Why I Hate Santa Claus, and Other Notes of Interest on Christmas Music.

I am no bah-humbugger. I love Christmas, and I love the season. I love the family, food, and sleeping, and games. I love celebrating the birth and life of Jesus. There is one thing: music. I hate "Christmas" music.

I'm not talking about Christmas hymns. Those guys are great! I love Far, Far Away on Judea's Plane more than most hymns, actually. I also love The First Noel, O Come, All Ye Faithful, and Silent Night. These songs are some of the best, and I love hearing them and singing them.

I also enjoy some of the other songs of the season, such as We Wish You a Merry Christmas, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and The Nutcracker Suit.

What I do not like are songs that have to do with Santa. Sure, kids are a big part of the Christmas holiday, but do all the songs played (over, and over, and over, and over, and over...) on the radio need to be about Santa and presents? I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, Santa Claus is Comin to Town, and Santa Baby are among my least favorite "Christmas" songs. Why? Two of them are about implied sexual relations between Santa and someone else (Ew. So gross.), and all of them are about a mythical creature, but furthermore, focusing on the myth, not symbol for Jesus within the myth. I am a supporter of Santa in that he can help us understand how Jesus loves us, gives to us, sees us individually, and wants us to be good people. Just replace "Jesus" for "Santa" in the song titles, and you'll get it: I hate these songs.

I also hate another Santa song I don't know the title of --- the one they've played a lot --- at least in J. C. Penny's --- about "The Man with the Bag." Seriously? Who wrote that thing, and who got drunk enough to play it on their station? Repeatedly? What musical artist can take their self seriously while singing it? We're talking about grown ups here, people. Not elementary school students. Life is not a day care.

It is time to grow up.

And that leads to another interesting song that is played again, and again, and again. I like it, and I don't like it, too --- it is played too much, and the sentiment is slightly off. I find myself singing along, and thinking, "wait. Something is wrong here." All I want for Christmas is You? All I want for Christmas is to own another person. Can you own another person?

Abraham Lincoln issued the emancipation proclamation 148 years ago. You cannot own another person.

That is all.

Passive Voice Novel: Coming Soon!

There once was a river. The river was called "Passivity." It was not desired to be swam in, but it was required to be done. The dangers were known; the signs were read, and the foot was placed in the flowing water. The Hero was told "farewell," and the heart was calmed of fear. The boat was pushed from the shore, and the journey officially was begun.

Then it was declared "finished" because of its difficulty and decided repulsivity.

The End.

BYU = Cool (Sometimes).

Check it out:

Thought of You from Ryan J Woodward on Vimeo.

Artists Called Mothers.

Christians believe that dreams can be powerful.

Joseph, son of Israel, had dreams about his future, and was gifted with the power of interpreting dreams. The Pharaoh had a prophetic dream, given to him in order to care for his kingdom, and also for Joseph to interpret. Lehi had an important dream, the dream of the tree of life, and he was even called a "visionary man."

I am not a prophet, though I am a Christian. My dreams are usually just the random sparks of a sleeping brain, but sometimes, sometimes: my dreams mean something to me.

I don't know that I have ever had a prophetic dream, and I really don't think that I've ever dreamed something that affected someone else (like whether or not they eat in the next 14 years). However, my dreams give me insights to how I feel, and sometimes, rarely, my dreams can be answers to prayer.

As a Mormon, I believe in personal revelation. God talks to me, because I am his daughter, and he loves me. Sometimes I am so dense, it takes something so involved and visual as a dream to make me realize something important about my life.

The other night I had such a dream.

My oldest sister just had a baby. You could say the concept is on my mind.

I have often had dreams about being pregnant. In these dreams, various things happen. Sometimes I'm asked who the father is, and I can't remember, and seriously? That's distressing. I remember once in a dream my dream-Mom asked me about my baby, "Who's the father? What's your baby's last name, huh? What's the last NAME?!" and I replied, "It's BARNHART. Mom. The last name is BARNHART."

Once, in a pregnant dream, my skin covering my baby was just like bread dough -- soft, plasticky, and difficult to keep a baby inside. It was an active baby, too, so it was really frustrating, trying to keep the child in. It was very strange.

Once, I had a dream that I was pregnant, and somehow was back in high school. My show choir, from back in the day, did their best to be kind to me. At practice (dream practice, that is), they asked me careful questions and looked at me curiously when they thought I couldn't see.

This dream was different from all of those.

I was pregnant, which makes it similar, but the mood of the dream was different. I wasn't panicking about the pregnancy for any reason. I don't remember being married in the dream, but I don't remember being single, either. I was coming close to the end (I wasn't uncomfortable, which probably tells you how often I've actually been pregnant, to dream it like that), and I was very, very excited about it. My whole family was excited, too. It was like counting down to Christmas: delightful anticipation! In my dream, I was waiting for a baby to become my daughter. I was anticipating motherhood.

I can think of no greater work of art than the creation of another human being.

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?

Passion.

–noun

1.

any powerful or compelling emotion or feeling, as in love or hate.

Passionateless people are unimpressive perversions of legitimate humanity. Show me a man who is impassioned by life, and I'll show you someone worth my time, money, and infatuation. If you are a man, and you do not understand passion, meaning that you have not felt impassioned, then you are a disgrace and a travesty. You are an embarrassment to the species.

Love is a most ardent passion.

There is a trend among men for shallowness and mediocrity which seems to be matched in women with a desperation for depth and exceptionalism. Men seem to generally lack strong emotion. They also turn from expressions of unadulterated emotion with mild repulsion. This is epically disturbing.

In dating, I find that the finger is generally pointed toward women, that women are the problem. Women complain about being single, and ergo must change themselves in order for the situation to become rectified ---and yet, we must never, never, never expect men to change their behaviors in any way. The flaw of singlehood is engendered by women's general lacking of man-catching skill, outgoingness, bravery, and leadership. I, as a woman, and most women I know (especially the single ladies in my ward), have looked inward and excavated and re-built our beings  again and again until we can fervently say that we are in legitimate danger of Juno's jealousy. Without fundamentally changing our personalities or innate persons, we have hiked --- no, ran --- up the mountain of self improvement, and find ourselves lonelier still.

Let's have a moment of honesty here. Can extensively improved human beings really be the ones at fault for their loveless lives, their inability to compliment another's passion with passion of their own, when there is another half playing video games and watching reruns of "South Park"? No. Don't be stupid.

Perhaps you think this is prideful, or perhaps you see it as dodging blame. In this you would be wrong without question, and for obvious reasons. I do not deign to address such a horrible misconception of the women I am referring to, and the fact that you would stoop to ask such a wrongfully crafted questions causes me to question your stability of character, morality, and upbringing.

Perhaps I am truly blind.
Perhaps my young women's leaders lied when they told me that I am precious.
Perhaps I am as mundane as the men I blame for the widespread dearth of companionship provided to the  unimpeachably remarkable women I know, love, and have cried with on occasion in regards to our embarrassingly prolonged interludes of solitude.

Perhaps.

But at least we have passion. Yes, we are passionate creatures, and cry we must (Medea said in Euripides' tragic play, "I am a woman: I have to cry!"), so cry we will.Women cry, on average, five times a month. Men cry, on average, once a month. Feeling compassion is a godlike attribute, and shame for this expression of potential godhood is nonprogressive and ridiculous. Perhaps the stigma associated with crying was created in defense of those who lack. Those who can't, mock. In any case, it is counterintuitive.

What this world needs is one more vertebrate man. A man who is passionate, strong, brave, and a leader. Is that not the definition of manhood? So many males say, when referred to as boys, "No, I am a man."


Prove it.

 It is time for a real hero to step forward. It is time for now's Beowulf to prove his passion, and show the world of Provo that men with spines are still being born. Do not expect women to hand you all that you want, because although we will try, unless you stand up and create a world where men are men, and women are allowed to be women, what is wanted will not exist to be handed to anyone.

I am a Tribute (Obituary)

PROVO, Ut -- Heidi B., the perpetual student, of Brigham Young University, has died. She was ...well, it's curious, saying the age of a woman, even a dead one, even if I'm not saying, but just typing it, seems impolite. Let's just say she was old enough to drink, and young enough to die good. Even though she didn't drink, and she wasn't really good, either.

Heidi, a left-hander, was 741-0 with two near-wins and five comically predictable strike-outs only in the last year.

Heidi suffered and died from complications due to what medical experts called a "massive BSR stroke" (while reading, of course) caused, doctors say, by an unusual combination of extreme boredom, extreme seclusion, and massive reading. Apparently the brain really can only handle a quantifiable amount of proportionate salmations of these three things, and doctors estimate that she had exceeded the normal limits of "so much" in the eighth grade. "It's a wonder," said one expert, "that she made it as long as she did. It really was only a matter of time."

Witnesses claim that she died laughing.

According to Heidi's friends, she was "nice --- but a little strange." One friend said, "I felt bad for her, because she just didn't fit in -- I mean, she really, really didn't. I just wanted to help her be normal, but it was totally beyond her to even see normal. It's like she didn't even realize how weird she was. Or she liked being abnormal. I think she was pretty near-sighted, actually. She told me her contact prescription once, and I sort of wondered if it were legal for someone so impaired to drive."

Heidi's family had nothing to say on the subject of her death. When questioned, they asked, "Who?" and then, "she's dead? What are you talking about? Stop being ridiculous. I don't have time for one of these games."

According to several facebook tests, she most likely was color blind, had road rage, dandruff, schizophrenia, technophobia, androphobia, and would most likely date both George AND Fred Weasley if she were a student at Hogwarts. Of course that means the opposite (Except the part about androphobia).

Heidi was pursuing a degree in English Teaching, which she unfortunately did not obtain prior to her death.  She has exactly zero major (or minor. She was minoring in humanities) accomplishments to speak of.

She is survived by ...well, no one. She never did get around to making one of those family-things, and her apartment contract forbade pets of any kind.

At least she died laughing.

Sample in a Tube.

She sits, in the library, day after day
from her job, in the lab,
squirting samples into tubes.
Her eyes meet the floor:
(they are unashamed lovers,
her eyes and that floor,
meeting day after day,
gazing passionately on,
unashamed of the time
that they've wasted on each other.)
There she sits, till the close,
in that room, after dark,
gazing days into years,
till her face starts to sag
and the people in her books
live their lives while she sits
and diligently squirts
all her samples into tubes
in the mornings at the lab.

Janel and Jared

Grand Portrait

"Pianos are such noble instruments -- they're either upright or grand."

-Unknown

Leaves From Trees

My friend Bergen and I took some pictures today:

Thanks, Bergen!

Would You Like to Listen?

I watched Funny Girl this weekend, and decided that Barbra Streisand officially is talented. If you haven't heard her voice for some time, check out this video of her singing the final song in the movie. It is so emotional, powerful, and skillfully executed:

She has a beautiful voice! Here are some of my favorite songs, sung by some of my favorite female singers:

1. "Man of la Mancha" sung by Linda Eder. This woman has an amazing range:

2. "Pie Jesu" sung by Sissel. She sounds like an angel:

3. "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" sung by Judy Garland. The Wizard of Oz is a magical movie, and Judy has an enchanting, powerful voice. She was only 16 years old when she recorded this movie:

4. "Reflection" sung by Lea Salonga. Actually, she also is the singing voice of Jasmine in Disney's Aladdin, as well as Mulan's singing voice. She's from the Philippines, and has had numerous roles on Broadway, including the part of Eponine in Les Miserables:

5. Laura Pausini singing "Como Si No Nos Hubieramos Amados." She is Italian, even though the song is in Spanish. I love this song. It is so emotional. Laura sings very, very well, too:

6. Alegria by Cirque du Soleil. If my kids run away and join the circus, it had better be Cirque du Soleil. I can't find the name of this singer, but she has a magical voice, and this song is moving.

7. "A Song for You" sung by Karen Carpenter. Always an emotional performance, this woman's voice is like a rock:

8. Jewel, "Foolish Games." Need I say more? No, I need not.

I Have a DREAM Today!

"I have a dream: a fantasy,

To help me through reality

And my destination makes it worth the while,

pushing through the darkness,

still another mile.

I believe in angels, something good in everything I see

I believe in angels.

When I know the time is right for me,

I'll cross the stream; I have a dream.

-ABBA

One day, when I'm grown up, things will be different.

I'll have a long, tall bookshelf, with all of my books out. They'll be easy to find, take, and read. It will be lovely.

I'll have a mudroom where I hang up all of my coats, jackets, sweaters, and scarves. It'll have a place for my boots and hats, too.

I'll have a kitchen with plenty of counter-top space for all of my appliances: and I will have appliances. Specifically, I'll have a kitchenaid (I mean, what's the point of getting married if you don't get a kitchenaid? Isn't that the whole purpose of a reception, for the kitchenaid?)!

There will be room in the fridge, and the freezer. And all of the food in it will be mine! ...and my husband's, I guess, except really it'll be mine, because I'll be the one to get mad when I catch one of our kids drinking orange juice straight from the container.

...Apparently I'll be married.

I will have a pantry, too. More than one shelf, that is. And we'll have all the cereal I could ever eat, which is a lot really!

I'll have a walk in closet, where all my shirts, skirts, dresses and shoes will have a place to stay. Also, I'll have enough room in my underwear drawer for all my underwear. and socks.

There will be windows, and new carpet. And efficient insulation (meaning the doors and windows and walls won't leak cold).

The lights will not be yellow.

And I'll have a garden! There will be herbs, flowers, and fruit trees! I want apples, and pears, and cherries. Also, grapes and tomatoes. I'll have days when all I do is can fruit, sweat, and talk to my Mom on the phone (unless she comes over to help, then we'll talk but not on the phone. And we'll probably have to tell Toby to stop bothering Fizzgig, the dog, cuz Toby's gonna be young forever, and Fizzgig will be easily teased, but it's okay, because I'll have kids by then, too, and they'll play crazy games in the woods about being chased by witches, and we can talk about raising kids, and Mom will give me advice about potty training, and I'll complain about the school district, and my kids will be super happy about having Uncle Toby over, but then they'll break a bone or something, and then on the way to the emergency room I'll tell them that Grandma won't come over for at least a month, and even though they'll all know she'll be back next week, they'll be sorry for what they did).

Also, I'll live in Pennsylvania! Obviously. How else could my mother come over to help me make applesauce?

The Sinister Australian Redback Spider!

When I was younger, I had this theory. It's one of those things that I look back on and laugh. Why? Well, actually living this part of life is so much different than I thought it would be, theoretically, and that's why it's comical. I had a lot of bogus theories like this one. Then again, maybe it's not such a bad idea...

Theory: I should marry an ugly man. Why? If he's uglier than I am, then he will never leave me. Could he do better than me? No, are you kidding? What kind of a lucky miracle was it that I agreed to marry him in the first place?

If you think this is a good idea, read this link for some help:

How to fall in Love with Someone Who's Really Ugly

Oh, and proof that I'm attractive enough that someone, somewhere, is less attractive than I am (just in case you were wondering. Because frankly, I wonder):

Why I have so many sisters (I have nine sisters).

And if you were wondering if spiders really are creepy, just read this, and you'll never need to ask again. Don't ask me how I found this. I don't want to talk about it.

Oxidizing Copper Vulcan Blood Oozing, Bleeding, Seeping

Look at the sky, look at the trees.

Look at the color, look at the green.

Listen to water, caressing green stones

Listen to bird, on green branches roams

Feel green embrace you, growing and calm

Green is the color of Earth’s right-hand palm

Green like the cool days that summer creates

Green is forever, green never negates.

Fair Use

Maybe I don't always live up to this blog's name, but this video about copy right law certainly does. Enjoy!

Funny People.

Janel: The little speed bumps are the worst!
Makiah: Do they even boost your speed?!

Nephi: I'm starting to hate whales.

Purposeful Living

Lately, I've been contemplating my life, how I live it, and wondering what I can do to calm down a bit. I'm anxious. I'm stressed. I hate it.

So, as a transcendentalist, I've decided to take some advice from Thoreau. Here is a little list of how to make my life simpler:

1. Deactivate facebook. It is pointless, meaningless, and time consuming.

2. Kill my texting plan. It is distracting.

3. Watch no television.

4. Quit taking long, hot showers.

5. Cook all my food/stop buying food from vending machines/Papa John's.

6. Quit playing solitaire.

So far I have done #1, resolved to do #2 to a certain extent and #3 during the week, #4 not at all, #5 I've been trying to do with some success, and #6 is gonna be hard.

Here's hoping.

String Theory

I can't even tell you how much I love string theory. Here's a link to the PBS website on "The Elegant Universe":

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/elegant/

They call it a "Brave New World," and they use images born of MC Escher. It's physics, it's philosophy, and it's AWESOME.

the NOVA video is split up into three fifty minute videos (it's designed for classroom integration, I guess), and it is riveting. It will blow your mind. If you want to just get your mind off of this world for a bit, I recommend watching it. If you have to make time for it, because you have a tight schedule, I still recommend watching it. If you're about to die, and have only three days left, then I recommend watching it... with a loved one.

Homework Home Work Home-work.

We are not selfish people. We believe in giving of ourselves: our time, our talents, and our energy. This means helping the poor and sick, the emotionally weary.

We also are a family people. We believe that the family is sacred, and deserves much of our time, dedication, care, and most of all, our love.

There is an unfortunate problem in the American home that is making children sick. It is distracting parents from loving their children fully, correctly, and healthily.

It is the problem of gender roles in America.

It has been said, and it might be easy to misunderstand, that a woman’s place is in the home. The first go-to document on family is “The Family, a Proclamation to the World,” which states that “Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children.” The definition of the word “nurture” is “to feed and protect; to support and encourage; to bring up, train, educate.” Within the “nature vs nurture” debate, we do know, for certain, that environmental factors play heavily into the identity of an adult, varying greatly between identical twins (genetically, with one identity) who are different in personality, morality, and stability of character due to different environmental factors.

Now don’t get me wrong, I actually do believe that a woman’s place is in the home when that is her choice. If a woman decides to stay at home, then that is exactly where her place is. I’m not trying to say that’s wrong.

My mother nurtured me well. As an adult, I am autonomous: I care for myself in every way, I interact healthily with other people, I have goals, ambitions, and I am financially responsible. She fed me, protected me within reason(I was physically safe, and introduced to the less savory aspects of human life at a reasonable pace, at appropriate times). She supported me in my academics by expecting me to do well, and allowing me to do so. I can remember not even once when my mother helped me with a homework assignment. I guess I always knew I could ask, and it’s possible that she did and I just don’t remember it, but the important thing is, I always knew that she knew that I could do it, and therefore did not need her help. She had high expectations for me. So did my Dad, I guess, because he certainly didn’t ask me “Heidi, did you do your homework?” every evening at seven. He did, on the other hand, make sure I fed the dog.

I try to imagine if, for some reason, my mother had been waiting at the door when I came home from first grade with my first homework assignment, and after she hugged and kissed me, and told me she missed missed missed me, and plopped a plate of cookies with glass of milk in front of my seven year old self, she ripped open my backpack, and began doing my homework assignment aloud. Suppose, then, that this was not a 24-hour affair with insanity, but the actual method by which my mother was “supporting, encouraging, and educating” me.

Does this show love? Maybe. Or dependence. Dependence is easily confused with love: does my imaginary mother, here, love me, or need to live vicariously through me, by taking her role as mother to a point where it includes living my, her child’s, life? How is this supportive, encouraging, or educational? It in fact does the opposite. It takes away my freedom of self: my freedom to chose to be responsible, growing, and educated. It undermines my basic, human value.

That’s not to say that no children need support, encouragement, and education in the home. No way! I also happen to know that my mother and father have helped siblings of mine who needed a different kind of parent, a parent who inquires after academics, and they have been those parents, too.

But they still don’t DO the homework. And we are better people for it: because that is real love, and real love is the kind of love that makes real people in the end. Real people contribute to society in a meaningful way and are able to give real love, too. By “‘loving” your children in the way that takes away their opportunities to grow up, including homework, you take away their ability to eventually contribute meaningfully to society and participate in real love with everyone -- including parents, spouses, and their own children. How is that kind? How is that possibly what our Heavenly Father wished for his children-mothers to do when he prescribed their role as mothers to nurture? How is that nurturing?

It is not.

It is a false love. It is the kind of love that inhibits growth, and it needs to be checked. It needs to be squelched. It needs to be exterminated from our behavioral vocabulary.

Children have a right to do their own homework: mistakes and all.

I've Loved You So Long

I love listening to French. It is a beautiful langauge. This film is in French, and it is just beautiful to listen to. It is emotional. It is controversial. I'm not saying that I agree with what happened in it, but I appreciated the acting, the idea, the display of human emotion in a most extreme situation.

To Run, or ...?

Multiple times weekly, I make myself feel nauseated. That's right; I run. Why? Well, there are multiple health benefits that I could describe in detail, but they are not the ultimate motivator -- not when it comes to me, and running. No. It's something else.

About the time that it begins to be necessary for me to suppress my gag reflex -- usually during the third mile -- I experience something sublime. Rivulets of electricity begin to dance along my skin in waves of flight hormones, and I begin to find myself mid-air. I'm running faster now. Yes, although my sneakers continue to deliver the sidewalk a corporal punishment, the rest of me is transcending this world, all care and stress delivered to the sublime ecstasy of purposeful living. I feel the graceful, powerful expansion and expulsion of my lungs and air. My heart sings with intense rhythmic clarity. My arms pumping, my legs stretching and reaching, my feet whisking through the air like arms on my Mom's electric beater -- I feel, I do, I am.

I am living in, and of, that exact moment, trembling on the lip dividing its birth and death. I will still exist when the moment is gone, but I will only experience that moment once. And what do I do with that moment? If I refuse to look at it, and know it, and experience it, am I not already dead?

What is more important than understanding life? What is more important than running? Is it not worth the price of nausea?

Comedy Central.

I wrote down some of the ridiculous things that my family said while I was home visiting this summer. We're an outspoken tribe, as you're about to see.

Anika: "Heidi, do we have meat in us? Like animals?"

Makiah: "Someday, Heidi, we're going to get out of this house."

Me: "I already did... remember the part where I go to college?"

Makiah: "Oh yeah. I forgot."

Nephi: "I wish Makiah were a boy."

Anika: "Evil people have messy hair."

Nephi: "The string won't go back in; the hat's lost; and his battery pack won't go back into his butt."

Makiah: (to Janel): "You're going to live in the city, I just know it."

Makiah: "Do you have The Orthodox book with you?"

Me: "Uh... The Alchemist?"

Makiah: "That's what I said."

Kimber: "We have a gene in our family that makes us ruin our own lives."

Makiah: "...as long as he has nice lips. And good hair. And nice teeth!"

Makiah: "...Obviously you're not telepathic."

Stephanie: "What's worse than having a child attached to a blanket?"

Mom: "Having a child that's attached to two blankets." (That would be Penny).

Anika: "She's disgusting. I like her, a little. As a friend."

Connor: (age 6): "I can drive!"

Anika: (emphatically) "No, you can't! You don't even have a license plate! You'd go to juvenile!"

Nephi: "...and guys, being obnoxious is when you talk real loudly, just to let you know."

Makiah: (very seriously)"No, Nephi. Being obnoxious can mean many different things."

Makiah: "How much is tithing?"

Mom: "Ten percent."

Nephi: (indignantly) "I thought it was five!"

Murderers!

Every year, BYU hosts a murder mystery dinner theater. The events transpire and Springhaven lodge, and this year's dates are November 5th and 6th. Tickets will be available two weeks before the event -- and I'm going to be in it, folks!

Scarlett Johanessberg.

Guests are fed, entertained, and given the opportunity to figure out "whodunit." These are photos from the shoot we took for the poster. Someone else is putting the poster together; I just took the photos.

Angela Jolie.

The motives are many, and varied, and sordid. It will be quite the trial for the inspector to puzzle together. ...Maybe you could help?

Steven Snailburg.

Rad Pitt.

Julia Robertson.

GASP!

Robbie Pattison.

This is Travis. Except I call him Maverick (efy). Except, he's playing Edward Cullen. That's why there's glitter all over his face.

Also, I Forgot to Title This Before Publishing.

Sometimes I amaze even myself with my genuine absentmindedness.

Take the past two days, for example:

I am currently procrastinating a paper that I forgot about, which is due today, which is supposed to be about 5 pages. Brilliant, I know.

This morning, I remembered my work schedule as being in the farthest booth from the police station. I’m actually in the 2nd closest booth, but I didn’t remember that until I actually arrived at the farthest booth. Genius, I can hear you thinking it, I might as well say it.

Yesterday morning I had to leave work early for a guest lecturer, visiting from Calvin college, an author who we are studying in one of my classes. I have been excited for this lecture all week, but I totally forgot about it until my phone’s alarm went off 15 minutes before the lecture was scheduled to begin. I was still in my uniform and everything! So I rushed back, and made it just in the nick of time.

After class yesterday, I stayed on campus in the computer lab to do some work. I stayed there for about an hour when hunger finally overcame me, so I headed home. When I got there, I realized with a jolt that cleaning checks were tonight, plus the temple trip was tonight, and there was only an hour before take off! So I scrambled to do my cleaning (luckily our apartment is actually super clean, and the work needed for cleaning checks is basically a sanitation process that may or may not be visibly noticeable), changed into temple appropriate attire, and met for the carpool on time.

I ate something, too, but apparently not enough, because I got a low blood sugar while in the temple, which is not exactly embarrassing or anything.

I’m too young for Alzheimer’s disease, right?

I Am a Rock Star.

Mark: How old are you?
Me: (Rolls eyes) I'm 23.
Mark: (Surprised) Oh!
Me: (a little irritated. because 23 shouldn't be surprising.) How old are YOU?
Mark: (taken aback) I'm 23.
Me: Well you know what they say about being 23.
Mark: Yeah, nobody likes you.
Me: (Realizing I just found my new best friend).

Waves

Waves

When all I long for

are deep, deep roots.

Passing me from shore

to Shore,

like a coin from

patron to vender,

again and again -

waves upon waves.

This sea is endless.

I'm sick of remembering

the precious things

of my past,

which now ride waves

of their own.

Do I LOOK Like a Doormat to You?

I never cease to be amazed and disheartened by the selfish people who populate this world.

Remember a few years back when Max Lucado wrote this amazingly sappy book about puppets who put stars and black spots on each other, and the book was called, "You Are Special?" I think he should write a sequel called, "You are NOT Special." Maybe if people read it, they'd realize that their colossal sense of entitlement is entirely mis-fostered, and people are NOT going to give them special treatment, because frankly, they have done nothing to deserve it!

Tears, Idle Tears

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,

Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more.

-Alfred, Lord Tennyson

"End, begin. It's all the same: big change!"

-Augra

...and so ends a summer.

"...But Don't Take MY Word for It!"

Books I've read this summer:

1. My Fair Godmother, by Janette Rallison

2. Breaking Dawn, by Stephenie Meyer

3. Howl's Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones

4. The Witch of Blackbird Pond, by Elizabeth George Speare

5. Waiting for Godot, by Samuel Beckett

6. Till We Have Faces, by C. S. Lewis

7. The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho

8. The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins

9. Ender's Game, by Orson Scott Card

10. Ophelia, by Lisa Klein

11. I, Coriander, by Sally Gardner

12. Lirael, by Garth Nix

13. The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Expuery

14. Castle in the Air, by Diana Wynne Jones

...and books I would like to read before school starts in two weeks:

1. The Host by Stephenie Meyer

2. Abhorsen by Garth Nix

3. Dune by Frank Herbert

4. Out of the Silent Planet by C. S. Lewis

Till We Have Faces was again amazing. It is my favorite book of the summer still, though Howl's Moving Castle is particularly excellent, and Lirael had odd connections to me personally. The Alchemist was good, except for the part where the entire thing was one, huge, self contradiction. The Witch of Blackbird Pond bothered me, and I've decided that it's because it's a historical fiction. I might be morally opposed to historical fictions- I'll let you know how that development goes. The Little Prince was surprisingly familiar, and The Hunger Games made me cry.

Books I'd like to read after school starts but not for school:

1. The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan

2. Vanity Fair by William Thackeray

3. The Trial by Franz Kafka

4. Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

5. Hunger Games #3!

Also, I firmly believe in libraries. Both the public and private kind.

Youth Conference 2010