And a Little Child Shall Lead Them...

Isaiah 11:6 -- The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.

I think I often underestimate kids. Every time I go home and visit my little brother or my cousins, I'm reminded of this. At times, they undermine all my "intelligence" "knowledge," and "maturity," in one fell swoop. I think about how often the scriptures counsel us to repent and humble ourselves to become as little children. And I wonder... if we study little children, and spend time with them, is it possible to capture some of that wonder and enchantment... is it possible for those of us who are "learned and wise" to remember how to be "a child"? What would that look like? And what exactly did Christ mean when he said that, and how do we enact that commandment-- to become again as little children?

I think that Jonathan Safran Foer has been able in some ways to do this in his book "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close." I just ordered it on half.com, so if you know me, I might let you borrow it. Many of you have read it. It's about a kid named Oscar, 8 years old, whose father (in the story) died in the Twin Towers. The book is his attempt to come to terms with that death, and pull together other loose strands from his family's frayed and fragmented past.



It's one of my new favorite books, the kind you fall in love with from page one. And one of the reasons I love it so much is because of Oscar's voice. It is full of throbbing pain and heartache, but under-girded with equal amounts of love, hope, and redemption. I would argue with anyone who says it's simply "sentimental," because I believe it's one of the most important books that has been written in recent years. I think in writing this, Foer has in some sense redirected Post-modernism (this literary era we consider ourselves to be in) for the better. But that's another post for another day.

We still have so much to learn. And that's ok. :)

Anyway.

Here are some other kids who just won my heart over. I know that the "scary" Second Coming is supposed to be upon us, but I'm just going say: if this is what is "slouching toward Bethlehem to be born"(below), bring it on. I'll be a tickled observer. Just check out these gals:

The story of Jonah from Corinth Baptist Church on Vimeo.

(This first one just made me chuckle. I really hope that my daughter is this animated.)

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

(A couple things I noticed after getting over my own feelings of guitar inadequacy: That's a FULL-SIZE guitar-- freak, it's almost bigger than her body! And look how little her fingers are! Even people with normal sized fingers have a hard time playing a full-size guitar, let alone bar chords. And she's got her theory down-pat. Incredible. I almost can't believe she's from this planet. I wondered until the point in the song where she starts smiling. Definitely human.)

Ojala

I don't remember Fall being so beautiful. I'm normally a summer girl all around. But these yellow leaves are giving the green a run for their money. And the temperature!!!

Anyway, when I was at the bank today, I found out that I had a late fee of fifteen dollars for sixteen cents I hadn't paid on something else. Sigh. The teller told me once, and I asked her to just take care of it with my paycheck money. She told me that I had only been a few days late on it, and that she was so sorry. Thank you for driving the dagger deeper, teller lady, please don't remind me anymore of what an idiot I am for letting this happen.

But it wasn't her fault, and she was just trying to be sympathetic. I just wanted to pretend it didn't happen to me or my credit.

At the stoplight on University Parkway and State in Orem, I watched a girl and a man with a cane walk in front of me on the crosswalk. They looked to be about in their mid-thirties. One of the trucks waiting in a few lanes after mine pulled forward over that one white line, either bumping the man with the cane, or inciting him to stumble out of the way quickly. I don't know whether he meant to or not. The man with the cane flipped the guy in the truck off, and the guy in the truck rolled down his window angrily and (it seemed like) started yelling at the girl and the man with the cane while they waited for the lights to change. And it made my heart hurt.

Sometimes, I wonder about all the people in the world. All the people that are, and all the people that ever were. I wonder how, even in Provo, we will only ever meet a handful of people who go about us every day. And how intricate each life is, with all the strands that are so delicatley interwoven. You wait at an intersection in your car, next to other cars, across from other cars, watching the faces of people turning left as they drive by. People that you'll never know. Cars, people, souls... just passing. Like ships in the night.

How do we relate with each other in this thoroughly modernized world? Unless we remain ignorant, how do we handle this world without feeling incredibly lonely, confused, misunderstood, or inadequate? How do we surmount difference?

I was trying to think through this impossible dilemma while walking around Macy's Department store trying to find myself a coat for winter. I was sorting through a sale rack when a woman said "Excuse me." I turned. It was a short, petite woman with a heavy latin accent. "What size are you?" she asked, holding a black jacket. I was somewhat taken aback (A/N: in America, people don't normally greet complete strangers with this type of question :)). "It depends. Probably a large or medium in juniors." She smiled, "I have a granddaughter who is close your size," she said. "You think this would fit you?" "Do you want me to try it on?" I asked her. She nodded, so I set my purse down and pulled the jacket over my head, worked it around my body. It fit. "Where are you from?" I asked her. "Lima, Peru." she said.
I started to speak with her in my fragmented spanish. "¿Tu nieta... ella tiene--?," and then I motioned because I forgot the word for "pechas" and didn't know how to say "busty" in Spanish. She laughed, and started to speak to me in Spanish. "Hablas Espanol?" "Poquito. Estoy asistiendo en una clase de la Universidad."

We kept talking. I found out her name was Adita, that she had been in the United states for seven years, but still struggled with the language. I sympathized with her and told her, in Spanglish, that I felt the same way about her language. I told her I wanted to go to a Spanish speaking country so I could REALLY learn. She told me I should go to Bolivia or Peru. I told her I wanted to go to Spain because "it has Barcelona." She said yes, it was very hermosa (beautiful) there, that another of her granddaughters is doing medical work there.

At the end of our conversation, she said if I ever wanted to practice Spanish, I could come over to her house. And I nodded. And then she told me her address. How'bout that? In the middle of the mall.

"You come over to my house and teacha me in Englesh, and tell me how I say wrong. And I will teacha you Spanish."

I laughed, and said that would be fun. And the one thing I wish we did less of as Americans, or Mormons, or whatever, is say "oh, that would be fun" or say "yeah, sure that would be great to do" when we don't really mean it. Because I knew she was serious.

Then she asked, "You are single?"

"Si," i said.

"Oh, that is wonderful. I have two boys. They are good boys. Son guapos."

"Entonces, tal vez vendria."

And then we parted. I regretted that I had forgotten to address her as "usted." I hoped she didn't mind.

And as I walked away from her, I was impressed by what had happened. I think we take these kinds of experiences for granted. I think we pass them by a lot, too. We avert our eyes when we could smile.

And maybe it's because I was kind of having an existential crisis before (Ok, I was), that this incident struck me with more force. But if we as humans can stitch ourselves together like that, with tiny threads of shared moments and open hearts, maybe we can somehow start to suture up the wounds of our world. If we can remember what's important.

Or will it just make me feel better? I don't mean this to say sentimentally "let's all help each other" because it sounds nice. I mean to say it because I believe it's absolutely vital. I don't know if it would solve everything. Probably not. I still get confused about navigating my way through this life. Lots of things are complicated. But if not this, then what?

I wish that it could happen like it does in "The Little Prince." That Fox knows what he's talking about. Listen!

And I wonder what would happen if I were to show up at her house someday. She would probably give me a besito on my cheek like my grandma does sometimes. What if?

Peace!

Peace Day was on September 24th. In July/August, I was contacted by a certain Averyl Dietering to see about performing for BYU's celebration of the holiday on campus. She had heard the song that I blogged about back in April or May (Lilies), and wanted me to perform it. She actually left a comment about it under that post.

I ended up being the person in charge of Music and Entertainment for BYU's Peace Day. It turned out really well. I recruited my dad and brother to help me out. They are both incredible musicians and it went really well. I was kind of sad when it was over, except for the fact that I never want to work with BYUSA again. :) But that's a whole nutha thang.



I hadn't known then that the sound guy, who is a good family friend, had been recording the whole performance. He just brought over a CD of some of the songs he mixed, and I was so surprised at the quality of the recording. It's probably the first time I've enjoyed listening to myself. Here's the link to a sample of one of the songs:

Waiting in Vain- Guy and Em


Anyway, check it out and see what you think. I'm a fan. :) Also, a really good song about Peace is called Peace Tonight, by the Indigo Girls. So much good.

A Birthday Present to Myself

I haven't blogged in a while. I won't say I haven't been busy. But I can't really say that I have, either. Whenever I think about blogging, I think "oh, but there are far more important things that you could be doing." And then I continue to putter around, doing nothing useful, really. I wish I had more time. I really do. Having too much to do leaves me paralyzed by choice. But a friend asked me why I haven't blogged lately, so I decided to start again.

Anyway. One of the biggest things on my mind is the future. The big furry but fuzzy future. Graduation fast approaches. And I have no super-duper solid plans. I'm considering going back east and doing an internship back there. I'm also considering going on a mission.

But there are some things in the future I can predict. Like my birthday. I'll be 21 on 14th of December. Orruther, I'm almost 99% sure I will be 21 on the 14th of December :). This is the last time (crossing my fingers) that my birthday will coincide with finals (This year, I get to wake up at 6:30 to take a final on my birthday... yay!). In years past, my birthdays have been all right. My birthday is just another cool day of my super-cool life (minus the 7:00 final). But, as you might imagine, these birthdays are somewhat overshadowed by the end of the semester as well as other holiday parties and busy-ness brought about by Christmas.

So this year, I'm being proactive. There are a couple of things that I have always wanted for my birthday that I've been denied because of the season and other circumstances. But this year, I'm having the birthday I've always wanted.

1. Watermelon-- My favorite food, hands down. Never in season in December, and super expensive anyway. So this year, I mixed the remainder of my last beloved watermelon of the season with some ice cream, put it in a tupperware, and froze it, with a "Do Not Open Til December 14" warning and subsequent happy birthday message to my future self from my past self. :) I'm really excited to see how it tastes.

2. Pinata-- As a child, I was always put out by the fact that Pinatas just aren't done in December. My younger brother, whose birthday is in July, would normally always have a pinata. And because I was older than him and his friends, I was always at the end of the line to hit it, so, inevitably, it was done with before I even got a whacking chance. You can see my put-outedness in the picture below. I'm on the left.



So you can bet I'm getting myself a pinata for my birthday this year. And I'm up to bat first.

3: There aren't a lot of things I can do about the weather, but I love summer way more than winter. I'm going to pray December 14th is at least sunny, since a balmy 70-75 degrees is an improbable wish.

So what's the plan, Stan?

Well,I'm going to have a huge awesome party and invite all the people I love and like. It'll be a sensation. A dalmatian sensation... or a Luau/fiesta combo. With live music and delicious food. Consider this an invitation, if you know me even semi-well and you aren't a stalker. And happy birthday to me soon!

It has been a while. Wow. And I had all these goals at the beginning of the summer. Looks like I'll have to jam everything I wanted to do into these last few weeks before school starts again.
One of my goals I've failed on is eating better. So I did make some delicious creamy corn the other night, which probably wasn't the healthiest, but it was good. And so EASY! And SO CROCKPOT!!! Of all my weaknesses, it would be cooking. I hate preparing food. It's my shame to admit that I've really lived off of otter and astro pops this summer. And toast with honey... which is God's saving grace to the college student. But honestly, it's like whenever I think about food, I go into a catalepsy and my muscles all freeze together and I can't even think. I know I need to eat healthy. I just keep procrastinating. There's also the trouble of buying food. In case you haven't realized, healthy food is more expensive. And you just end up eating it anyway! Sometimes I feel out of place, being the offspring of my Julia Child-like mother. I think some traits got mixed up in heaven, and my cousin Madi was born with the cooking/domestic life traits. I got left with the skills that won't help in the apocalypse, like painting and writing. Anyway. Here's my idea. Romaine Lettuce. Cool Salad dressing. Salad toppings. Voila. Easy salad bar every night. And pretty healthy, too. If I mix it up with different toppings, I won't get tired of the same thing, right? I mean, look how many cool salads Wendy's has come up with recently.

And just so you know, if you haven't tried watermelon with ice-cream, it is about the best thing on God's Green Earth. Dare I say... orgasmic? ;)(Oh yes I did just use that adj.) That's how good it is. Also good if you kind of let the watermelon and the ice-cream melt together, then make a popsicle out of it. Delicious. Well, that's all for tonight folks!

A Song, Simply...

This is my new song (and it's temporary album art, courtesy Elise Bucket Photography). I might put it on my page "The Stuff Bucket" when I become more blog-savvy. For now, it will be here.

I'm competing in Lilith Fair's Local Talent Search, and I while I can't imagine my little ol' blog is generating enough traffic to merit a plea to my readers, I'll do it anyway. Please vote for my song here: http://www.ourstage.com/go/lilithsaltlakecity ...(click on vote). If I am in the top ten by May 28th, the judges will pick out the finalists and I'll have a chance to open for some big act at Lilith Fair in July. So that would be really cool, right?

Now, some explaining about my song. The guitar that you hear was recorded last, and I'm going to blame that for my pitchiness because I think that IT is what is off key, not me :). I mean, maybe its me. But the guitar we used can have problems and we probably should have done the guitar first anyway. This is by far not a finished product (I entered it into the contest on the deadline of the competition), but I think it has potential. This is what I've got now... we'll probably go back and re-mix it later.

Feedback, please!

Variations on a Theme

I like to cut apart magazines, then reassemble the fragments all over notebook covers or guitars or boxes. It's one of my favorite past-times. One of the more serious projects that I've worked on in this manner I started my senior year of high school. I don't want to even guess how many hours it's taken to complete, but this year alone, when I pulled it out again to work on, I've probably spent at least 15 hours going through magazines, cutting, and pasting.

You might recognize a more primitive version as the banner for my blog. I might change it, but I kind of like her fragmented face.

Anyway, she is finally done.

Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Miss Audrey Hepburn (clap clap clap)


She turned out better than I expected when I started this, and with a different meaning than I had originally planned, too. For those of you more artistically inclined, I would love to hear your interpretations of this piece (there is no right or wrong answer.) Leave those interpretations as comments ;). You might have to open up the bigger version of the photo so you can see everything properly.

I'm still using my mom's 4 megapixel camera, so you might not get all the details that are there. And it's a little blurry.

But I didn't want to just stop there. Cutting out magazines and seeing how things play out can be rather addicting, so here are some of my favorite temporary discoveries/additions to my art that I thought were worth sharing. I give you "Variations on a Theme."


"Mona Lisa Hepburn"


"Mona Lisa Hepburn" + almost perfect Maybelline Hand


"Too Coy for Comfort"


"Take Me to Your Leader"


"Butterfly Kisses"


"The Reticent Wide Receiver"


"The Breautifur Geisha"


"Horsin' Around"


"Smoky Secrets"


"Pearly Whites" -- a tribute to my cousin Mary Ashley, because the smile is hers.


"Anti-Smoking Campaign" (Courtesy of Edward Munch)


"Raising the Woof"


(Haha. I know, this one's just thilly.)

"'Oh Baby' Blues..."


And now just the eyeballs:


Pretty striking, huh? And a perfect fit. I still can't bring myself to glue them on permanently. I mean, I've covered every other part of her... I can't take her eyes. But I am going to keep them poster-puttied to the butterfly in the right corner just so I can keep my options open :)

If anyone can think of a good title, leave a comment. I'm still stumped. 10 points to the winner.

So Much Bones to Pick

Which are the important ones?

The last few weeks have been good, and slow. I'm tickled that it's finally summer, and as I drive down University Avenue, the trees are bushy and plump in their life, rolling around like green schools of fish in windy snow globes.

I still don't have a working version of Microsoft Word, which is really irksome to me. I'm working on this. I just don't want to pay full price for the program (this is a sentiment that has been passed down to me directly from my mother's side of the family= tacaño). So I'm doing everything, even writing school papers, on Wordpad. It beats Notepad, right?

So this posting is going to be more like a story, but very unlike the mock epic I composed to celebrate the victory of our soccer team. And it's going to have a lot of pictures, since I got new batteries for my camera-- spring is such great time to regenerate. See if you can find the common threads.

The month has begun well. Dad, Sam, and I all went down to Blues Brothers for their monthly Blues Jam, where indeed, the blues were jammed. Sam is on the right and our friend, Kevin Degraffenried, is on the left.


This is Sam with the second guitar he has made from scratch (not too shabby, eh?), after we played.


And this is my awesome dad. He rocks.


Now, rocks share some properties that are similar to bones.


Lately, I've been in to see a new chiropractor for my chronic back problems. This is a really cool type of chiropractice because the way they do things comes from homeopathic theories. Basically, the body has an amazing power to heal itself. In the human body, there is a bone that sits at the base of the skull, appropriately named the atlas bone. Studies have shown that if this bone is properly aligned, in most cases, the rest of the bones of the spine will fall back into their natural alignment. There is no yanking or bone cracking. Just gentle manipulation of the atlas. You can hardly feel it. It sounds crazy, but I think it will work. I've been adjusted twice so far, and it has helped a good deal of my back problems. The road to recovery is going to be long, but it is possible, which is more than I have expected before.

Now look at this one. I think it's very thoughtful of the skull to be white so the doctors work out their formulas on the picture of the cranium rather than use notebook paper. And all this time we just thought it was a shield for the brain. Such a nice skull.


My doctor is a very good doctor, with impeccable bedside manners. I think he thinks I'm clever and humourous, which is always a nice way to be thought of.


He tells me, however, that my neck is like an 80-year old's. Normal necks are supposed to have a curvature to them. Our heads are usually between nine and ten pounds, and our slight necks support all that weight. The curve is helpful in supporting the neck-- like a supple, bendy tree branch would be helpful if it were supporting a bowling ball. At least, more helpful than no curve-- or a stiff tree branch. My neck (above) is abnormally straight, which is a problem, but hopefully these treatments will help put it back where it's supposed to be, and get rid of my painses. The body is supposed to heal itself after the atlas bone is correctly aligned-- so here's hopin'.

The same day I got these x-rays taken, I participated in a soccer game (which our team won), and also went with some people in my ward to the tumbling gym. Maybe not the best choices to make, but c'mon: I can't put my life on hold because of my dumb neck.

So anyway, the tumbling gym was fun. I tried to be careful and stuff, and might have ended up getting a little too lethargic and eating too many doughnuts. I might have suffered an accelerated case of weight gain, after which I might have started thinking that my neck was maybe the last thing I should worry about.


(Pardon these bad jokes. I can't help myself) :)

Anyway, just as we were leaving the tumbling gym, I went to my purse, put on my shoes, and was in the middle of checking my phone for messages, when, out of my right ear, I hear a shout of "Broken Ankle!" And the group of us in the ward turn and see a teenage blonde haired kid lying awkwardly on one of the trampolines. A closer look reveals that his ankle is abnormally twisted. Time seems to slow down and incoming sounds are muted as I realize that the red and white I see in the area of his ankle are bone and blood. The man running the gym has just left and now the only employee is this 17 year old kid.

I understand why, in the CPR training sessions, they tell you to be direct and tell someone specifically to call the ambulance, because for about thirty seconds people were shouting "someone call 911!" And no one was calling 911. I have my phone in my hand, but I think lamely... "my battery is almost out of juice," and also ,"Surely someone has called by now." But the shouts kept coming, so I dialed 911, and dealt with the two operators, trying to find the address for the place while being told "ma'am, please calm down," and listening to an aggregate of alarm all around me. Calm down? I am calm! I find the address for the place on the bulletin board by the door and tell the lady, then tell her it must be wrong because I'm convinced we're in Springville and not Provo. So she connects me to the Springville department where I have to go through all of the information again and then asks me for the address. She seems to have an idea of where the tumbling gym is (Provo), and then apparently calls for the Provo Police. She asks for my name, my phone number, and the kid's name and age (which requires me to approach the tramp). I sit on the edge of it, staring at him and his compound fracture in surprising tranquility (that is to say, I wasn't totally freaking out). She tells me the ambulance is on the way and that we aren't to give the injured any food or water, or move him.

I think adrenaline and responsibility prevented me from becoming queasy. It also helped that none of the veins or arteries in his legs had been severed, so bleeding was minimal. Luckily too, one of the guys in our group has an EMT license, and went into action. Another guy in our group was alleviating the situation by telling the kid jokes and calming him down. The kid himself, 15 year-old river, didn't cry or scream at all, even though it was obvious he's in pain and shock. I would have peed my pants.

When the ambulance arrived and got their gear out, I was put in charge of holding the I.V. bag while they gave him morphine and got him on the stretcher. I couldn't help but take this picture, and it did help me feel better knowing his friend had been taking pictures all along on his I-phone. Those photos were on facebook before River was in the ambulance. You might have to click on this one to see up close.


Isn't it odd how we can't help but keep looking at something that we consider repulsive? What is that in human nature? The uncanny? I don't know.

But the story doesn't end there.

Paul, the guy in my ward with the blonde hair above, went to visit River in the hospital the next day, Saturday. On Sunday, I baked some brownies and we both went to give them to the teen convalescent. He was in a wheel-chair with his family outside the hospital, and as I approached, I realized that among the people gathered around him was a certain Kevin Degraffenried, the same guy who backed up myself, dad, and brother with bass guitar at Blues Night just the week before, and who has been the roady of my dad's band for years.

Turns out River's sister is Kevin's girlfriend, and what's more, River's parents like the music scene too and saw me sing at that same Blues Night. I don't know what startles me more, odd coincidences or blood.

I'm not going to say this full circle all happened for a reason, but make no bones about it, it's a small and strange world we live in.

Doi!...Confound it all!

I'm so mad.

I hate microsoft and their products. I hate that I can't even copy and paste anything out of my microsoft word documents until I buy Microsoft word (I've been using a trial edition). That is so stupid.

I sound like a child. I feel like a child that's been given a cool toy to play with and then gets it torn away. But I won't cry. I'm angry I've been manipulated to get to the point where I'm dependent on Microsoft Word. I've never had withdrawals from anything before.

I had a great post coming, and now I can't even copy and paste it in.

But I won't leave you stranded for long. Here's something to tide you (and me)over.

Last night, I had a dream that I was Batman, or someone like that. A superhero. And there was this velociraptor villain. He wasn't a velociraptor all the time, but only at night time, when his form was changed biologically to be that of a huge, black velociraptor. Now, I didn't know this (but I did), until he started to change into the velociraptor right in front of my eyes. Before then, I believed he was merely one of my schoolmates. We were friends. But he was conniving, and had stolen a chemical recipe and chemicals from our professor so he could use it on himself to feel powerful and accomplish some greedy aim(s). And then he turned into a velociraptor and started wreaking havoc on my metropolis. I was scared for a while, but then I realized that as a superhero (which he didn't know I was), I had to fight for the city's freedom, and my friend's freedom, because it's not freedom to be trapped inside a velociraptor. I felt the most brave I've ever felt, walking out into the moonlight to meet my destiny, who had now transformed (in the way which dreams are wont to transform things sans explanation)into a two or three story velociraptor looking machine, tearing in slow motion through the buildings on either side.

And then the dream ended and I woke up to sunshine.

So, I want to know... Knowing me, how do you you think Batman (as me) would have defeated his velociraptor-villain-friend? Freudian interpretations? Accompanying scores that seem appropriate?

(P.S. Yes, I would like some comments now)

A Tree Grows in Provo-- or something akin to that kind of miracle

(Authors Note: Not gonna lie—I kinda want to put this on Wikipedia. And if it seems cheesy...bring on the wine. I wanted to remember this, and hopefully it will help you too as well. This is a tribute to all you fine people who made it happen. Go Team!)

In the tedious droll of quotidian life, it is easy to forget the miraculous. If we are not on our guard, the daily grind can shroud one in monotony.

But I am here to witness to the power of current miracles, and of a story whose impact would go down alongside the accounts of the Odyssey, Daniel in the Lions’ Den, and the American Revolution, if our world was not so preoccupied with other news. Rarely do we encounter the stuff from which legends are made, even rarer are our chances to participate in these happenings. And yet.

The culmination of the events I am about to describe took place on the thirteenth of April 2010, year of our Lord, in the humble town of Provo. But the story begins long before, perhaps in late January of the same year.

The team had been christened H1N1 (or N1H1, no one quite knew which), and were known on and off the field as Team Swine Flu. They were a co-ed intramural soccer team, just like any other intramural team, but perhaps with one too many players. Despite their average skills, team swine flu began the season terribly, even appallingly, suffering through losses as great as 10-0. This continued through the season. 7-0. 8-1. It was as though they had condemned themselves from their name, for their losses could be compared to the death of the ravaging disease. One game saw them tying, but just barely.

The team, near to admitting total defeat, kept playing only maintain their honor, even as their players lost morale and appendages (not really the latter—but it was kind of like that to their souls.)

But then, in the first game of the playoffs, something changed.

Perhaps it was only the small changes made by each player, an added intensity with which they played. Perhaps it was a star that dislodged itself from the sky and touched each players head with the blessings of heaven. They might have thought, after that first win during the play-offs, that some of this was luck—the other team didn’t have enough players to sub, they were running themselves out, etc, etc. How could be anything besides luck and perhaps a minimum amount of skill? But after this game, no one on the team let off the gas pedal, the intensity grew and accelerated into something more. Destiny had a plan.

Because suddenly, the team that had been playing so foully up till that point began playing most fowl-ly—taking to the field like the once ugly ducklings who, upon realizing their destinies as soccer swans, fly the skies with an inborn agility and inherent grace. And the mantra, adopted from Helen Keller, echoed in the interiors of their souls: “How can one consent to creep, when one feels the impulse to soar?”

And soar they did, to meet the stakes which rose higher and higher, as they continued to win in the playoff games.

Think Mighty ducks. Think Angels in the Outfield. Think Remember the Titans. Think that movie about the Kentucky Football team. And then think better. This fortuitous event was better than all of them, because it didn’t happen on a big screen, book-ended by advertisements and credits. There was not an Aaron Copland symphony playing somewhere in the background, only the shouts of “Dang” and “Gosh” along with the pounding of hearts, echoing up and down through the expanse of the indoor practice facility. This event happened in the third dimension, with real blood, sweat and tears. It was as real as any history in a book... and even more real, because we lived through it. Let no one doubt the miraculous nature of what continued to transpire.

On Saturday the 10th, team Swine Flu played a team that, like Goliaths, marched out onto the field with a most assured smugness; their men were indeed, lithe, tall giants and their women were blonde, tan and quick. All wore actual cleats. But in the first minute of the game, through some deft passing and a stellar move by forward Jason Akinaka, Swine Flu put a goal into the opposite net, much to the astonishment of both teams. It is believed that this moment must have done something to challenge the expectations of all. Mentally, a table had turned. David’s sticks and stones were not to be trifled with. But the game continued, very tensely, as the team of Goliaths and Jezebels returned to the field to score four points, while Swine flu held the lead at 5. At this point, even the Richter scale could not measure the amount of energy caused by the friction and play between the two teams. Certain members on the sidelines could not repress the urge to jump up and down through the whole game, shouting recklessly at the top of their lungs—perhaps last-minute prayers for deliverance and salvation, for the field that day would be someone’s deathbed. Spectators and participants alike held their hearts in their hands, as though this sort of Faustian sacrifice might yield a victory. Indeed, there might have been a match of sudden death, for in a final effort, team Goliath had intensified their playing and put the ball up field. As everyone rushed to the ball-- goalie, defenders, offense, midfield-- the ball was lost and popped out from under a huge dog-pile that had formed just feet from it. It rolled, apathetically, beside the goal, so precariously—nearly kissing the white line. The strength behind a golf putt would have put the ball in. And both teams knew this, and a brief moment of silence stilled over the crowd before the storm of agony and clothes-rending. But a swift delivery from one of the prime defenders on Swine Flu found that ambivalent ball and expertly delivered the team out of danger, kicking it to the sideline as the buzzer rang, and Team Swine flu was hailed victorious, with a lead of 5.

But that had only been the semi final. The final, which took place, as aforementioned, on Tuesday, April 13th, was also quite intense. This was it. Some of the members of the team might have doubted their ability to compete with the other highest ranked team in the division, looking back and seeing how far they had come in so short a time. These individuals were lacking in faith, but this was made up for by the stalwart playing of the rest of the team, who were all still reeling from the thrill of defeating the Goliaths of Saturday’s game. After three goals by the exceptional Alissa, the Swine Flu was winning and holding their own. The intensity never died… this team had come too far to know that the game was not over until the very end. A very real magic was tangible in the facility that night, amplified by sweat, trepidation, and anticipation. So as Kristine Jaussi placed the team’s final goal into the net, finalizing the score at 8-2, the victory buzzer blared, and the crowds rushed the field in a cry and celebration of victory that lasted for minutes. Oh to be in that mosh pit!!! One could almost believe that the ceiling had opened up and fireworks fell from the sky while angels sounded celestial horns, or, to be creative-- theremins. Victory had never tasted so sweet, and probably would not for a long while to the team, and the members of which who would be leaving the ward in the following week, to follow the beat of their own drums, leaving the nest to fledge their separate ways. But one memento they would always have to carry, cherish, and wear: a generic shirt printed with the words of triumph: “BYU Intramural Champion.” And on the back: “Those who say ‘it’s just a shirt.’ don’t get it.”

It was a shirt that was more than a shirt.

And a game that was more than a game, a win that was more than a win.

It bore the mark of myth and legend, but also of religious testament. It was pure human resilience, betterment, and a refusal to accept fate. It was a stand against the odds, and the narrow limits of empiricist thinking: one that will never be forgotten as long as we have the gumption to retell and extol it for future generations. Ultimately, it is a story too exquisite to be cheapened by the structures of cinematic retelling. The only unfortunate part of this tale is that the greater part of Utah—nay, the World itself!--- will never know the miraculous comeback of the BYU 183rd Ward’s own: the Team Swine Flu.

What Freedom Means to Me... and the little ones.

For the English Society Closing Social tonight, we read and judged public school entries for Provo's Freedom Festival Essay Contest, based on the perennial theme of "American Values: Family, Freedom, God, and Country." Which is about as broad as a contest prompt can be. Gotta start synthesis training early, I guess. We had a grand old time eating pizza and looking through the essays to score them. My category of judging was the 4-6 grade level. Here are just a few excerpts from the best of the the best, in all their astute, ambiguous, didactic, and totally "wha--?" glory...

"How cool is it that I can say my grandfather is one of the people who gave me my freedom. Proud. That is what everyone I know says. We are proud to be Americans."

"About 200 years ago, many African-Americans were slaves. They all went through tough times by being punished for not doing their job, not listening to their masters, reading and writing, the possibilities are endless."

"Policemen guard the roads, stop people from speeding, stop thieves, and protect us. Doctors heal us, help us, save us, and help us survive. America is the best place I could ever dream of living."

"If you're upset with your family, don't be. They are the only family you've got. Love and care for them. They're the best."

"My country is so cool. We are free, smart, and much more. We were the first ones to the moon, we invented tons of things and we can be so proud of so many things we do."

"We have medicine for pets and other objects."

"There are so many things that need an explanation that science won't suffice for. God is that explanation."

"The Constitution gives us rights... No other country can say that and really mean it."

"America is a land of values. We value many things that mixed with other personal values, can brighten a life. Many countries do not possess these values, such as East Germany, parts of China, and other countries around the world."

"America is the greatest place in the history of the world."

"Peace comes from minding your own business."


Ain't that great? My favorite is the third from last. I'm guessing this contestant used a pre-1989 encyclopedia to conduct his research. But anyways. Ya. America is great. Even though I am getting incredibly antsy to see beyond its borders, I'm grateful for my freedom. My freedom which allows me to go to school, and study Shakespeare, and write papers for my Shakespeare teacher, 10-page papers which have deadlines, one of which is due Monday and not started, which I must attend to now. Hasta!

This is NOT a joke...

But it did make me laugh out loud at the supermarket.

Upon listening to my phone messages after being in class, message two is from my dear mom:

"Hey sweetie, you need to change your message ...And I got an interesting piece of mail in our mailbox today for you. It's from some place in American Fork called the 'Center for Advanced Reproductive Medicine.' It says 'We look forward to helping you achieve your goal of pregnancy.' And I just wanted to find out- um- if they mailed it to the wrong Emily K. Go-------... or if you are in fact, trying to reproduce on your own. I'd be very interested and curious to see. Give your mom a call back and let me know the big news..."

You know, it's flattering to get a stamped, snail-mail letter addressed directly to you in this day and age, but it's even more flattering when its contents reveal the yellow brick road to your subconcious desires-- what you didn't even know you wanted!

Maybe this company is partnering up with BYU... a preemptive strategy to add on that final layer of pressure-- "Oh, you're not wanting to have children? Our bad... it's just that, well, all your friends are doing it, we must have gotten their names mixed up with yours... same demographic brackets, ya know?" Ya.

Suffice it to say, the message had me suppressing guffaws for days. And if the original letter wasn't thrown away, I would scrapbook it.

Still Life with Amaryllis

In spanish, a "Still Life" is called "Naturaleza Muerta"-- "muerta" meaning dead. Interesting implications between the differences in the languages. Story: the amaryllis my mom got me for Christmas, which I tended to and watched bloom, was beginning to die, but I thought it deserved one last day of glory in the hot sun. Also, this blog is the first to publish my brother's precocious poetry.


In the glory of a wilting orchid
I persist, survive, live, thrive.
My sun is setting, and I think the stars will suffice,
While in naïve anxiety, I sip at the air
Watching in anger,
The light camber through
The longest horizon.
The moon absent
While the invisible sun retreats
And nothing but sky.
Celestial Litter
Collapses
Upon my conscience,
Asking me answers I can’t question.
And I,
In a train of confusion...

-Sam Golightly, 2010


I can't just blog about something serious all the time, so I thought this was a fun picture. This is what happened after I cut the stem of the flowers to preserve the bulb. It reminds me of my childhood (cough cough... college freshmen) days of playing Zelda. This guy might have showed up in the Kokiri forest, perhaps a relative to one of those Deku nut spitters. And I bet you can guess who is holding the "sword" ;). Yours truly. Over and out.

All the Single Ladies

This semester has awakened the feminist in me. I do believe it was there all along, waiting to come out of hiding, but it took just the right combination of a theory class, Shakespeare, and one X factor which I can only refer to as Doctor Brandie "Freakin' Awesome" Siegfried-- to call it to full consciousness.

Now, before we get our undies all in a bunch that I've gone crazy and joined a herd of Amazons, I'd just like to state:

1. I have no desire to burn my bras. That would be harmful.
2. I still like men. (Sometimes)
3. I don't want to overthrow the family proclamation

But seriously. There are so many things that really need to be rethought concerning the codes and systems we're currently using to construct gender. I know some of you who I've discussed this with will be grimacing. I'll pretend you're grinning.

I'm still in the stages of developing my own beliefs on this, but I just feel really strongly that we need to look closer and harder at what paradigms are being used in our world today which come to signify "man" and "woman." A lot of them, probably harmless, but a lot of them can also be incredibly harmful and misleading. To more clearly see this, take Chinese foot binding. What began as as a trend to accentuate the natural beauty of the woman's tiny feet (I know-- feet, right?) eventually came to the place other, peripheral effects of this practice (women not being able to move as far, not standing a lot, being more physically submissive) as the primary, natural attributes of a acceptable women, even long after the foot binding tradition was gone.

Laura Mulvey writes extensively about "the male gaze." Hollywood Cinema today is all about this, and you don't have to be a critic to realize it. The very ways in which shots are taken of women during movies are sometimes meant to show them as being 1: Eye candy 2: Subliminally threatening/seductive. Granted, Mulvey was writing during the 60's and 70's, but I think she makes some valid points concerning our attitudes toward the portrayal of women in media. The biggest thing I wonder is "Why are we so complicit?" No, we can't single-handedly change the porn industry or challenge COSMOPOLITAN's constant suggestion that the value of woman is based solely on her biology, but we can be armed with knowledge about the way these images attack us and infiltrate our thoughts. We can call a spade a spade, and help others around to do the same (even if we don't see the same spades... not talking about Kate Spade vs. Prada, either, for those of you more fashionably inclined.) Bottom Line: Look harder. Thank you, Rafiki.

That's why I applaud my girl Katrina Hodge for wanting to rid beauty pageants of their swimsuit competitions. Use your brains folks: if the swimsuit section weren't so inundated in the tradition of the pageant, and if the Donald Trumps and Hugh Hefners weren't patronizing these shows, the mere idea of a swimsuit competition would be absolutely absurd. Because yes, gentlemen, I can somehow equate my platform of world peace with the shape and smoothness of my legs. Uh huh. Yeah.(whispers in the crowd: I think what she means is a piece for the world...)

I know more people have to see the absurdity in all this. For our children's sake and our own, let's meet it head on, riding into battle with our helmets down and heads high... (whispers... for Frodo..)

Well, that's enough for tonight. I could really go on about this forever; Twilight and beauty pageants are the two things in this world that I feel are not only plain stupid, but also poisonous. The article about modern day Joan of Arc is here.

Mis Palabras Grandes

I’ve been thinking. I want to put some of my thoughts down. Let me say how I feel, let me say how I feel before it gets burdened down by my inculcated tendency to use big words. Doi! I can’t stop. Have to be on the look-out. You see, I’ve been accused of using too big of words-- words like monsters so fast that they come out of the cave of my mouth and eat up all the little words while they have their backs turned (The little words share the same cave).

Let’s be honest. We don’t need gigantic, presumptuous words in the English Language if we have all the smaller ones that make them up anyway. Like instead of saying, “I was flummoxed,” why don’t we just say “I just didn’t get it—it was so retarded, like ‘what the heck…’” . Why do I default to saying: “That’s so archaic,” when I could say “That’s so last…(insert time period, month, year, etc.).” The other thing about big words is that they are inconsiderate of other’s space and time. Like bad guests, or the guy I sat by today on the bus. Who has time to text (or, gosh, for that matter, even speak) a word like ambivalent? People are offended by these words, and rightly so. The other day, I used “harbinger” in a conversation, and my friend looked at me as though I had just yanked her braids. Confronting a new word is like being forced to be talk to someone you haven’t been introduced to. Like what… you’re supposed to stop the conversation and ask a name, or what the word means? Both instances…so rude. I’m so excited that we’re cnslidting everything. I didn’t get it before, but I mean, like now that I have a life and a phone, I see that ‘breviations are the future. Look out, SOS, because, like, what’s more universal than the language of LOL?

Jk.

Ha ha.

Fellow English Majors and lovers of truth, beauty and goodness: don’t banish me to outer darkness to trudge beside the Twilight series— not just yet, anyways.

All joking and satire aside, I sometimes feel troubled by the way I can’t transmit everything that I feel or want to express into words. I should be an expert on this, by now, right? I mean-- having come so far in the study of my own language and its literature, you would think I'd have it down pat. But there’s something elusive about words and thoughts and the way they come together (or sometimes die trying). Believe me, there have been volumes written on this, so I won’t go into the theory of it now. Maybe you know what I’m talking about. The common saying is “Cat got your tongue?” You’ve felt it? (Personally, I’m not exactly sure how much of the trouble has to do with my tongue. But if you like cats, tongues, or have a quirky sense of humour like me, you should check this out.)

I used to view words like they were proud, seafaring vessels which bore our thoughts and ideas over oceans and onto to foreign shores—- ambassadors, if you will, between individuals, groups, nations. Sometimes the ships would transport just down a shoreline, from harbor to harbor, to disperse value and work out meaning within the system of one mind. But sometimes, the ship-words aren’t strong enough to carry the thought, and, topheavy, sink. Or the ship-word is too large to carry the thought, and it gets blown off course to meander in a sea of ambiguity and confusion until they too become lost and forgotten.
Or… like I have this great idea… but how can I narrow it down without using words? Or--and this might be the worst of the afflictions-- when I have a whole flock of ideas surging through my brain, wild-fire like, but I can’t make the words come fast enough to capture the impressions, can’t find the right ones to embrace them, and the thoughts escape like doves of light toward the sky, never to be recaptured. The ones I do manage to catch lose some of their luster, they whimper like caged nightingales. And I sigh, wistfully wishing there was some better way to speak what I think and feel. To say what I mean and to mean what I say. That would be something.

Writing is hard. Communication is hard. Maybe that’s why we have tried all the other ways we know to do it. Art, photography, film. Everyone knows music exists precisely because what it expresses can’t be contained by words.

But I will still try. I have read writing that soars above the daily grind, and is able-- in one swift, fluid motion-- to communicate not only content, but beauty—the type of beauty that threads like silver through the very warp and weft of the textual fabric. I have heard the people speak with power-- because they have something to say and not just the urge to say something. Language is a gift, one which, I believe, we are still opening.

Short Story...

Or that's what they say these are called. Not so much short, when you get down to it..:). This one ended up being about 4000 words, but I entered it into the 2010 BYU Hunger Banquet's Creative Competition. And it won one of the prizes!!! I was really excited. I'm really proud of it too. Billy Collins once said that writing poetry makes him feel... like writing more poetry. This is how I feel about writing. So, rest assured, I'm far from being done.

There is a copy of the story posted on the BYU Students for International Development Blog (here). However, I accidentally sent them the wrong copy and for some reason they haven't put the right one up. So that one can be proof of my greatness, and this other one you can just read- if you love me, that is. And please let me know what you think, if there is anything that doesn't make sense or you have questions. I really want to polish it up as much as I can. No pun intended :).

Breaking News

PROCRASTIN… what?
NEW JERSEY--Merck Laboratories announced today in a press release that they will begin public marketing for their newly developed drug called PROCRASTIN ™. Meant to battle the ongoing battle many face with deadline anxiety, the general passage of time, and other stress disorders, the new drug claims to cool down overly active endorphin levels as well as providing a general calming relief to the user.

In early animal tests, the drug was hailed as being the Prozac of stress. The scurrying of lab rats declined to a light skip and a jump. What’s more, the hamsters’ mating habits and subsequent offspring production decreased by nearly ten-fold. “Suddenly,” says Dr. Weightmore, Procrastin’s production team leader, “It was as though the hamsters, after being administered the drug, considered each other, and just thought: ‘Meh—this can wait.” Dr. Weightmore ensures that these types of libidinal results will not affect humans, only rodents.
“The point is that they’re calming down. It’s really a miracle, and we’re excited to present it to pharmacies all over America,” said the doctor.

Side effects of the drug are still being studied. In some early human cases, the strength of the drug was so potent that participants actually stopped taking it, some citing that after the first few doses, they just decided “I’ll take another tomorrow.” A handful of other cases revealed people losing their jobs, destroying relationships, developing acute cases of boredom.

On the other hand, another set of cases revealed that participants in the testing experienced high bursts of creativity and spontaneity: results which other drugs have seldom produced. Some participants (or those close to them) reported the drug causing a manner of strange symptoms such as: singing loudly along to Journey in bedroom mirrors, taking uncharacteristically long naps, extending and elaborating during conversation, developing engaging hobbies such as cutting out fashion magazines, and of course, eating. While these activities are highly interesting and engaging, they are perhaps not efficient, relevant, or beneficial to the parties involved. “It was just weird,” Henry Mow (Pittsburg) says of his wife, Molly, one of the first to try Procrastin. Says Henry: “She started… learning piano, cooking. I think there was something else she was trying to ignore, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was. And yeah, I ended up doing the taxes this year, hours before the April 15.” Molly herself commented: “You know, I do feel like there’s something—strange about the product, in a way that I can’t put my finger on… but I don’t need to find out right now, it’s really not that urgent. I mean, I’m fine, right?”

Despite the ambiguous and evasive compliments given to the drug by Molly and those like her, critics predict that the reception of the drug by the masses will fail miserably because it can only suspend symptoms of stress, and will not actually treat the cause. “Sometimes,” says Dr. Footbear, one of the drug's foremost critics, “the only way to really get that nagging feeling to go away is to actually sit down with the stressor and work it out. Get it done.”

On the historical cue of Dr. Footbear, Dr. Weightmore stopped waiting and discussed the possibilities of perhaps developing a parody drug to Procrastin called Prudentin (not to be confused with Colgate’s Prodentin) which will get people up and moving. His first words after meeting with Merck's execs a few days ago: “Well, I talked to the heads. They kind of want to wait and see how this first batch of Procrastin goes. You know, it’s more chemically difficult to make a drug that will enliven people than one that will slow them down. Science has proven: entropy’s always easier. I think the real answer is because our desired slogan for this new drug has already been taken by Nike. But like they said, we’ll just wait and see. It’ll happen some day, I’m sure.”

Until that day comes, there’s nothing wrong with trying out the newest trend in medicine! Procrastin will be available in drugstores everywhere tomorrow. Or the day after that.

Words A-part.

So, I was thinking... about this word. Don't judge me.
It's really cool.

Um... here goes.

You've got the word "a-part"

Now, if you put "a-part" together like this-- apart-- it means separate.

However, if you separate it, like this -- a part-- it becomes inclusive.

Just like the word cleave, which carries two opposite meanings within itself.
When we use it in some contexts, it means "to bind." Like in the Bible, when God commands Adam to cleave unto his wife. There is a unity, a wholeness. But "cleavage" ... like in geology, or other things :)... means a separation. A cleaver divides.

Other words like cleave, which have two opposing meanings in the one word, are called contranyms. Wikipedia world has a list of them here.

Check it out. Could change your life.

Rodents, etc.

The Olympics are over. All good things must come to an end, but I really think that Canada started something during the Closing Ceremonies that other generations of Olympiads are going to be hard pressed to forget. Namely, I mean the HUGE blow-up animals that came out during the song. More specifically, the Beavers.



Just check those babies out. If you're wondering whether or not we've gone too far in anthropomorphizing animals, the answer is-- well, yes. As long as those come-hither red-tinted eyes aren't a result of the Twilight pandemic (Even the rodents want a bit of Edward with their cheese, it seems)--we should all be fine, right?

Meanwhile, meese float above the ground, grinning. I surmise they are either 1: daydreaming that they have been chosen to replace Santa's reindeer, or 2: Fondly remembering the Bambi days of innocence and forest yore. We can only hope their tails are up in a unified gesture of peace.

You just gotta give credit to the minds behind these guys to make these balloons so fantastic on so many different levels. That's gumption right there, folks.

P.S. If you can't get enough of great rodents, check this out.

In the Beginning was the Word....

Word.

So... This is my first blog and my first blog post. I'm treading into uncharted territory here. How do you handle such a vast expanse? There are so many places I could go, and not go. Where are the limits? Obviously there are none. Anything goes that can be contained by the text. Should I give myself rules for what I will write or how I will write it? I don't know.

Pardon all the questions. I should address them in private to myself, and not to my audience. But why not address them here? Is this blog for me, or for other people? Is it first for me and then for you as readers? How honest dare I be? This isn't just an online journal. How much of my soul can the words carry? Is it my soul I want to impart? That seems dangerous. But what's life without risk?

Some people will limit their blogs to certain topics. That seems practical, but kind of reductive. I want to think of this blog as a blank slate, dream catcher for my mind. A room of one's own, but with room for unexpected. How do we know?

I guess that comes later. Too much Joni Mitchell, probably. Makes me go all meta.

The making of a blog has been in the works for a long time. But today was really springy and it feels like an auspicious time to start something new. (I've always thought they should start the new year when the weather can help to bolster people's spirits and resolutions. ) Something great is coming. I can feel it-- don't make fun of me now. (And I have no idea who will read this-- stop Em.)

So here's a new resolution: not blog... write. Right. I don't know what's going to happen, so I guess I just follow my feet.

Theodore Roethke wrote once that "we learn by going where we need to go."

I kinda like that.

Most religions endow language(Christianity) or the utensil of writing(Islam)with the primal creative power. Man speaks Language. Language Speaks Man.

So with those words, I do now dedicate this blog to the use of for me for the purposes of whatever I feel like writing/thinking/speaking about. May we have a happy existence together (my blog and I). What else can I say?

The Beginning.