I used to hate the mornings. I hated getting up. I hated feeling groggy. I hated how sore my body felt as I moved my legs slowly out from underneath the covers as if they were lead weights instead of skin and bones (and some more skin, and thicker bones...) I've learned, however, that morning is the most inspiring part of the day. To me it is when the air is cleanest, the light is prettiest, the world is still sleeping and I have a jump start on them all. It used to be that nighttime was my favorite time to think and to write because it was like I had a leg-up on the world as they had all gone to bed but I was still awake and stealing all their ideas before they could even think them.
Two of my invisitble classmates just became visible--and they're friends--and they're talking. My morning just lost some of its splendor. Jerks.
And then, this morning, what should I happen across on my morning stroll through my favorite blogs but a picture of THIS!
The rest of my dream had to do with Polynesians throwing a party and asking if whites were racist against them. I was trying to clean up some of the party but they just gave me dirty looks and told me that wasn't part of their culture--as in, they didn't clean up until they were done talking and stuff, so I should chill out. I had to use their bathroom but the toilet was freaking out and dumping water over the edge so I was soaked with toilet water and still had to pee.
Oh, and then, I went into another part of the house (this is the same house with the canvas paintings on the outside) where they had these huge pieces of art. There were some art historians there looking for clues to figure out if some long-lost queen of Arabia was really a man or something. I wanted to help but I also wanted all the credit, so I looked over and saw this huge orange dragon sculpture made out of malleable foam rocking back and forth, revealing a large tunnel way inside it. I distracted the art historians with some Native American beaded rug and went with some random lady down the tunnel (she must have been one of the historians since she was wearing a Indiana Jones hat and khaki pants). She went first, barely escaping the closing jaws of the dragon sculpture. I tried several times unsuccessfully to get down, but I got caught. Seeing as it was foam, it didn't hurt, but I was pretty well stuck. I felt like I was at Jumpin' Jacks on the kid's obstacle course, trying to squeeze myself through the last blow-up tunnel to get to the outside. Anyway, the art historians were unimpressed by the bead blanket so they came to mock me. Oddly enough, I got through and looked back up at them and they didn't care to follow me. Apparently they'd already searched that foam dragon.
I guess I have weird dreams like this when I sleep for 10 hours. Huh.
I love my sisters.
Deon: Because you give good dating advice, throw the best parties, love your husband and boys even when they're bugging the snot out of you, are adventurous, and are always showing people you care by talking with them--strangers and family alike. I wish I could do that. You look at situations from other people's perspectives and are very forgiving.
Kelsey: Because you feed me --all the time, you tell hilarious stories about your kids, let me talk and talk about silly things, are thoughtful at unexpected times which always seem to come at the best times--for me and others. That's a trait I need to develop. You sacrifice your time and wants for others without a second thought...or at most a third...or fourth thought. Ha ha.
Catherine: Because you are without guile, sweet and observant of others' feelings, yet you are feisty and would knife anyone who threatened those you love. You are practically my twin, yet my opposite, so we love doing the same stuff but also get each to do things we usually wouldn't. Life would be miserable without you and germs would be running rampant.
"Twilight" came out on video (well, DVD. Sorry, I'm a 90s kid) on Saturday. I've watched it twice already plus the bonus features. Most of the deleted scenes are ridiculous and it's clear why they were deleted. But the extended scenes? Man, they should have left those in. You actually witness Bella's personality--as in, she smiles and laughs and acts like a teenager. Can you imagine being her or worse, being around her, for more than the length of a movie? I can think of several things that would be much more pleasant. The list would start with "Taking a shower for the rest of my life with dog slobber" and end with "Being lethally injected with an unsterile needle." Yes, even death would be more pleasant that spending eternity with that mind-numbingly boring insult to the human race.
I don't know if I'd have the patience to get to know someone for five years before marrying them, but they have the right idea. A kid in my ward has been dating his girlfriend for 4 weeks, known her for about 6, and already bought the ring. Uh, that means that he's probably seen her PMSing once, and who knows if that was just a good month. Plus, they have only known each other in the spring--who is grumpy and depressed during spring? They are still infatuated with each other! They might "know it's right" and I believe them, but that doesn't mean their marriage won't be filled with more problems because they didn't take the time to work through pet-peeves or learn to deal with her depression or his extreme nerdiness before their living with each other. And Heaven forbid either of them have an anger problem.
BYU is full of these quick marriages, and that's scary. Especially when these couples have children so quickly too. After listening to many married couples and also hearing advice from professors, counselors and leaders, kids don't solve marital problems, they create more. Am I right? I have to make sure I'm not shooting my mouth off too much seeing as I'm not married myself.
The point of this pointless rant is to commend those who are patient and smart when it comes to marriage by getting to know their future spouse first and to vent about the foolish couples who mistake infatuation for eternal love. I'm not saying it can't happen--many a GA have said they fell in love when they first saw their future spouse--but they also didn't meet one day and get engaged 3 weeks later and get married 4 weeks after that. In my humble opinion, that's just asking for trouble.
I got home from my trip from Rexburg seeing a half-dozen 18-year-old girls with diamonds on their fingers, but I also saw Erin and Billy and that gave me hope. Hope that there are wise kids out there and hope that I'll find a boy like Erin found Billy.
March 11, 2009
Today was horribly dull. Class, homework and pb&j. Not to mention no mail in my box and no male at my house. My life is a stale color of gray—bet you didn’t think gray could be anything but stale. But take a glance at my life and you will see beauty and excitement in jail cell walls and file cabinet drawers.
The only hint of a thrill I encountered today was when a car nearly encountered me in the cross walk. You’d think they’d see my red jacket and blond hair as it contrasts against the overcast skies. Obviously not. As I scurried to the sidewalk like a rat caught in a monsoon, I didn’t even shoot the driver a glare or shake my fist at him. No, that would have been much too exhilarating for my sham of a life.Creative Entry:
March 11, 2009
Today was horrible dull—that is, until I woke up. Who really needs to pay attention in class anyway? I was walking home from campus, crossing the last street before I came to my apartment, when out of no where a white 1984 Buick Riviera came screaming around the corner, it’s disgusting grill aimed for me. As I caught sight of the gigantic hunk of metal through my bangs, I could think of only one thing: Why the heck did Buick ever make such an ugly car? My survival instinct kicked that thought out of my head and shoved in another just in time—I would not run away, but I would fight to survive.
Finally, after watching hours of movies and avoiding regular conversation, I would prove to the world I was not just an anti-social loser. With the speed of Jackie Chan and the grace of Ryan Evans from High School Musical, I leapt on top of the elongated hood. As I pounded my fist through the metal and ripped out the engine, I let out a scream of fury resembling a ringwraith from LOTR. If onlookers were not frightened by the oil covering my face and arms as I dismembered the Buick, they were certainly cowering now, covering their ears and wishing they’d slept through their 8 A.M. Econ. 100 class.
By the time police arrived, I had successfully torn apart Buick’s ugly mistake of 1984, made two girls and an elderly man cry, autographed the Buick’s bumper for my new fan named Geoff, and stained my favorite shirt. Afraid that I would go into another rampage, the police shot me with a tranquilizer and took me down town.
When I awoke, I was in a holding cell in the basement of the ASB. At least that’s what the accounting major told me whose cubicle was across the hall. I offered him a date for Friday night if he let me out of the cell. Even covered in oil and reeking of rage, he accepted eagerly.
I’ve been home for about five hours now and no one has come looking for me. I gave them a fake name, so I think I’m safe.
Overall, today was a pretty good day. Evaded campus police, made a clear point to all reckless drivers, and above all, got a date for Friday night.
Elizabeth Gosney is a Senior majoring in Print Journalism at Brigham Young University.
Does anyone else find it funny that she talks about "ebony and ivory" and there are African costumed dancers, yet there are no black people in the whole video? Eh, it's a fun video any way. ;o)
Ok, that's all. I hope you have a good day. If not, well, take a nap. And make sure your cat is safely locked in the closet beforehand.
I've seen some of the photographs they produce, and they look like they're from the 1970s. Colors are muted, but they can also be highlighted and made to pop with the filters you can buy ($35 for, like, 15?). They say ("they" meaning unnamed people I don't want to specify, obviously) that you can never be completely sure how the photos are going to turn out. Sometimes the colors don't look like you expect, etc... (I can't think of another way the photo would look different... out of focus? ... ... etc.) When I first read that I thought,
"What a rip off! You buy a camera to take pictures and then pictures don't look like they did through the view-finder? Dumb."
But then, after taking a bunch of pictures with my Nikon 35 mm and about 1/3 of them looking half-way decent, I realized something: If you are a crap-photographer, having a Holga could result in excellent photographs. Am I right? I think I am. Whereas, if you're a good photographer the Holga could just be a instrument to waste film. In conclusion, I want a Holga. Here's the link if you'd like to investigate one for yourself--or if you are feeling generous, I'd like the CMY Holga (see it here). Then I could go around town with my silly sunglasses (which, p.s. broke yesterday, so I need to get some new ones), some shorts and sandals and maybe a funky hat and no one would take me seriously. I picture a Joon kind of character--probably because she was mentally unstable and that's what I'd want people to think about me...
p.s. how do you develop the film for the Holga? It's funky. Well, I guess that's why they have an adapter for 35mm film--it's only $15, so it's not like the infomercials where they hook you with a product and then charge you $75 S + H. Jerks.
Yeah? black? Too late, I already ordered them.
p.p.s. Happy Birthday Deon!
p.p.p.s. i really bugs me when people use p.s.s.s. instead of p.p.p.s. Just so you all know, "p.s." = post script. Thus, you cannot have a post script script script. But you CAN have a post post post script. It's true. Tell your friends.
McKay is narrating the "commercial" and Hunter talks at the very end. Those boys crack me up. Check out McKay's weekly column on the Deseret News Mormon Times site, "Single Mormon Twentysomething" and Hunter's music blog, 17 Tracks.