Happy Leap Year.
I don't think that statement deserved an exclamation point. Yes, it's a day that only comes around once every four years, but it involves no gifts or vacations, but instead a bunch of math, ancient leaders, space and time. Pretty much everything I consider inconsequential. (just joking).
I learned today that the 29th of February is used every four years, as long as that year is divisible by 100 but not by 400. In other words, 2000 had a 29th of February, but 1900 did not ... wait, does that make sense? Maybe I misunderstood. Anyway, that proves my point about the math.
It used to be (as in, back in the day when men wore white dresses) that February 29th didn't count as a day at all. Everyone just lived a day and pretended like it didn't happen. For example, this year I would've lived on the 28th and called it Thursday. Then, I would've lived through the 29th, but it wouldn't be called the 29th and it also wouldn't be Friday. After the "day" was complete, it would be March 1st, a Friday. Yeah, I don't think I'd be able to handle that. 
Leap year. I don't even think it's cool to know people who were born on February 29th. I mean, it was a novelty in elementary school when my friend could say she was only 2 or 3 because she had only celebrated her birthday on her actual birthday that many times. It boggled my mind. Now, I'm cynical, tired, and I think we have too many funky days that have to get attention for no good reason except that it gives life something extra when we have nothing worth while to absorb our time. 
(Christmas, Thanksgiving, July 4th and December 8th are not some of those extra days. They are definitely needed.)


What would the world be with the writing? Literature? The ability to express yourself in words and sentences that have been constructed with thought, rather than blurted out in the heat of the moment? It would be a dreadful place, that's what the world would be. 
I admire those who are good at math, who excel at computer science, who find bugs fascinating and the guts of the human body beautiful. I admire them mostly out of gratitude because they are taking on the responsibility of jobs I would rather not do. But I also pity them. They are not inclined to the written word, to expression, to delving into the mind and coming out with things inherently known and loved, but not described, expounded or given to the world to learn from. Now, I know all professions have the opportunity to give the world new information, but only a select few give information that is technically new, but in actuality is a reminder of things already known, an explanation of things going on inside one's head, a description of the wonders of imagination and knowledge swimming around inside the brain, wanting desperately to get out but only be allowed to if the person harboring the knowledge writes it down for the external world to see. Without that, we are alone, left to our own thoughts. We are left to try and tell others through the spoken word what we think, feel, know, imagine, hope for. But will they sit and listen? Will you make sense? How many will you get the chance to talk to? How will you keep track of what you've said, what you'd like to say, and how you are developing? Writing. Writing is the answer. The magnificent pen and paper that is one of the greatest inventions and blessings we as human beings have received. Words are beautiful. They gain strength, power, credibility, and more beauty when they are written, pondered on, and developed into greater things and kept for people now and those people to come. 


Ah, the wonders of creativity-- or in my case, boredom and random luck with cameras and editing programs.
p.s. From now on, look under "photography" on the right-hand side of the page for more photographs. 


I'm not gonna lie. I'm really excited for this movie to come out (on the 29th of February). And yes, it is mostly due to the fact that James McAvoy stars in it. Watch the trailer here.


I got a typewriter. It's amazing. It's not fancy, it's not even aesthetically pleasing, but I love it. My fingers are sore from pounding on the keys and I've only had it for six hours. I'm sure grateful for computers, but man, I sure do love the old school technology. Typewriters, old sewing machines, SLR film cameras, I love them all. (Don't wory MacBook and iPod, I love you too.)

Becoming Jane

This movie is amazing. I don't care how it ends. In fact, I think that's why I like it so much. It rips your heart out. It pulls emotion from your chest and makes you feel more alive--ironically, since it simultaneously rips the life from your body. 
Every girl dreams of those things portrayed in the film. Of having a boy love you so much he starts to cry at the thought of not having you. Who grabs your hand if you stand to leave. To have a boy say, "I'm yours." To get shivers when you touch his hand. To live for nothing else except to write and to love. Oh, how I wish for that. Oh how I wish my life was like a movie. Except, of course, I'd change the end of this movie for my own life so that I grew old with him instead of seeing him 30 years later, married to another and discovering he named his daughter after me. Ahhh, Hollywood. The wonders they create with fiction and the false hopes the place in girls' hearts.


  • Regina Spektor's "Fidelity" is a good walking song.
  • There are people who are so freakishly similar to me, I can't help but like them instantly.
  • Victory is sweet when you're on the winning side.
  • Movies are not real life, and never will be. Unless it's a documentary.
  • The government isn't evil, just those who run it.
  • Valentine's Day is lame when you don't have a boyfriend.


Last night I had a dream that I died. It was not sad. It was not painful. In fact, it was quite enjoyable. Don't misunderstand me. I actually did not dream about the act of dying, rather, well, let me tell you like this:
I was with my brother Thomas and my friend Stevie. We were on a plane. For some reason, the plane needed to perform an emergency landing. The female captain explained what was going to happen, and moments later, from a third-person point of view, I saw the landing gear pop out of the plane. I say "pop" because it was two of those giant, yellow, inflatable slides that usually come out after a crash landing. I was then back inside the plane and quite excited for this strange turn of events. All was well until I was again shot back to the ground to witness the plane start to spin out of control and simultaneously transform into a rocket. It hurtled toward earth with increasing speed and I knew the end was near. I sat back in my chair, told my brother I loved him, and waited to see a white light--or a huge explosion and my ligaments flying in different directions. 
Luckily, my mind was not feeling particularly morbid, or creative, last night, so I was spared the carnage. Instead, I was transported to my bedroom. I was sitting on my bed, watching a couple old friends looking at Facebook. My mom had gotten onto my account, changed the heading and background to some American-flag-patriotic-junk and informed all of my friends in broken English that was more like jibberish, that I was no longer with them. I was sitting right there, I felt very alive, and had a bloody, bandaged arm to prove my mortality. I even talked to my friends. They didn't seem too taken-aback by the fact that I was reportedly dead, yet sitting next to them. 
I looked on my Facebook wall to see all the notes of condolences and was quite pleased to see how popular I was--when dead. I then became ecstatic at the idea of being able to listen in on my funeral and then, after they'd forgotten about me, go visit my ancestors who I'm sure were anxiously waiting to meet me in heaven. But I wasn't dead. So, although people on earth still talked like I was, I wasn't going to be able to see my ancestors quite yet. 
I became very sad and anxious at the end of this dream. Although it wasn't quite clear how alive I was, I thought my life was over. I hadn't gotten married, I didn't have any kids. I was alone. No one dead to talk to, and no one on earth who would date someone who was presumed dead. It was a very lonely state indeed. 
I recommend to any and all who are planning on dying, do so completely. Half-death is no life at all, and neither is it death. I don't know how zombies do it. No wonder they're so angry.


People I love first and foremost:
My Heavenly Father and Savior and the Holy Ghost
Mom and Dad
Gabe, Anna, Devon, Sarah, Deon, Dillan, Kelsey, Ben, Thomas and Catherine
Brianna, Hayden, Tucker, Charlie, Conner, Aurora, Spencer, Mason, Scotty, the twins.
Stevie, Carly and Erin
Krystin, James, BJ, Thom
(others, many others, who would be listed here if I didn't fear leaving someone off...)

People I need to learn to love:
Hillary Clinton
John McCain
Mike Huckabee
The Parking Authority people
Provo housing managements

Note the last two on this list. Believe me when I say, there is a special place in Hell for them. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.
this is a boot, because parking authority people boot my friends' cars and i want to kill them--not my friends, the booters. and when i say "kill" i really mean curse under my breath and use very forceful language towards ... or maybe kill with kindness? we all know that's a lie, but i'll try to make it a reality. forgiveness. forgiveness. forgiveness.


this is fitting for many of the relationships/friendships (guys and girls) that i've had recently...


I am easily discouraged when it comes to journalism. If someone is rude to me, I seriously have to keep myself from crying because of their unnecessary rudeness. I don't even want to be a reporter! I just want to talk to people and get to know them for them, and not for a story. And then, I want to write stories; short stories, long stories, stories with beginnings and endings and that have really creative word usage and sentence structure that you don't have to OK with your editor before it's published in less than 24-hours for the world to see and criticize. That's not what I want to do. Why can't I get a degree in creative writing and ASL, two things I love, and make money from it? Oh how I wish I could.

Oh, Happy Birthday Kelsey. :o)


I don't know if being a journalist will be beneficial to my photography aspirations, or detrimental. I get to meet the people, go to the events and witness the news, but I'm expected to record it in text, not in images. Indeed, it would seem journalist are seen as incapable at taking good photographs, thus why they write and do not shoot. That is why I'm going into photojournalism, the best of both worlds ... or just not good enough at either field to stick with only that? Junk. 


I came upon this band while wasting time on Facebook. Awesome. Totally my kind of music--it being a indie-folk conglomeration. Thoughtful lyrics, soothing vocals and great music to back it all up. 


I started this blog with the best of intentions. As in, I wanted it to be my thoughts on life and situations, and not so much a MySpace with a bunch of junk no one really cares about. But that's the irony in this situation -- well, one of the ironies. You see, people seem to care more about material things, about fashion and objects, then they do about the human mind and its capabilities. Thus, my blog is deemed boring and is uncared for by others. But other blogs which have pictures of new and exciting things, things that they love and are looking forward to, those are the blogs people appreciate. I guess I could be bitter about that, but really, the visual aids and the thoughts that accompany them provide greater insight into the human mind than my silly rants. So, after a long explanation, I conclude with this: I will no longer strictly post my "deep" thoughts. That's not who I am, plus it's boring. :o) So there ya go. I'm venturing into the norm, into conformity, but I like conformity most of the time. It's often a very comfortable place to be.