Every day, at least one person asks me what I'm going to do when I graduate from BYU this December. My latest retort is, "I'm joining the Marine Corps;" however, this statement confuses many and convinces none.
Perhaps my main response is that I want to work for the BBC. Accordingly, I recently began researching UK work permits, visas, and even citizenship (though I would most likely work in the US as they have numerous entry-level jobs here). Today an acquaintance of mine (who often makes known his desire to move to Europe) asked, verbatim from GTalk, "why are you doing all this when you don't even have any sort of job in or offer or anything from the bbc?" I found his comment rather obtrusive. I say, "Why not?" I also say, "Why do you care?" and lastly, "What right do you have to judge me and my paltry amount of research when you moved home the day after graduation? At least I have a goal."
The truth is, I have no idea what I'm going to do with my life in three months, and it doesn't worry me in the least. I'm going to get a job that I think helps the world in some way, and I'm going to live somewhere. But I don't know where that's going to be, and I don't know exactly what job I'll have. I don't think it matters. I don't think it should matter to all these people who keeping hounding me either. (Earlier today I thought it would be very nice to be a wind chime, specifically the wind chimes outside my bedroom window. Or maybe a rain cloud. I also think it would be nice to be some kind of bird).
At any rate, fall is here, but I am going to time travel back to summer. The window in my family room is jammed open and it's freezing. Funny how cold fall seems after a warm summer, and how hot spring seems after a cold winter.
We are invading Iran within the next year.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Hey there, Georgy Girl.
Last night Alex asked me how we got so lucky. I'm not sure how. Right-place-right-time, I guess.
Anyway, we really do like each other, and it's fun, and normal, and completely, fantastically functional, and he has become one of my actual best friends (even though I say everyone is my best friend) in the space of two weeks. Remarkable!
Today I rode my bike to school and I listened to old British invasion on my way there and back. The sun warmed my face and I sang out loud, and people looked at me funny, but I don't care because it was a completely beautiful moment. I love fall, but I am really going to miss summer.
Today in Media Literacy, we discussed a New Yorker article we were all supposed to have read about "24" creator Joel Surnow. He's a self-proclaimed "right wing nutjob," and counts various members of the Bush administration (Karl Rove, Dick Cheney plus wife and daughter, and Tony Snow among the ranks), as well as Rush Limbaugh, Barbara Streisand and Bill Clinton, as avid fans and supporters. The article specifically highlights the grotesque amount of torture depicted on the show--a total of 64 torture scenes in the first five seasons alone. The article talks more about American soldiers, and how they are so conditioned to use physical and psychological force as a means to an end coming into the armed forces--before they've even begun training--that trainers are having a difficult time reconditioning them. And guess what? They all cite "24" as one of their favorite shows.
The thing that really startled me about the conversation in class was how a) people were in major disagreement about whether the show has a liberal or conservative slant (for the record, it is intensively conservative, as proved by Surnow's intense right-wing views), and b) the fact that most people in that class would say "Torture is wrong and unethical," yet they watch and support a show that upholds the opposite. I think most Americans in general would say they disagree with torture, which has been proven ineffective time and time again, yet their actions repeatedly discredit this view. As for the confusion surrounding the show's political slant, it only proves that most people have no idea what values and ideas either political party really upholds. No surprise there, considering we watched a clip of John Stewart the other day in class which pitted an interview of Rumsfeld denying he knew where the weapons of mass destruction in Iraq were with an interview of Rumsfeld saying he knew exactly where they were--so even though there was concrete evidence right in front of these kids' faces, they still refused to believe Rummy's a liar.
My soapbox ends here.
Anyway, we really do like each other, and it's fun, and normal, and completely, fantastically functional, and he has become one of my actual best friends (even though I say everyone is my best friend) in the space of two weeks. Remarkable!
Today I rode my bike to school and I listened to old British invasion on my way there and back. The sun warmed my face and I sang out loud, and people looked at me funny, but I don't care because it was a completely beautiful moment. I love fall, but I am really going to miss summer.
Today in Media Literacy, we discussed a New Yorker article we were all supposed to have read about "24" creator Joel Surnow. He's a self-proclaimed "right wing nutjob," and counts various members of the Bush administration (Karl Rove, Dick Cheney plus wife and daughter, and Tony Snow among the ranks), as well as Rush Limbaugh, Barbara Streisand and Bill Clinton, as avid fans and supporters. The article specifically highlights the grotesque amount of torture depicted on the show--a total of 64 torture scenes in the first five seasons alone. The article talks more about American soldiers, and how they are so conditioned to use physical and psychological force as a means to an end coming into the armed forces--before they've even begun training--that trainers are having a difficult time reconditioning them. And guess what? They all cite "24" as one of their favorite shows.
The thing that really startled me about the conversation in class was how a) people were in major disagreement about whether the show has a liberal or conservative slant (for the record, it is intensively conservative, as proved by Surnow's intense right-wing views), and b) the fact that most people in that class would say "Torture is wrong and unethical," yet they watch and support a show that upholds the opposite. I think most Americans in general would say they disagree with torture, which has been proven ineffective time and time again, yet their actions repeatedly discredit this view. As for the confusion surrounding the show's political slant, it only proves that most people have no idea what values and ideas either political party really upholds. No surprise there, considering we watched a clip of John Stewart the other day in class which pitted an interview of Rumsfeld denying he knew where the weapons of mass destruction in Iraq were with an interview of Rumsfeld saying he knew exactly where they were--so even though there was concrete evidence right in front of these kids' faces, they still refused to believe Rummy's a liar.
My soapbox ends here.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Mi-Me-Mi-Mo Magical Dream
Yesterday I stepped on a screw that was sticking out of a board. It punctured my foot. It hurts, but not as bad as the time I stapled my thumb. And to think, I thought that Miss Valencia thought I was a good student, and that's why she let me skip class to staple papers! What a treat for my naive, second grade ego. Speaking of Miss Valencia, after I moved to a different school after second grade, Miss Valencia would write me letters so I didn't miss my old school too much. If you had a birthday during the school year, she would spank you with her paddle (it sounds bad now, but keep in mind this was 1991). She taught us how to sew, and we made dinosaur mobiles out of the dinosaurs we sewed. We made volcanoes out of plaster and put baking soda and vinegar in them so they erupted. We brought chicken bones from home and put them in a block of cement so we could pretend to be archaeologists. She taught us cursive. We made dinosaurs out of clay and had them fired in a kiln. I cried when we learned borrowing because I didn't get it, so she stayed with me during recess to work one-on-one. She had a curly black afro (she was white) and big round glasses and always wore sweatshirts with iron-on applique. She also had cats.
Last night Alex and I went and saw a play at the Hale Theatre in Orem. It was really good. So good two old couples in the audience didn't laugh at a single joke. (Granted they were probably deaf).
Speaking of Alex, we kind of like each other.
Yesterday I cleaned out the shed and I found my ceramic eagle statue that my dad got me at Cabela's. I set it on my desk. The significance of the eagle can be found in a previous blog entry, or here.
The thing I like about my roommate Tess is that she always helps me with things, like cleaning the house and doing the dishes. She leaves me notes and sends me texts and calls me to tell me where she's gone to and when she'll be back because she knows I start worrying otherwise. Today she went to hike Mt. Timpanogos, and even though I already knew that's what she was doing today, she left me a note anyway with the addendum, "I'll be back before dark." I just opened the refrigerator, and there was a bowl of tomatoes from the garden with a little note sticking out that said, "Lisa For Your Salad," because she knew I was making a salad for dinner at my sister's today. She's just all-around thoughtful.
Fin
Last night Alex and I went and saw a play at the Hale Theatre in Orem. It was really good. So good two old couples in the audience didn't laugh at a single joke. (Granted they were probably deaf).
Speaking of Alex, we kind of like each other.
Yesterday I cleaned out the shed and I found my ceramic eagle statue that my dad got me at Cabela's. I set it on my desk. The significance of the eagle can be found in a previous blog entry, or here.
The thing I like about my roommate Tess is that she always helps me with things, like cleaning the house and doing the dishes. She leaves me notes and sends me texts and calls me to tell me where she's gone to and when she'll be back because she knows I start worrying otherwise. Today she went to hike Mt. Timpanogos, and even though I already knew that's what she was doing today, she left me a note anyway with the addendum, "I'll be back before dark." I just opened the refrigerator, and there was a bowl of tomatoes from the garden with a little note sticking out that said, "Lisa For Your Salad," because she knew I was making a salad for dinner at my sister's today. She's just all-around thoughtful.
Fin
Thursday, September 13, 2007
The Hills Are Alive.
I don't know how they found me. They meaning my high school alumni association. I got home from school yesterday, and I saw this gold piece of paper sticking out of my mailbox. It couldn't be, I thought. How did they know my address? That gold color of paper is reserved for one thing only, and that's correspondence from my high school. No one likes that color, so no one uses it. I remember in elementary school, when the teacher would pass around handouts, that yellow color was the one that no one took. If there was a green or pink alternative, you bet those were gone first. But maroon and gold were the colors of the Las Lomas Knights, and they'll haunt me forevermore.
If I could have any accent, it'd be one from the Bronx. Da Brawnx. Instead all I've got is hella good, cuz you know that word comes from the Bay Hizzy.
I was supposed to go to a class at 8 am this morning. I went to bed early--11 pm--and set my alarm for about 7:15. The alarm went off and I stayed in bed. 8 am class?! Gross! The only reason I'm taking this particular class is because I want to learn AVID, an editing software. But really, I'm auditing the class, so who cares if I'm there anyway? So I don't learn AVID. I'll probably regret it someday, but not today! Oh no! I slept for ten hours!
Phil and I were going to leave for LA tonight, but I bailed because I have a ton of homework. I'm really sad.
Yesterday I woke up with a canker sore the size of a nickel in the back of my mouth. Today I woke up and I'd say it's about the size of a quarter. I am in a lot of pain, and if you see me around Provo/Orem/Salt Lake in the next few days, I might only mumble a hello.
So. The stupidest statement of the semester has already been issued. (Considering it happened on the second day of class, I'm hopeful for repeat performances). I was in my religion class and we were talking about sustaining our church leaders, and particularly, how it's rare to see an opposition. My teacher played us a clip of a General Conference session from 1980. He prefaces the clip with the comment: "Three femme-Nazis opposed President Kimball..." Femme-Nazis. I thought references to the most evil fascist group of all time should be reserved for a historical context. Apparently a few factions have survived. At any rate, we watched the clip, which wasn't anything special. Elder McConkie got up and said, "We'll meet with you after" yadda yadda. Then my teacher says, "Yes well, these women weren't in good standing with the church anyway, so basically their comments didn't count. It was something about...hugh...wanting the priesthood or something. You know, the normal sort of thing."
Offenses committed:
1) Reference to evil fascist group that automatically and unjustifiably brands the women as insane.
2) The fact my teacher assumed these women weren't in good standing, perpetuating the negative reputation he gave them.
3) Touting off a woman's desire to hold the priesthood as trite and insignificant.
4) Being an idiot in general.
Tonight I'm going on a date with Britt. We're going to see Jerry Spinelli, author of Stargirl, in Salt Lake City. I'm not sure which I'm more excited for: the prospect of having Spinelli sign my copy of Stargirl, or the fact I'm going on a date with Britt. Too bad Jaren's not coming too, eh Britt?
If I could have any accent, it'd be one from the Bronx. Da Brawnx. Instead all I've got is hella good, cuz you know that word comes from the Bay Hizzy.
I was supposed to go to a class at 8 am this morning. I went to bed early--11 pm--and set my alarm for about 7:15. The alarm went off and I stayed in bed. 8 am class?! Gross! The only reason I'm taking this particular class is because I want to learn AVID, an editing software. But really, I'm auditing the class, so who cares if I'm there anyway? So I don't learn AVID. I'll probably regret it someday, but not today! Oh no! I slept for ten hours!
Phil and I were going to leave for LA tonight, but I bailed because I have a ton of homework. I'm really sad.
Yesterday I woke up with a canker sore the size of a nickel in the back of my mouth. Today I woke up and I'd say it's about the size of a quarter. I am in a lot of pain, and if you see me around Provo/Orem/Salt Lake in the next few days, I might only mumble a hello.
So. The stupidest statement of the semester has already been issued. (Considering it happened on the second day of class, I'm hopeful for repeat performances). I was in my religion class and we were talking about sustaining our church leaders, and particularly, how it's rare to see an opposition. My teacher played us a clip of a General Conference session from 1980. He prefaces the clip with the comment: "Three femme-Nazis opposed President Kimball..." Femme-Nazis. I thought references to the most evil fascist group of all time should be reserved for a historical context. Apparently a few factions have survived. At any rate, we watched the clip, which wasn't anything special. Elder McConkie got up and said, "We'll meet with you after" yadda yadda. Then my teacher says, "Yes well, these women weren't in good standing with the church anyway, so basically their comments didn't count. It was something about...hugh...wanting the priesthood or something. You know, the normal sort of thing."
Offenses committed:
1) Reference to evil fascist group that automatically and unjustifiably brands the women as insane.
2) The fact my teacher assumed these women weren't in good standing, perpetuating the negative reputation he gave them.
3) Touting off a woman's desire to hold the priesthood as trite and insignificant.
4) Being an idiot in general.
Tonight I'm going on a date with Britt. We're going to see Jerry Spinelli, author of Stargirl, in Salt Lake City. I'm not sure which I'm more excited for: the prospect of having Spinelli sign my copy of Stargirl, or the fact I'm going on a date with Britt. Too bad Jaren's not coming too, eh Britt?
Saturday, September 08, 2007
A Babysitter's Club Confession.
Dear Diary,
Tonight I went on a date with Alex. It was really fun. At first I wasn't sure if it was friend fun or hunk fun, but by the end of the night I realized it was both. I thought it might be awkward, but it totally wasn't. Alex is really cool. He is funny and he laughs a lot. He likes really good music, and he knows about a lot of things, and that makes him really smart. It turns out we have a lot of the same friends, which is really funny, because I don't think I've ever seen him before in my life, except for last Saturday when I met him, and then tonight. He just dropped me off at home. It's 3:30 am. I mean like, that's how much fun we had. We had sushi for dinner, and then we crashed a Boy Scout jamboree up in the mountains. Then we met up with friends and went deep into the Uintas to have a campfire and watch the stars. We saw a gazillion shooting stars. We laughed so hard all night, and it was like, the best ever. I can't laugh like that with too many people.
Anyway Diary, I am really tired and I have a lot of homework this weekend. Homework sucks! Ohmigah, did I tell you about that creep who stalked me coming home from school today? It was the worst ever. I was riding my bike, and he seriously followed me forever. I glared at him and he finally left me alone. But crazy, huh? Guys are so gross.
Okay, I'm really going to bed now.
Love Lisa
Tonight I went on a date with Alex. It was really fun. At first I wasn't sure if it was friend fun or hunk fun, but by the end of the night I realized it was both. I thought it might be awkward, but it totally wasn't. Alex is really cool. He is funny and he laughs a lot. He likes really good music, and he knows about a lot of things, and that makes him really smart. It turns out we have a lot of the same friends, which is really funny, because I don't think I've ever seen him before in my life, except for last Saturday when I met him, and then tonight. He just dropped me off at home. It's 3:30 am. I mean like, that's how much fun we had. We had sushi for dinner, and then we crashed a Boy Scout jamboree up in the mountains. Then we met up with friends and went deep into the Uintas to have a campfire and watch the stars. We saw a gazillion shooting stars. We laughed so hard all night, and it was like, the best ever. I can't laugh like that with too many people.
Anyway Diary, I am really tired and I have a lot of homework this weekend. Homework sucks! Ohmigah, did I tell you about that creep who stalked me coming home from school today? It was the worst ever. I was riding my bike, and he seriously followed me forever. I glared at him and he finally left me alone. But crazy, huh? Guys are so gross.
Okay, I'm really going to bed now.
Love Lisa
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Shove it up your sweater.
It's official: My car is a Utahn. I got the plates today. I went with the arches, considering "Ski Utah" is a behavior I've successfully avoided these past four years.
School. I'm on Day Three. No class tomorrow. The first time you attend a new class is a high pressure time. Forget the syllabus--the first day of any given class is good for one thing only: to scope out the dudes and babes. Each semester I have high hopes that one of these dudes will fall in love with my mug, and I'll fall in love with his, and that'll be that. But that never happens. Inevitably, I take the classes with puny, fresh-off-the-mish punks who freak out at the mere sight of a girl, let alone talking to one. This is the story in my documentary film class. Then there's my Super 8 class, where I already know half of the dudes. My Media Literacy class would be okay, except that I've TA'd a fourth of the kids in that class, and the majority of the dudes are actual doods. I just added my Living Prophets class today so there's still potential, but I'm soured by my previous eight semesters of slim pickings.
I think I am going on a hunt for Sasquatch soon. I say this because he's been coming up in conversation a lot. First, my friend Nick invited me on a Sasquatch hunt last week. Second, Jim, Marcus, Regan, Laura and I were all talking about Sasquatch tonight. Jim knows someone who watched his dog being eaten by Sasquatch, and my dad has seen him up in the Uintas.
The girl who sold me my sip at 7-11 today said to me, "I remember you from the other day when you were in here. I don't think too many people can pull off a Monroe piercing, but you could do it." "Heh heh. Okay. Thanks," I said hurriedly.
Today in Media Literacy, Professor Cutri gave us all three Post-It notes. He said a word and we were supposed to write the first thing that came into our heads. First he said "Mexican." I wrote "hispanic," because I grew up calling Mexican people Hispanics. 24 out of the 40 people in the class wrote "taco" or "food." (An entire, thousands-of-years-old civilization, and they could only think of Del Taco). A few people wrote "dirty." About 12 wrote "illegal immigrant." Then Cutri said "homosexual." I wrote Chelsea, the notoriously gay neighborhood of New York. Most people wrote "gay." A small faction wrote "gross." Someone said "San Francisco." For some completely un-humorous reason (at least un-humorous to me), this elicited laughter from the class. I believe one person wrote "sinner." I wonder how many people were lying. I'm going to wager at least two-thirds of the people who wrote gay lied, because I think the word "fa****" (I loathe this word) comes to a bro's mind much more readily than the word gay.
The saddest part is that I don't expect anything else.
School. I'm on Day Three. No class tomorrow. The first time you attend a new class is a high pressure time. Forget the syllabus--the first day of any given class is good for one thing only: to scope out the dudes and babes. Each semester I have high hopes that one of these dudes will fall in love with my mug, and I'll fall in love with his, and that'll be that. But that never happens. Inevitably, I take the classes with puny, fresh-off-the-mish punks who freak out at the mere sight of a girl, let alone talking to one. This is the story in my documentary film class. Then there's my Super 8 class, where I already know half of the dudes. My Media Literacy class would be okay, except that I've TA'd a fourth of the kids in that class, and the majority of the dudes are actual doods. I just added my Living Prophets class today so there's still potential, but I'm soured by my previous eight semesters of slim pickings.
I think I am going on a hunt for Sasquatch soon. I say this because he's been coming up in conversation a lot. First, my friend Nick invited me on a Sasquatch hunt last week. Second, Jim, Marcus, Regan, Laura and I were all talking about Sasquatch tonight. Jim knows someone who watched his dog being eaten by Sasquatch, and my dad has seen him up in the Uintas.
The girl who sold me my sip at 7-11 today said to me, "I remember you from the other day when you were in here. I don't think too many people can pull off a Monroe piercing, but you could do it." "Heh heh. Okay. Thanks," I said hurriedly.
Today in Media Literacy, Professor Cutri gave us all three Post-It notes. He said a word and we were supposed to write the first thing that came into our heads. First he said "Mexican." I wrote "hispanic," because I grew up calling Mexican people Hispanics. 24 out of the 40 people in the class wrote "taco" or "food." (An entire, thousands-of-years-old civilization, and they could only think of Del Taco). A few people wrote "dirty." About 12 wrote "illegal immigrant." Then Cutri said "homosexual." I wrote Chelsea, the notoriously gay neighborhood of New York. Most people wrote "gay." A small faction wrote "gross." Someone said "San Francisco." For some completely un-humorous reason (at least un-humorous to me), this elicited laughter from the class. I believe one person wrote "sinner." I wonder how many people were lying. I'm going to wager at least two-thirds of the people who wrote gay lied, because I think the word "fa****" (I loathe this word) comes to a bro's mind much more readily than the word gay.
The saddest part is that I don't expect anything else.
I'm a hopeless __________.
I'm on Day Two of my last semester of college. I am neither excited nor bored, enthused nor distressed, expectant nor passive. This idea of "grades" is weird to me. I would rather get paid for my work than pay to work.
Campus is slightly lonelier now. I feel so old and cynical. (I've always felt old and cynical).
I have a date Friday night. Dates make me feel awkward. (Formality makes me feel awkward).
I would like to say that I looked very cute today. Grey Pumas, cuffed dark jeans, ruffly plaid blouse, St. Anthony medallion, red flight bag, and green coat. What is funny about my outfit is my St. Anthony medallion, which I found (or rather stole) off Sullivan Street, my favorite street in all of New York. It was just lying there on the steps of the Shrine of St. Anthony Catholic church (located at 154 Sullivan Street, NY-NY 10012) and, thinking it was the coolest thing I'd ever seen, I snatched it and snuck it into my pocket. None of this is too weird, considering the long-held "Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers" mantra I've subscribed to, but what is weird is the fact that the beloved St. Anthony is the patron saint of lost and stolen articles. Some lowly priest lost that medallion, and I stole it. Where's St. Anthony now?
My neighbor who lives downstairs, Roger, is a smoker. I know because his back porch is right below my bedroom windows, which are almost always open, so I breathe his secondhand regularly. I am not okay with this since it's hurting my chances of living 'til age 95. What I am also not okay with is Roger's habit of coughing, snorting, curdling, hocking, and loogeying his phlegm on this back porch every morning when he wakes up. Not only is it disgusting, but also it is a most unpleasant alarm clock.
Today was Regan's birthday. He didn't tell me until we got back to my house, and as we embraced he said, "Happy Birthday Regan" and quickly scampered to his car. I turned, a quizzical look plastered on my face. I feel like a real schmuck.
Campus is slightly lonelier now. I feel so old and cynical. (I've always felt old and cynical).
I have a date Friday night. Dates make me feel awkward. (Formality makes me feel awkward).
I would like to say that I looked very cute today. Grey Pumas, cuffed dark jeans, ruffly plaid blouse, St. Anthony medallion, red flight bag, and green coat. What is funny about my outfit is my St. Anthony medallion, which I found (or rather stole) off Sullivan Street, my favorite street in all of New York. It was just lying there on the steps of the Shrine of St. Anthony Catholic church (located at 154 Sullivan Street, NY-NY 10012) and, thinking it was the coolest thing I'd ever seen, I snatched it and snuck it into my pocket. None of this is too weird, considering the long-held "Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers" mantra I've subscribed to, but what is weird is the fact that the beloved St. Anthony is the patron saint of lost and stolen articles. Some lowly priest lost that medallion, and I stole it. Where's St. Anthony now?
My neighbor who lives downstairs, Roger, is a smoker. I know because his back porch is right below my bedroom windows, which are almost always open, so I breathe his secondhand regularly. I am not okay with this since it's hurting my chances of living 'til age 95. What I am also not okay with is Roger's habit of coughing, snorting, curdling, hocking, and loogeying his phlegm on this back porch every morning when he wakes up. Not only is it disgusting, but also it is a most unpleasant alarm clock.
Today was Regan's birthday. He didn't tell me until we got back to my house, and as we embraced he said, "Happy Birthday Regan" and quickly scampered to his car. I turned, a quizzical look plastered on my face. I feel like a real schmuck.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
I am allergic to the letter Y.
It's a Saturday, school doesn't start for four days, yet I'm writing this from a computer lab in the Wilk at BYU. I promised myself that this semester I would look into people's hearts before I became annoyed with them. I promised myself I would be nice and shirk off people's ignorant comments. I promised myself I would get to know people before I decided whether I liked them or not. I've been on campus a total of ten minutes, and so far I haven't succeeded. I am just as annoyed with this place as I was when I left it in April. It's going to take some brain re-training.
On a side note, the girl sitting next to me is on an Air Supply fan web site--this one, in fact. Yes, Air Supply. The band that sings "All By Myself."
The other day I was driving up to Dave's, and I was caught behind a school bus. I was being patient. I stopped the perfunctory distance allotment behind the bus and its flashing lights. I waited as all the children laughed and cheered and scurried home to watch their afternoon cartoons. I also scrutinized these children, our leaders of tomorrow. These children were perfect clones of their adult counterparts. There were young boys, outfitted in plaid shorts, white K-Swiss and abercrombie kids t-shirts--bros-in-training, release date TBD. There were a few edgier kids, sure-fire My Chemical Romance devotees starting this time next year. There were the band geeks, lugging their person-sized trombones and tubas. Then there were the geeks. Oh, lowly geeks. As a child, you almost don't have a choice whether you're a geek or not, since so much depends on how your parents dress you and what they buy for you. I was a geek, but it was my choice, because my older sister was very popular. I chose my station. I remember reading a few years ago about how in times of affluence, people dress their children like themselves. This started in the Renaissance; any painting you see of the aristocracy of that era surely depicts the adults and their miniature counterparts in identical clothing styles. We've seen this the past few years also, as five-year-olds wear mini skirts and numerous adult stores have launched children's lines.
Yesterday, my dad, my brother-in-law and I went ATVing up in the Uintas, some of the most gorgeous terrain I've ever seen. When I was a sophomore in high school, I took one of those career tests, and it told me to be a park ranger. A) Because I am a good oral communicator. B) Because I love nature. The yearly salary initially discouraged me from this path. For some reason, I was under the illusion journalists actually made money. Anyway, my dad tried to go up this steep hill on his ATV. I conquered it with minimal difficulty, but my dad panicked and ending up revving--in reverse--into a tree. The ATV was fine, but we had to tow it out. Later he got stuck in a mud puddle. Whenever I saw my dad in the distance on his little green ATV, I pretended he was Yoshi and I was Luigi, and we were in a MarioKart race, and I sang songs from "The Sound of Music" at the top of my lungs the whole day, because the Uintas start looking like the Alps. (When my Great-Grandpa Walter Ruefenacht came to Utah from Switzerland in 1910, he wrote home and told everyone to come to Utah because it "looks like the Alps").
Rory and I invented the term "Cougster," which refers to BYU hipsters. They ride cruisers and wear cut-off shorts and Vans and American Apparel t-shirts. They bathe more frequently than hipsters, but only because they go to church on Sunday. Also, they host dance parties.
I am really excited to move away in four months.
On a side note, the girl sitting next to me is on an Air Supply fan web site--this one, in fact. Yes, Air Supply. The band that sings "All By Myself."
The other day I was driving up to Dave's, and I was caught behind a school bus. I was being patient. I stopped the perfunctory distance allotment behind the bus and its flashing lights. I waited as all the children laughed and cheered and scurried home to watch their afternoon cartoons. I also scrutinized these children, our leaders of tomorrow. These children were perfect clones of their adult counterparts. There were young boys, outfitted in plaid shorts, white K-Swiss and abercrombie kids t-shirts--bros-in-training, release date TBD. There were a few edgier kids, sure-fire My Chemical Romance devotees starting this time next year. There were the band geeks, lugging their person-sized trombones and tubas. Then there were the geeks. Oh, lowly geeks. As a child, you almost don't have a choice whether you're a geek or not, since so much depends on how your parents dress you and what they buy for you. I was a geek, but it was my choice, because my older sister was very popular. I chose my station. I remember reading a few years ago about how in times of affluence, people dress their children like themselves. This started in the Renaissance; any painting you see of the aristocracy of that era surely depicts the adults and their miniature counterparts in identical clothing styles. We've seen this the past few years also, as five-year-olds wear mini skirts and numerous adult stores have launched children's lines.
Yesterday, my dad, my brother-in-law and I went ATVing up in the Uintas, some of the most gorgeous terrain I've ever seen. When I was a sophomore in high school, I took one of those career tests, and it told me to be a park ranger. A) Because I am a good oral communicator. B) Because I love nature. The yearly salary initially discouraged me from this path. For some reason, I was under the illusion journalists actually made money. Anyway, my dad tried to go up this steep hill on his ATV. I conquered it with minimal difficulty, but my dad panicked and ending up revving--in reverse--into a tree. The ATV was fine, but we had to tow it out. Later he got stuck in a mud puddle. Whenever I saw my dad in the distance on his little green ATV, I pretended he was Yoshi and I was Luigi, and we were in a MarioKart race, and I sang songs from "The Sound of Music" at the top of my lungs the whole day, because the Uintas start looking like the Alps. (When my Great-Grandpa Walter Ruefenacht came to Utah from Switzerland in 1910, he wrote home and told everyone to come to Utah because it "looks like the Alps").
Rory and I invented the term "Cougster," which refers to BYU hipsters. They ride cruisers and wear cut-off shorts and Vans and American Apparel t-shirts. They bathe more frequently than hipsters, but only because they go to church on Sunday. Also, they host dance parties.
I am really excited to move away in four months.
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