It turns out I DO have internet here in San Antonio. So, lucky for you and lucky for me.

It took SEVEN hours to get to Austin last night. It should take 3 1/2. Tops. I was not a happy camper by the end of it. But it's over now. And after a three hour orientation this afternoon, I have the whole night to do nothing. And I think I'm gonna love it.

Oh, I forgot my Social Security card. Or rather, they neglected to tell me to bring it. I'm not quite sure what that means.

Observation: Music should not just be background noise in the car. If it's on, it should be on loud. And it should be listened to, sung along with, and even danced to. If conversation is the order of the day, then the music goes off. There is no in-between in my book. No in-between that I condone, anyway.

I liked this little quote:

So true, right?


Peace out, home boys.
i'm off to EFY for a week in San Antonio. I'll be a counselor, not a participant.

[Pictures of Rora and me just chillin' like villains.]


Want some inspirational quotage?


And click each image to make another pop up.

Happy Thursday! ;o)


Longer stop-motion movie. This one has 111 frames. Yeah. It's intense.



You know how I said I wanted to try that stop-motion stuff? Well, here's my late-night, 5-minute experiment with it -- Over exposed and poorly framed, but I think it's funny.



i quite like these.

[found here and here]


We went to San Antonio this weekend to see "Wicked." I saw it last summer in NYC, and it was just as amazing the second time here in Texas.

Dad, Mom, Catherine and me. [I look like a sister missionary in this picture. (o:]

[This was a couple of pictures before getting told to cut it out, "Everything in the theater is copyrighted, so no pictures!"]

On the way home from San Antonio...

[more "artsy" pictures posted on my photography blog.]

Kelsey saved this 1998 bottle of grape juice for 5 years. We opened it on an uneventful night, it tasted disgusting, so we poured it down the drain. The cork was cool though...

They're so cryptic here in Texas...


Charles Arlie. My little buddy.

Check out my photography blog for more photos that I uploaded today.

Lovely, lovely books! Here in the town that I live there is a huge used book, music and movie store. It's amazing. This is maybe 1/3 of the whole thing. It smells old, it looks ratty, and it brings me peace. I like to think about the stories that accompany the books--not the things written in their pages, but where the book has been, who's read it, who's loved it, how it ended up here.
I do love a good mystery.

The golden hours. Great for photography. Not so good for commuters.


I remember my dream from a few nights ago, and I think this one's even better than the one I forgot the other night.

I can't remember where it started, but I do remember someone asking about a scripture in the Doctrine and Covenants. I was all excited because I knew the answer -- or so I thought. I grabbed a stack of IKEA kids' bowls and tried to remember how a star formed and how it dies, because in my mind, that was the answer to the doctrinal question. I tried to get people to listen, but everyone was freaking out about these creatures that had been captured on our property.

I wandered toward all the commotion (through a forest and up into a huge tree house). There I found Dad and some random dude wrestling down two dwarf-elf-trolls. Really nasty creatures. One of them seemed to be missing his legs. Both of them stunk, and each had a name written across his stomach. One said Cain. The other said Abel. Yeah. Weird. Cain was screaming anti-Mormon garbage, saying we were evil and he'd escape and seek revenge. The other dwarf-elf-troll-neanderthal looked like he was dead. (The gaping wounds in his chest gave me that impression). Dad wanted Mom to see what he'd captured, but then thought better of it. Mom came over, but instead of looking at the dwarf-elf-hobbit things, Mom just smelled them. Or rather, smelled the air in the surrounding area. Apparently it reeked. Mom and Dad seemed to have it under control, so I left.

A couple minutes later, while sulking with my IKEA bowls and trying to find someone to listen to my awesome analogy, I heard something fall from the tree house. It was Abel! He wasn't dead. How he managed to fall out of the tree house and run away was beyond me. He had no legs. I called to Dad because in a crisis like this, Dad was the one to call. He had super-sonic speed. He booked it through the ravine we were in, wrangled up Cain and Abel, tied them back up, didn't pass out from the smell, and called Animal Control. Or so I assume. If my subconscious did take me that far into the story, I've since forgotten.

I got my EFY schedule. Holy wow. That's gonna be a rough week, but really fun. Rough because of the less-than 8 hours of sleep alotted to me each night, no naps and no snacks. Fun because of line dances, being in charge (kinda), working with teenagers that will think I'm cool (they will, I know it), and getting to wear a sweet blue polo and name tag! Ha ha.

They will think I'm cool because of my entire disposition, or maybe my whole demeanor. And if that fails, because of my sunglasses.

I helped move Kelsey and Ben's stuff into their storage unit today. I don't think I've been that covered in my own bodily fluids since the day I was born -- unless you count that bodily fluid as my mom's ... Luckily today's experience involved sweat, not embryonic fluid and blood. You're welcome for that visual.

I can't walk normally today. My calf muscles decided to wad themselves up like a pair of clean socks--or maybe like one dirty sock, seeing as my legs are not connected as the socks would be. It's kinda painful. Like an everlasting charlie-horse. Everlasting Gobbstoppers are good. Everlasting charlie-horses are not. They lack the sugary flavors, among other things.

[picture and such found here.]

Speaking of "flavors" --we were speaking of them, were we not?-- I think bottled pop, glass-bottled, is classy. Well, more like, classic. And cool. And kool. Ya get me?


Another video. So. Awesome.


I want to see this movie. Which means I'm quite disappointed it's rated R.
Which reminds me, hey Ben, why couldn't the pirate see the R rated movie? No wait, that's not how it goes. ...


i was sifting through the 150+ e-mails i have saved on my old e-mail account. they bring back some good memories, and some i'd like to forget ("ba-leted!!"). i got to a stash of electronic letters from 2005 that made me laugh and feel incredibly loved. they were from two good friends in WA, one of whom i've kind of drifted apart from because of attending different colleges and him living in England for the last two years.

as i read the e-mails, it surprized me how good of friends we were back then. i do that quite often actually--realizing i was better friends with someone than my memory displays and that i may have lost the chance to salvage that closeness. it makes me kinda sad.

"Thank you for hanging out with me tonight, it was way
uber or oober or hoober or what ever else, fun. It
was such a good idea on your part to think of it.
I really enjoyed myself and it was way better then
staying home all night and doing nothing. And I must
say, your laugh is contagious. It is so funny to hear
it and especially when you laugh at me. So thanks for
putting up with all my lame music and cheesy one-
liners, and I had a really fun time. We should do it
again, well unless it was a total bust which I
can understand. So thanks again."
i'm not worried about this one, though. he'll be back in the states this summer and i think we'll become good friends again.

as i was reading his e-mails, i kept thinking of Liv Tyler's line in "That Thing You Do."

"Gentlemen. I'd forgotten what you fellas look like."

he's a gentlemen. i'd like to meet more people like him. they really are sparser than i thought.

i love you both! (i esepecially love C with all her stage make-up.) ;o)


lesson learned:
when you have a funny dream you want to tell people about, don't wait 2 days to write it down. my memory of real events is bad enough, it's even worse with the imaginary happenings of my subconscious.
so i can't remember what happened in the dream, except that it involved kids from my past dressed up in Spiderman and Bee costumes, a kid i should "Facebook friend" delete except i feel guilty doing so, and getting stuck behind the dollar theater in a screwed up VW bug. yeah, i know, you're on the edge of your seat, right?

p.s. tomorrow is my half-birthday. i've never celebrated it before, but tomorrow i think i will. 21 1/2. it's a good age.


Gross gross gross gross gross. There's nothing you can do in Texas that doesn't potentially involve bugs. Not even laundry. Gross.

i made honey comb the other day from scratch. it worked really well. after the chocolate dried (over night) it tasted just like store bought. but better. i used dark chocolate chips instead of milk. mmmm, chocolate.

Here's the recipe:

1 cup of sugar.
1 cup of dark corn syrup.
1 tablespoon of vinegar.
1 tablespoon of baking soda.
2 cups of chocolate chips

What to do:

1--Line a 9x13 pan with foil, grease it with butter and set aside.
2--In a heavy saucepan, combine the sugar, corn syrup and vinegar.
3--Cook and stir over medium heat until the sugar dissolves.
4--Cook on high, without stirring until the liquid boils and the candy thermometer reaches 300°F. (hard crack stage-- drop of a bit of it in cold water. if you take it out and it snaps, it's ready. if it's still bendable, keep it boiling.)
5--Remove candy from heat, then quickly stir in the baking soda and mix well.
6--Pour into buttered pan but do NOT spread (don't want to pop the bubbles.)
7--After it's cool, break it into pieces.
8--Melt chocolate chips in double boiler (or microwave) and dip the pieces into it. Stick 'em in the fridge to cool faster.


A word I wish would come back in style: "Fellas." Doesn't that just sound better than, "guys"? I think so.

dward R. Murrow on the television:

"This instrument can teach, it can illuminate; yes, and it can even inspire. But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends. Otherwise it is merely wires and lights in a box."

Yes, the media can be bad, as I hear so often in church, in school and in my family, but it can be good too, as Murrow said. The same go for guns, yes? So, really, media doesn't hurt people. People who choose to abuse media hurt people. (That'd be hard to put on a bumper sticker, though.)


Read what I wrote for the
Denton Record-Chronicle.
I like being back in the journalism world, especially when I get to see my name in the byline.

two questions.

#1: Why is it that some of the worst musicians are the most fun to interview? It really is a shame.

#2: Why are we so often sincerely insincere in concluding conversations?
For example, today I said, "I look forward to it," when really I'm not looking forward to it but just needed to end the conversation. Or, "Thank you for your time." Again, trying to end a conversation with some sort of formal tone when it was just a rock band member I was talking to. Oh, and my personal favorite, "Well, I'm gonna let you go." Come on, just say what you mean. "Welp, I'm bored. So I'm gonna go."
Oh, the things we say in attempts to quell a potentially awkward goodbye.

a quote & a thought.

"Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money."
--Jules Renard

I was thinking, someday I hope I have a group of friends that look like they could all be a part of an indie-folk-rock band. There's just something about them that reeks of coolness. But not the normal coolness. The subtle kind that makes you really jealous you're not part of their circle, but you can never figure out that that's why you kind of despise them. It's because their so subtly cool and you are neither subtly cool, nor blatantly cool. It's a tough world we live in, us un-cool people. But if I could learn to look good in sweaters and loafers and a scruffy beard, life would be easier. No, wait, not the beard thing. That'd be itchy. Oh, and sweaters are itchy too.
Nevermind, my life is easier without all that itchiness.
Now I just have to convince people to want to dress like me and write on their blogs that they wish they had a group of friends that looked like they don't own a mirror or a hair brush ... but are AWESOME! ;o)


How classy is this color-scheme?
I like it.
A lot.
[Found here.]

It rained today. I tried to take pictures of it, but they didn't turn out. At all. Plus, it's hard to capture the true essence, if you will, of the rain. Especially these brief thunder storms in Texas. They come and go in 15 minutes. Not like Washington rain, where it sprinkles all day, never letting the sun come out. But it lets the rest of us stay inside, with a blanket perhaps and a movie. (I could say "a book and a cup of hot chocolate" but, come on, who the heck does that? It only happens in the movies or with people who'd like their lives to be a movie.) Anyway, the rain was fun to see for about 15 minutes. The sun is already coming out. I noticed the birds didn't hide when the rain was coming down in sheets. I guess they knew it wouldn't be worth it to go home for a couple minutes just to have to go back out 5 minutes later. They would've hardly gotten their little bird blankets unfolded. And do you know how hard it is to fold blankets back up with wings? Not easy.

It's hard being a journalist sometimes. Right now I get to write previews for bands coming through town. That part is easy. But it's the choosing of which bands to cover (since I can't cover them all) that's hard. Especially when I like so few of them. Sure, they've got passion and some nice chords and a couple clever lyrics, but that doesn't mean they're good. So I've had to come to grips with the fact that I don't have to listen to their stuff, buy their album, or even really promote them (that's why I'm not in PR), I just have to ask them a few questions, write a short article, and let the public decide if
they like them.
I always thought being an "unbiased reporter" meant the way you wrote a story, the language you used, how you framed the subjects. I didn't realize there can be so much bias before the writing even starts--it begins with what you choose to cover in the first place.

Do you think there's something wrong with me when I get immense gratification out of sucking up a big bug with a vacuum and then watching it spin around in the collection-cylinder?
Maybe a better question is: What would it be like to be in the cylinder, spinning to my death, and wondering why I ate that third fudgecicle. Or maybe why I didn't eat a fourth.
So I guess, in conclusion, go eat that fourth fudgecicle because you never know when someone 100x bigger than you is going to suck you into a vacuum and watch you die.
If you had a 4x4' block of purple clay, what would you make out of it? I'll tell you what I'd make. A huge pinch-pot. You know, the kind you made in 1st grade by pushing your thumbs into the middle of a clay ball and pinching around the sides to make a bowl? Hmm ... I think I'll need bigger thumbs.

[Learn how to make a pinch-pot here]


After a little late Spring Cleaning, I decided to make my blog public again. So, former privileged, exclusive readers, no nasty comments about people you think aren't able to read them. ;o)

Hey, it's June now.

[i'm smiling, not grimacing, p.s.]