk around campus, fake smiling into each other’s eyes. PUH-Lease. I want to red rover right through their death grip handholds. You might think I’m bitter, or lonely? No. I’m mad at them for settling. It’s like these people are so (I’m talking 3 week courtships for some) anxious to get to the temple they don’t care who they are kneeling across from. (If you don’t believe me just look around at all of the mismatched couples on campus.) So, I used to couple-watch in the airport. While waiting for a flight I’d pick a couple and analyze their chemistry. After thorough scrutinization I would either dub them soul mates or settlers. I know the theory of a soul mate is less realistic than the existence of Santa Claus, but every once in awhile I get this feeling that the world may, in certain moments, exist solely to bring two individuals crazy love... such a delicate balance. I have yet to witness this so called crazy-love on campus. And has anyone noticed the parent-like kiss BYU heads pass?? Honestly, if my husband was going to be stuck in class for 5 hours I’d give up a hecka lot more than a peck to hold him over. 5 hours is tough!! Stop pecking, you aren’t birds. I’m not trying to thump the idea of being married in college. Honestly, I think it’s the greatest suggestion ever. But I wonder if those living the idea think it so grand? They don’t act like it, and it’s giving me little to look forward to. Where’s the passion kids!?! Maybe they save it all for Wymount, who knows?! Urban Legend: Paul witnessed a woah-kiss in front of the MOA. Crazy art kids, good for them!! Call me an advocate for P.D.A. but if you’re going to be together for an eternity at least act like you enjoy each other. And set the example for underclassmen! We are the future BYU heads, after all. Ya know what, don’t listen to me. I have Relationship A.D.D. making me a very un-creditable source.
Crazy Love
"Seaside gusts of wind, And a house in which we don’t live, And the shadow of a cherished cedar In front of a forbidden window… Perhaps there is someone in this world To whom I could send all these lines. Well then! Let the lips smile bitterly And a tremor touch the heart again." -Anna Akhmatova
BYU-tylicious?
This is hilarious... An excerpt from Brett's blog: Anyway, about an hour before the dance ended, a dance group up front started booing the DJ. Well, the DJ simply turned off the music and gave them a little lecture that went something like this: "You guys need to stop taking your anger about the bad music out on me. I'm under restrictions on what I can play and have to play appropriate music. And you, the group right in front, especially need to stop because you are the reason I have to play this bad music: to keep you from dancing dirty. So knock it off. If you don't like it leave.'' EXACTLY why I don't go to the dances here. They just aren't ready for this jelly.
“…and you’re tearing up the photos cause you want to forget.”
I actually wrote this quite awhile ago, but there is a present-day follow up included in the end... So I have this shoebox and it’s filled with all the things I’d like to forget. My question is this: What does one do with such a box. It doesn’t belong in Utahopia, definitely not. However, if I were to ship it back to from whence it came I would have to waste five dollars of my precious college savings on an object that I despise. Another alternative: Burn the sucker. Torch it and watch it go. The flaw here is the law of conservation; although this dreadful piece of Matter (haha did anyone else get that?) would be burnt to stubble it would still exist and take up precious Utahopia space. Also this would cause some effort on my part and pocket (the price of matches is steep these days), not to the mention risk of violating a city ordinance or two. So my final option is to throw the thing on the top shelf in the back of my closet. Very little effort, minimal cost. It IS existing as a flawed object in a perfect place, but a dark, dusty corner of perfection is almost as demeaning as a sunny spot of landfill. There is only one problem with this arrangement (which happens to be the current position of the shoebox). Each and every time my friends and I decide to go tunnel singing in our perfect bubble I run to grab my D.T. issued blanket (think homeless-style) which just so happens to cohabitate with the awful shoebox on the cluttered top shelf of my closet. And every time I hurriedly grab the blanket (as not to be late for my very important date) my hand grazes that brown and gray shoebox. And I remember all the things I want to forget (what can I say; I’m an elephant… when prompted). I stop what I’m doing, sit on my bed and hate the entire male gender. And I contemplate a bonfire or perhaps packaging paper complete with stamps and bubble wrap (wait…no bubble wrap. He’s sooo not worth it) but I only leave with a slightly less than perfect feeling in a perfect place. (And I know that the fact that I took time to write this shows effort, but if the effort is to make you feel bad for making me feel bad then it’s justifiable. P.S. I hate you.) The follow up: Since... my roommate and I dedicated an eve to the destroying of our shoe boxes (highly liberating). Pieces of glass are embedded in the DT grass five stories down; remnants of the snow globe that "committed suicide." All the scented letters and photographs from years past have moved on to bigger and better things...the dumpster, serving their new purpose as confetti. The book of poems was thrown into the D.I. box...might as well give the less fortunate a chance at French Love. The necklace stayed behind...all that’s left. I threw it in the D.I. box as well but they didn't accept it (I wouldn’t either if I were them). So it remains there...but I've never stopped to notice.
Who needs the stars anyway?
Jilly forgot her cell phone. Despite our love for Jill Catts none of us dared to turn back around for another 5 block walk. My own legs weary, my cheeks numbingly cold, caused me to volunteer the Mazda. We made our way, all 6 of us, to the NC Boys’ house. We played the music loud, rolled the windows down, and I know, in that moment, we were all subconsciously grateful for Jill’s forgetfulness…One more minute of fun, one more minute of being nineteen and carefree. In our blithe Blake and Taylor noticed the Mazda’s supreme feature, the sunroof. Blake instantaneously pressed the black button. I watched in horror as a moonlit sky half-filled my car. Jenny shared my dreadful view, for she knew the story behind the sunroof. “NO!!!! Stop!!!” she yelled. Blake was greatly confused by her intense request. He asked why. Her eyes danced from Blake to me; my cue. “Well, it’s broken. Once you open it, you will never be able to close it again.” He apologized and hit the neighboring twin button. “Look Gerthie, it closed.” Taylor laughed, “See, with the priesthood you can do things impossible!” It was weird for him to weave our religion into such an apparently trivial matter…weird enough for Jenny to throw a nervous glance in my direction. The boys emptied out of the car, we had reached our destination, and Jilly had her phone. The sunroof was closed but that didn’t keep Jenny and me from examining it. Of course, no one else had noticed. Why would they? They don’t know the story. And for some reason I grew very glad that I had told Jenny, for I had someone to share the burdens of my past with. She saw it all just as I did, not only the priesthood could close a dead sunroof but also the hand of a young boy who wanted to show a girl just how very sorry he was. Too bad she never got it... not until now. You were my Libo.
Ender and Valentine
The quiet things that no one ever knows: My sleepless mind tried its best to understand why my mother would call three times and text twice before the clock hit 8. When I realized that three times warrants an emergency of the sort, I called back with slurred morning speech and sleep filled eyes. My mother’s voice was urgent. She needed a tow-truck, which equals “What is our Triple A membership number.” Sometimes I feel like I’m the parent…oh well. So I tried my best to voice it over. I asked what had happen. Apparently my wonderful brother went psycho on her Mazda, and left it for dead under a bypass. I asked a rhetorical question (this is the 5th car he has wrecked, including my dad’s truck), why would he do that? Apparently, he was on some pretty hard drugs. Ones they don’t teach you about in health class. (I didn’t fully comprehend, at Christmas my brother had cleaned up.) By now, my mom was sobbing into the receiver and I was wide awake. She summarized my brother’s dramatic monologue, “He said you were my favorite. And Dad’s favorite. And he said he hated you and he can’t be perfect like you.”(She always tells me more than I’d like to hear.) My heart broke. I wanted to scream at him, but I knew if I called profanities would be aplenty. I hate profanities. :( So, now it’s 8 something and I have a battery acid taste in my mouth. Sleep is only a nice thought. Just give me one more day, Matthew, and then I’ll come rescue you. Moral of the story: Don’t do drugs; you’ll make your little sister cry.
Pen-Pal
His letters are always laced with inside jokes, and drawings of fat men who I’ll supposedly marry or crazy-haired old ladies. We don’t write about music or love; very different from our normal conversation. Nevertheless, even the mundane everyday things seem significantly important. Most notably, in these letters we have an opportunity to discuss the religion that I love, the one he’s giving a pair of years of life to. For this he is my hero. I miss my argumentative friend (You can’t say things like that to missionaries, only words of encouragement.) I hadn’t realized that Dano by my own definition had morphed into my best friend. It must have happened in-between Red vs. Blue episodes or late night conversations on breaking molds or perhaps the reciting of Brand New lyrics…oh number 11. I have only one regret in regard to my first semester of life. I gave silent treatment to someone who will probably never deserve it. It prevented a real goodbye…or at least postponed it for two years. Even still, he calls me HIS hero; an endlessly amazing compliment. Even still, I was to be granted the James Dean poster!!!!! “I was gonna let you borrow my James Dean poster for 2 years, but then you got mad at me and we didn’t talk…but I was gonna do that so we’d be sure to meet up in 2 years!” I had won the James Dean poster…sad day.
Commercials...to be continued
Wooing the consumer…it’s an ever-growing enterprise. Even entertaining in small portions. But there aren’t too many Daryn-Mr.Tate masterpieces satisfying the seven o’clock Sunday spots. So here’s my take on your-favorite-sitcom-interrupters. Today’s
Commy (no association with those crazy Russians)
Award...
Most Fowl: The Lysol Disinfectant. A mother sends her 2 little darlings on their way clad with brown paper bags and backpacks. She scans the debris looking for the best way to clean up her muddle. How crazy can you get with PBandJ but apparently she couldn’t keep it on the bread. So she grabs a Scotchbrite and starts scrubbing away…it magically turns into a raw chicken leg. How she doesn’t notice this I DO NOT KNOW. And she doesn’t stop with the post-lunch making mess, no no. She gives the refrigerator, counter tops, and cabinets the official mom scrub down…all with salmonella’s haven of a tool. Any way…they got the point across. But I didn’t eat chicken for a week…poultry, it’s always the scapegoat I’m surprised the likes of Tyson foods aren’t laying the smack down.
We now take this moment to hear a word from our sponsors…
Skipping Birthdays
I put down the lid on my Physical Science book and leaped onto my featherbed. Just as I was about to envision dancing sugar plums I realized that I had failed to set my alarm. So, I grabbed my cell phone and started plugging in the dreadful hour of 9 a.m. I double checked the date (just in case). It’s funny what memories a simple 12 and 4 mixed with a few backslashes can impose on you. I thought of how the clock was striking 3 in the old Vern and silently wished that the silent treaty was gone…just for one night. Half tempted to text him a Happy Birthday; I settled for a Dashboard song, some things will always be so impossible. This isn’t the first time I thought about his birthday or how he forgot mine. I woke up early this morning and called every friend I had left in the state of Indiana, begging them to do what one who is 1600 miles away could not…decorate his locker. This is a childish tradition that continues to stir up guilt inside of me (I skipped the act last year because of a similar silent treaty). Unfortunately (or perhaps it WAS fortunate), no one was available and I left it at that. After all, we haven’t spoken in 3 months; it would be ridiculous to go out of my way for him. But nevertheless, he has been my best (yet worst) buddy since the 10th grade. (And if you are thinking: Woo, 3-year-old-friendship, like that’s worth a penny, realize…) It’s not that he’s been my best friend for the past 3 years; it’s that he will be my best friend for the next 62. Even if we don’t speak but once from now til then. Unwritten rules override silent treaties…Happy Birthday Matt Rice.
It's like a four day apocalypse
Desolate, barren, bleak, abandoned, deserted, vacant…T-Hall at the moment. I’m one of only two 5th floor girls “left behind” for the holidays. Sad day, sad day. Now I know why people get so depressed around the Holidays, they just want to get home to their families! I’ll have to wait yet another year for G-Ma’s scrumptulicious Stove Top. In the mean time I get to roam the corridors aimlessly looking for civilization, I swear I get more and more like the Hulk every day. Well…I haven’t inherited his fearless quality yet, that’s for sure. I went to wash my face and I SWEAR I heard the a-a-a-a-a-a inhuman noise coming from the bathtub. I mean DT bathtubs are scary enough as is but when you throw in sound effects from the Grudge...lets just say I didn’t bother to double rinse. So now that I’ve turned my music waaaay up and wrapped two blankets around myself I think it’s safe to try and get some sleep. But I’m so leaving the medusa lamp on tonight…its amber glow is somewhat comforting. Song of the Day: Can’t Touch This by M.C. Hammer
Ok, I like this one better!
It's just a really good story...and it's all about your story.
The Really Good Story
From Darwin's Blog
I found this and I like it:
"...you are the words i speak, and food i eat, the water that i drink...you the shampoo i wash my hair with, and the make up i unnecessarily put on every day...you are the pillow i lay my head on...the blanket that i cover myself with...you are the love that i feel every day."
(simple, but true)
What If
The old couple lay in their bed dying, one cold February night. The old man turns to his wife and says, "If I had to go back and do it all over again, I'd pick you to do it all over with. I'd still pick you."
Maybe somewhere right now this is being passed from one grayed soulmate to another. But I worry that it is said all too little and meant even less. Because who dies in love but those who are young? Who really loves the same person their entire life and actually has the opportunity...no, no, the
privilege to spend all their 80 something years with the only person they've ever truly wanted? I can't help but think that my mother wouldn't pick her fiancee at the end of the day but rather my father, and would my grandmother only pick my grandfather because she knew no other? And would I only pick
my husband because I'd feel
guilty not to?
Future Next Door Neighbors:
I love Bryana Dee!!!
Ode to Sad but Insignificant Memories
I have no idea why the topic of nonchalant sad moments brought me out of my bed in the dead of night to this computer…but alas, here I am and here they are.
Age 9: I was hanging from the high bar for what seemed like hours in that hell hole called Gym Kids. I was not allowed to drop from the bar until I had mastered 20 pull-ups. Each time I dropped I was forced to restart my count and continue until completion. I had already dropped twice; my total count was of course well over 20 (I say screw consecutiveness even to this day) and the team was waiting for me and only me to move on with the conditioning. It was then I began to cry, one of the only times I’ve ever cried in gymnastics. I cried for 15 minutes before that Hitler-in-her-former-life-coach let me drop.
Age 13: Cheer camp…it’s usually a pretty joyous occasion. Lots of yelling, lots of laughing, and boy do we got spirit. Yes we do… my new best friend Bryana and I decided to bunk together that year. We got along great and we’re having a blast until I hit a T and knocked a diet Coke off Bry’s dresser. The Goofy pillow got the bulk of it; I think this is the only time Bryana has been at me in person. But we survived. I still feel horrible though…poor Goofy.
Age 15: My 6th grade crush said I was like a sister to him…doesn’t even need commentary.
Age 17: I went to Carmi, Illinois to watch my boyfriend play in a tournament. I had brought Bry’s little sister with me as Bry’s support system while she cheered. On the way out something happened with the locks in my car, oh that’s right, my key couldn’t turn them. And so we were left in Illinois for a couple of hours because my dad never came to pick us up. Finally Bry’s parents came to the rescue… and I think our team lost that night too.
Age 19: I was macking with this guy when all of the sudden he stopped kissing me back. Confused, I asked what was wrong. And he said something to the effect of, what’s the point we’re not getting anywhere. Yeah, my heart broke in 5, maybe 6 places.
Age 20: I was driving down the highway in Indiana, going 55 in a 55. A mini-van was riding my bumper…no idea whhhy she didn’t just pass me. After about 3 minutes of her up in my business she grew a brain and joined the left-laners. As she did, she threw me a violent glare; one only a 30-something soccer mom could possess and gave me the finger…so unexpected.
Family Tying
Last night, I sat across the long dining room table from Carrie Knarian-McDonald and Shani Jolly. We were eating our Christmas feast and each of these two older cousins nudged and dug at their food discussing what should and shouldn’t be consumed. You might think they were on a diet…I guess that’s somewhat true. Both Carrie and Shani are pregnant...by the way lunchmeat is a big no-no if you are with child. I could contribute little to the conversation not even just because I’m -65 months along but because our family grew apart along time ago leaving my ties with them somewhat... how shall i put it... frayed. As I listened to them babble on about names and leading baby care brands I thought back to my earliest memory with the two of them. I was five in my Aunt Debbie’s van. My mom and aunt were up front in the captain chairs and the three of us girls were on the back seat that was folded down to make a bed. We were heading home from a gymnastics meet in Ohio, I was sitting patiently on the floor of the vehicle as my two older cousins weaved Kleenex’s into my hair. I remember my tender head throbbed from their pulls but almost gladly enduring the pain to be apart of my cousins’ experiment. My rag rolled hair was taken out the next day…and it was a job well done for two 10 year olds. None of us had sisters and so we claimed each other in these moments. When I came back to a conversation of due date miscalculations, I missed them. That’s the worst, to miss them when they are right there in front of you. I wish I could have asked them to rag roll my hair.
Major Prayer
The Holidays are stressful. Every ounce of my stress has been generated from the BYU TMA department. I printed out 20 pages of criteria and prequisites for my college's film school. I have great ambitions to become a screenplay writer so I began the tedious process at 11 a.m. this morning and haven't stopped yet. I didn't explain to my stepmother that I was watching Hoop Dreams and Eyes on the Prize (Civil Rights) for my major, leaving her to guess that I was in fact getting in touch with my African American roots. Fo sho. I began to consider my 3 minute creative project and came up with a few ideas. After finding a perfect story complete with wit and humor I developed a story board and rough draft script. I was very excited to share it with my dad, sure that he would think I was riot and be proud of his comedic daughter. When I was finished with the reading, chuckling at my own hilariousness, his face remained unchanged. Mine didn't. I looked at him harshly and exclaimed, "What!? You didn't think that was funny! Why aren't you laughing?" He told me no and that I needed to work out alot more kinks attempting to offer some advice that would no doubt change the entire meaning of my story. I stood dumbfounded, still convinced I had my golden ticket to success in hand. He announced he was going to bed and that we needed to have a family prayer. So we all bowed our heads and he thanked God for our comfortable home and the great food we were able to eat and he blessed my stepmom that she would finish crunching her numbers at a decent hour and he blessed me that I may write a GOOD story to help me get into the TMA program. It was about then I opened my eyes.
No Hot Water
Day 1: Woke up at 2 p.m. Took a cold shower…not by preference. Listened to the Song of Rebellion and felt better about life. Drove to Evansville discovering the ex’s vehicle at the local tanning salon on the way and thought it was gay (gay like that accidental rhyme of mine). Turned the music up louder and ended up in the painting section of Hobby Lobby. Bought and left. Said hi to Mom, Matthew, and Sparky. Did my best not to judge the new bf. Went to the lib for inspiration…didn’t find much of anything. Ate at Tequillas with Dad. Texted with Jase who finally broke up with his gf (YES!). Got scared. Called Jill. Watched Never Been Kissed. Thought of my no kissing goal, but didn’t reconsider. Reviewed my mundane Indiana day…
Aeroplanes
I always get embarrassed with myself when I blog what I really feel. These are the types of things you share with your friends. I have friends, great ones in fact; but I can’t force myself to be entirely real with anyone or anything but paper (in this case my little 14 by 12 screen). I flew into Indiana today, I was more excited to go to the Turtle Soup Festival in Troy, Indiana at age 12 than I was to come back home for Christmas ...it feels like blasphemy calling Mt.Vernon home. I love flying and I hate flying. I love it simply because for those few hours in the air I value my life and am grateful for each passing second I am granted for fear that it will end with a large gust of wind…a total The Life You Save May Be Your Own complex. I hate it because for those few hours I’m valuing my life I’m deliberating all of the what ifs a twenty year old brain possesses. I have one big what if. It will stay with me for the rest of my life discounting every new experience I will have. Being here emphasizes the supremacy of that what if all the more. And what is hell really, but every what if you’ve ever had massed together into a chaotic state of emotional torment. I’ll walk around this town with my eyes closed, clad in my bullet proof vest.
Me and Orson!!
Lost
My internet is down...I don't even know for how long but after two days I've gone beyond withdrawal. And then I'm addicted to LOST. Hit TV show about a plane crash that landed 48 survivors smack dab in the middle of an uncharted paradise. Too bad they are never going to get off the island. Anyway, my roommates and I are tantalized beyond all measure. We've been huddled around the TV for the past 24 hours, trying our eyes, frying our brains, seeing how many consecutive episodes we can watch before we explode and then we did explode(Don't worry, we take bathroom and food breaks. Those who block the TV or talk too loudly are escorted to the door of the apartment.)... Yesterday in our Lost-Madness-haste we nearly burned down our apartment. The smoke...yes it was billowing. Anyway, all is well and we even learned a valuable lesson from the matter. Brownies don't cook faster on the stove-top...matter of fact, they don't cook at all. They simply explode. Thank the Lord for home-teachers. Watch LOST, it's fantastic and worthy of explosion.
My Room
Ode to Orson
That's right, Friends. I will be meeting the literary genius (AKA my favorite writer ever!!!), Orson Scott Card, on September 16th. One word...FANTASTIC. What would you ask someone brilliant like Orson?
Worst Ending Ever!!
I got a little obsessed with Dawson's Creek this summer. The library has a limited selection of media, besides I'm a sucker for teen romance. I ended up falling in love with the show. Enough to watch the entire first and second seasons, all that the library had to offer. I almost snuck a peak online to see what was to come in seasons 3,4,5, and finally 6. But I held out hoping that one day I'd grow rich and be able to buy the entire box set of all episodes. So yesterday I was killing time with my family in an area Target before my flight back to Utah. I went looking for a vid to watch on the plane. I don't believe in fate, but I struck gold...the series finale. The FINAL episode of Dawson's Creek. At last I'd know if Dawson got the girl. It was plane time aka time for an ending to this little melodrama. But of course my laptop battery died leaving me the rest of the flight to think of who I'd make my last call to should the plane crash. It didn't...So after a day of unpacking, socializing, and eating it was finally time to know. Does he get the girl? After an hour and a half of soap opera quality drama Joey sits Dawson down and tells him after a 5 year absence that she loves him. And he OF COURSE replies with the same regard. She then confesses that they are soulmates, always have been and will be eternally. More than friends, more than lovers, but two perfectly corresponding souls. And then she picks PACEY!!?!?!? She actually picked the other guy!?! WHY?! Seriously, this disturbs me, I can't even say, "Hah well that's Hollywood" because they made it like real life! I need some serious Damien Rice for this one...
1600 Miles To Go
Ok you know what I don’t get? I HATE Indiana…I swear I do. I mean it’s swamp-ugly and I can count the literate tasteful people on one hand, maybe two on a good day. So whhyyyyy does the lump in my throat grow to the size of a small chia pet whenever I’m about to leave this so-called home? Makes no sense to me, must be a subconscious thing. Anyway, I always get that oh-gosh-did-you-check-under-both-beds-and-the-corners-I-forgot-something feeling. Yeah but it’s magnified, like the size of Russia. So what is it that I’m forgetting? Maybe me…
Airport Scene Music
Busy being oh so obsessed with Loro by Pinback.
For All Ears
It looks like someone puked on my blog. I hope everyone remembers when it was all cute and ocean-friendly, in the meantime expect serious renovation. Now, back to the business of the blog. At the beginning of the summer I decided that no matter how much Indiana was bound to let me down I wouldn't leave here without something to show for myself (is it obvious I've been watching way too much Dawson's Creek?). So I have a list, I've been working on it for the past couple of months. My Top 100 Favorite Songs in No Specific Order...
- Cute Without the E- Taking Back Sunday
- Wonderwall (acoustic)- Oasis
- Konstantine- Something Corporate
- Remember to Breathe- Dashboard Confessional
- Strange and Beautiful- Aqualung
- Jude Law and a Semester Abroad- Brand New
- Existentialism on Prom Night- Straylight Run
- Sound of Settling- Death Cab for Cutie
- Crazy Love- Van Morrison feat. Bob Dylan
- Anything- Third Eye Blind
- Fever Dream- Iron and Wine
- Landlocked Blues- Bright Eyes
- Greatest Fall- Matchbook Romance
- Age Six Racer- Dashboard Confessional
- Ironic- Alanis Morissette
- Mr.Brightside- The Killers
- A Lack of Color- Death Cab for Cutie
- Hurricane- Something Corporate
- Anne Disaster- Ben Kweller
- Play Crack the Sky- Brand New
- Great Romances of the 20th Century- Taking Back Sunday
- Sea and the Rythm- Iron and Wine
- Deep Inside- Third Eye Blind
- The First Day of My Life- Bright Eyes
- Sweet Melissa- Allman Brothers
- Screaming Infidelities- Dashboard Confessional
- A Long Goodnight- The Scaries
- The District Sleeps Alone- The Postal Service
- Used to Be Friends- Dandy Warhols
- Sic Transit Gloria- Brand New
- She Paints Me Blue- Something Coporate
- Death of an Interior Designer- Death Caab for Cutie
- So Impossible- Dashboard Confessional
- Black Balloon- Goo Goo Dolls
- So Last Summer- Taking Back Sunday
- Naked As We Came- Iron and Wine
- The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot- Brand New
- Miss Misery- Elliot Smith
- Only One for Me- Brian McKnight
- Grey Sky Morning- Vertical Horizon
- All Good Things- Count the Stars
- Sadie Hawkins Dance- Relient K
- In Other Words- Ben Kweller
- Lover I Don't Have to Love- Bright Eyes
- Brilliant Dance- Dashboard Confessional
- Nothing to Write- Mock Orange
- Such Great Heights- Iron and Wine
- Blowers Daughter- Damien Rice
- Everything Reminds Me of Her- Elliot Smith
- Oh, You Are the Roots that Sleep Beneath My Feet- Bright Eyes
- Can't Stop- Red Hot Chili Peppers
- Last Living Boy in New York- Simon and Garfunkel
- Sugar, We're Going Down- Fall Out Boy
- Soco Amaretto Lime- Brand New
- Pictures- Count the Stars
- February 15th- Bright Eyes
- Wish You Were Here- Incubus
- Last Chance to Lose Your Keys- Brand New
- Down- Something Corporate
- Semi Charmed Life- Third Eye Blind
- Uninvited- Alanis Morissette
- Somebody That I Used to Know- Elliot Smith
- Future Freaks Me Out- Motion City Soundtrack
- Title and Registration- Death Cab for Cutie
- Living in Your Letters- Dashboard Confessional
- Mistakes We Knew We Were Making- Straylight Run
- Saving Myself- Count Stars
- So Long, So Long- Dashboard Confessional
- Quiet Things that Noone Ever Knows- Brand New
- Fond Farewell- Elliot Smith
- How's It Gonna Be- Third Eye Blind
Yeah so download them all, because I can almost guarantee that no matter the situation you may be in, it will be bettered by anyone of these odes.
