There is something oddly thrilling about having food in your cupboards. Usually I think, "Shoot, what the heck am I going to eat?" and then not eat at all because either nothing sounds appetizing or I literally don't have any food. But today I went grocery shopping and all day thoughts have been popping into my head like, "Oh! I could eat a sandwich for dinner. Or mashed potatoes and gravy! Oh, and I have apples and miniature bananas. Mmm, bananas. And yogurt!"

Apparently I'm a simpleton, because I find such great happiness in the simplest of things.

We better be able to eat in heaven, or eternity is gonna be really boring. ;o)
This is the trailer for the movie, "Bright Star." It's based on the romance of the poet John Keats and a woman named Fanny Brawn.


Bit of a conversation I overheard today:

Socially awkward guy, in a low voice trying to sound like more of a man: "Do you have a cellular?"

Socially sheltered girl, in high-pitched flirty voice: "Of course! ... Oooo, yours is so sleek!"

Guy, with an even deeper voice: "Yeah..."


"Somewhere someone is traveling furiously toward you,
At incredible speed, traveling day and night,
Through blizzards and desert heat, across torrents,
through narrow passes.
But he will know where to find you,
Recognize you when he sees you."

--john ashberry ["At North Farm"]

Short, non-fiction, story:
(meant to be comical, above all else.)

Last night I decided at 9:30 p.m. that I was going to see a movie. By myself. On my scooter. In the rain. But with no homework to do and all my roommates gone, it was a good idea. I drove up University Avenue and arrived at the theater. There were about 30 cars in the parking lot and at least 4 people working. It was a very slow Wednesday night. I gave the guy my ticket, which he tour poorly, ripping half of the movie title off. In a monotone voice he said, "Down the hall. Last theater on the right." I got into the auditorium and, to my delight, I was the only one there. I picked the seat in the exact middle of the theater, my helmet and scarf sat to my left.

The movie was amazing. It made me smile, made me cry, made me fall in love John Keats' poetry, ripped my heart out and increased my adoration of England and British accents. (The movie is called "Bright Star." Go see it.) I sat through all the credits, listening to the beautiful poetry of John Keats read over top cello music. I wiped away the tears, picked up my helmet, put on my jacket, checked my phone for missed calls (none) and headed out of the theater. It was 12:15 a.m.

I walked down the hall, glancing around one corner to see a long hall way ending in glass doors that lead to the parking lot. Unsure of whether that was close to where my scooter was parked, I kept walking to the main lobby. To my surprise, it was completely dark and the exit was blocked off. My heart beat a little faster as I realized I was all alone.

Oh my gosh, I was all alone. In a dark theater. In the middle of the night.

I'm pretty sure that's when people get murdered and the custodian finds their body the next day in a trash can, covered in popcorn and Raisinettes.

I don't even like Raisinettes!

Turning quickly on my heal, I practically sprinted back to the other hallway ending in glass doors. One door was propped open slightly. As I pushed on it, I glanced out into the parking lot. All the cars were gone. All of them. My scooter sat alone in the middle of a vast expanse of blacktop. I knew that was the place people got murdered. But there is no body, or if they do find one, it's in a ditch or a river a year later.

My heart was pounding as I scanned the area, looking for anyone who might pose a threat. I clutched the sharpest key on my key chain between my index and middle fingers, ready to jab it into the eye of an attacker. I shoved my helmet onto my over-sized head, only to realize with a gasp of terror that it deafened me and blocked my peripheral vision. My breathing had now matched the pace of my wildly beating heart.

"I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I can't see, I can't hear, I'm gonna die."

With shaking fingers I struggled to zip up my jacket. I wrapped my scarf around my neck, my keys still tight between my fingers. With a moment of hesitation, I released the grip on my keys to put them in the ignition and pull on my gloves. My heart was on the verge of exploding as it reached the pace of a humming bird's.

"No one will even hear me scream. I CAN'T scream! My helmet is blocking my mouth! I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die..."

It was raining and my seat was wet, but because I valued my life more than my pants, I jumped on the scooter anyway and, had it not been raining and the asphalt slippery, I would've sped away. Still nervous of an attacker, I whipped my head back and forth as I cruised through the parking lot, scanning the trees and bushes for any sign of movement.

My breathing slowed and my heart relaxed as I got onto University Avenue.

I had survived.

So, my Facebook photo uploading application hates me, so I'm going to post pictures here instead. Here are some from Amy and Jared's wedding in September.

Kelsey and me at the reception.

Jared and Amy with some stellar facial hair.



Gent and Ellie. They swiped a couple bride's maids' bouquets.


Elder Boyd K. Packer said this:

“I’m not ashamed to say that … I want to be good. And I’ve found in my life that it has been critically important [to establish this intention] between me and the Lord so that I knew that he knew which way I committed my agency. I went before Him and said, ‘I’m not neutral, and you can do with me what you want. If you need my vote, it’s there. I don’t care what you do with me, and you don’t have to take anything from me because I give it to you—everything, all I own, all I am—,’ and that makes the difference.” (“To Those Who Teach in Troubled Times,” address delivered at seminary and institute conference, Summer 1970, Salt Lake City.)


"I promise you kid to give so much more than I get,
I just haven't met you yet."

--michael buble

michael buble

how can you not fall in love with this guy? really.

his new album comes out TOMORROW. mmm, yeah.


Consider these:

"The only useful knowledge is that which betters us."

"The unexamined life is not worth living."

"Know thyself."


short story:

It's amazing what crying can do to a person. Some say it's exhausting, that it "takes it out of you." I can see that. Well, I know that, actually. But lately, when I cry, I'm filled with a new kind of energy. I'd like to be able to cry myself to sleep, but instead I cry and lay there, wide awake in the dark. My eyes feel worn out, like my muscles do after working in the yard for several hours. But it's a satisfying feeling amidst the tenderness of the skin. My eyes feel big, like they're protruding out of my face. But "protruding" is such a harsh word, and the feeling is not a harsh one. Under my cheeks and nose I can feel my sinuses tighten and relax. That too, is oddly satisfying. My head feels clearer after I weep. My body feels cleansed. What crying takes out of you is tears and snot. And what it lets out of you is emotions you didn't realize were so strong, cares you didn't realize were so important. For me, crying releases things from within you that are no longer needed while creating a resolve within you to take what you still need and make it better, more important, more treasured. It's amazing what crying can do to a person.

dahlias? yes, please.
[found at]


Song lyrics I've enjoyed this week:

"She's so strange and she wore a black mustache.

And she pilfered all the petty cash.

... She's so cool and she knew just what to do.
And while all the cats are sniffing glue
They played their silly games and now they'll take the blame."

--"She's So Strange" by Travis

"The silence isn't so bad
'til I look at my hands and feel sad,
Cause the spaces between my fingers are
right where yours fit perfectly."

-- "Vanilla Twilight" by Owl City

"I am waiting for someone who gonna love me.
Waiting. Mmmmm, for someone who gonna need me, love me, and take care of me.
Hold me, so won't be lonely.
Waiting, waiting, can't you see why?"

--"Waiting" by Harry Nilsson