Things I'm grateful for this morning:
1. Wonderful sisters who, when I was marrying someone I didn't love in my dream last night, told me, "It's okay to not marry him." Those are good sisters.
2. Wonderful dreams that let me experience the sensation of giving someone the shaft at the altar. (For those of you who don't know how this feels--it's terrible. And liberating.)
3. The HFAC (music/arts building), where people sing shamelessly in public spaces. I feel more dramatic just by walking into that building.
4. Jazz music, and how it makes it socially acceptable to twitch noticeably throughout a whole concert.
5. THE WEEKEND. sigh of relief.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Labrynthine Sentence
I'm on an embarrassing/awkward story kick. Here is one of my best.
I often chuckle when the phrase "most embarrassing moment" is brought up in conversation; not because I find my own experience particularly humorous (though it is), and not because I find the experiences of others humorous either (thought they usually are too)--no, I chuckle because I know that my story is top-notch when it comes to embarrassment factor (my past story-sharing experience showing me that my story blows most competition out of the water); top-notch from my ridiculous green spandex shorts to the too-good-to-not-be-out-of-a-movie situation of school-wide toilet out-age, hence the four portapotties out back, one of which I peed behind; from my bashful approach of the secretary's desk (for how, exactly, do you, a fourth-grader, let a seemingly ancient woman know that you have peed your green spandex shorts?) to the unbearable drive home in the principal's car--all embarrassment culminating in the final question: should I take the paper towels I've been sitting on or leave them with Principal (not to be confused with principle; remember, your principal is your pal) LaMalfa?
The above is all one sentence. That should explain why it was hard to read. I had to do this exercise in class today--I recommend it for a good time. 192 words. One sentence.
I often chuckle when the phrase "most embarrassing moment" is brought up in conversation; not because I find my own experience particularly humorous (though it is), and not because I find the experiences of others humorous either (thought they usually are too)--no, I chuckle because I know that my story is top-notch when it comes to embarrassment factor (my past story-sharing experience showing me that my story blows most competition out of the water); top-notch from my ridiculous green spandex shorts to the too-good-to-not-be-out-of-a-movie situation of school-wide toilet out-age, hence the four portapotties out back, one of which I peed behind; from my bashful approach of the secretary's desk (for how, exactly, do you, a fourth-grader, let a seemingly ancient woman know that you have peed your green spandex shorts?) to the unbearable drive home in the principal's car--all embarrassment culminating in the final question: should I take the paper towels I've been sitting on or leave them with Principal (not to be confused with principle; remember, your principal is your pal) LaMalfa?
The above is all one sentence. That should explain why it was hard to read. I had to do this exercise in class today--I recommend it for a good time. 192 words. One sentence.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
crowdthink
In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
-Ezra Pound
Two things must be noted about today before I continue. I am wearing day-old make-up (saves supplies, time, and money), and the first song to come on my iPod shuffle was Faith Hill "There You'll Be" from Pearl Harbor. Wow. This song used to make me cry; today it sent me out the door and on my way with a quarter for lunch and a pat on the bum.
Also, I picked up the newspaper on my way up the stairs to campus, and read the blackness that keeps spilling out of Wall Street. (This detail becomes key later on, I think--no promises as I haven't gotten there either.)
So I'm reading the news, listening to Faith Hill, and trying not to rub my eyes as I make my leisurely way past the Maeser building. Right when I hit the JSB, the clock strikes ten to and rush hour begins. I suddenly find myself in a huge crowd of students, and with survival fresh on my mind (aha! from reading the newspaper) I stick out my elbows and determine to be faster than them all.
Some of you know I am very good at speedwalking. Speedwalking is a talent I nurture for occasions such as this. I had no deadline or destination, but I started booking it. It felt very important to walk very fast in this situation, and it had something to do with winning.
I just thought of another time I had a similar experience, but on a scooter. Freshman year, my roommate Steph had a little razor scooter--in fact, razor scooters were all the rage at BYU my freshman year. Steph let me borrow her scooter to go take a test on the other end of campus, which I did successfully (unless it was HEPE--worst test score of all college.) The trouble happened on my way back to the dorms. Just between the Kennedy Center and that one science building, I came upon a crowd of people, and rather than slow down my scootin', I very obviously rushed past all the people. They noticed. Scooters amplify the noise of every rise and fall between sidewalk slabs. I made it out in front of the pack, and as I was breaking to walk up the stairs southwest of the twilight zone, I hit an especially big rise in the sidewalk and spilled out across the pavement. Scooter one way, me the other. No one stopped, no one said a thing--no one laughed! I could have been invisible. The people I had passed so earnestly now filled in around me, acknowledging my presence only in their care to not step on my head. That was a sad day. But it is proof--I become quite dangerous in a crowd.
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
-Ezra Pound
Two things must be noted about today before I continue. I am wearing day-old make-up (saves supplies, time, and money), and the first song to come on my iPod shuffle was Faith Hill "There You'll Be" from Pearl Harbor. Wow. This song used to make me cry; today it sent me out the door and on my way with a quarter for lunch and a pat on the bum.
Also, I picked up the newspaper on my way up the stairs to campus, and read the blackness that keeps spilling out of Wall Street. (This detail becomes key later on, I think--no promises as I haven't gotten there either.)
So I'm reading the news, listening to Faith Hill, and trying not to rub my eyes as I make my leisurely way past the Maeser building. Right when I hit the JSB, the clock strikes ten to and rush hour begins. I suddenly find myself in a huge crowd of students, and with survival fresh on my mind (aha! from reading the newspaper) I stick out my elbows and determine to be faster than them all.
Some of you know I am very good at speedwalking. Speedwalking is a talent I nurture for occasions such as this. I had no deadline or destination, but I started booking it. It felt very important to walk very fast in this situation, and it had something to do with winning.
I just thought of another time I had a similar experience, but on a scooter. Freshman year, my roommate Steph had a little razor scooter--in fact, razor scooters were all the rage at BYU my freshman year. Steph let me borrow her scooter to go take a test on the other end of campus, which I did successfully (unless it was HEPE--worst test score of all college.) The trouble happened on my way back to the dorms. Just between the Kennedy Center and that one science building, I came upon a crowd of people, and rather than slow down my scootin', I very obviously rushed past all the people. They noticed. Scooters amplify the noise of every rise and fall between sidewalk slabs. I made it out in front of the pack, and as I was breaking to walk up the stairs southwest of the twilight zone, I hit an especially big rise in the sidewalk and spilled out across the pavement. Scooter one way, me the other. No one stopped, no one said a thing--no one laughed! I could have been invisible. The people I had passed so earnestly now filled in around me, acknowledging my presence only in their care to not step on my head. That was a sad day. But it is proof--I become quite dangerous in a crowd.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Awkwardness--variations on a theme
As I walked down the stairs in the JFSB (four flights, to be precise), the air smelled increasingly like dirty feet. Explain this.
*
My professor mentioned today that he likes to compliment the parents of every baby he sees..."my, what a lovely baby you have." Why babies? Why do the requirements for loveliness get so demanding as we grow? Cause we all know there are some ugly babies out there (none of yours, of course), and yet, being a baby is enough for us to overlook the way they look.
*
The Harold B. Lee library is out to get me. Or at least reveal to me my social-ineptitude. I roll up to the fifth floor, hoping to get my study on, and find my first obstacle: choosing a table. Do I sit at a table with only one empty seat--cozy, but presumptuous? Do I sit at a table with two seats taken on one side, and two seats open on the other, throwing off the balance of the universe? Do I sit at a table with one person on each side, forcing me to choose which party I sit by? Do I sit at a table with one other person, and do I sit next to, across from, or diagonal from this person, and what does each choice imply? And if I am choosing to sit at a table with people already there, do I pick the one with the most attractive boys (also presumptuous) or the least threatening girls?
(If you're curious, I chose the completely empty table.)
But upon choosing, my trouble is not over.
My social conscience cannot rest, because now I have to wonder what to make of who does or doesn't sit by me. "I've been sitting here alone now for 20 minutes. People continue to walk past, finding seats, and yet, not at my table. Do I smell? Am I scary-looking? Are they trying to tell me something?" Finally a boy approaches my table, pulls out the chair next to me, and asks if he can borrow it to sit at another full table. Awesome. Not only do you not want to sit by me, you want to anti-sit by me--and prevent others from sitting by me. Then, insult to injury, a couple sits across from me, snoggling over their computers and playing footsie with me by mistake. Sweet.
*
My professor mentioned today that he likes to compliment the parents of every baby he sees..."my, what a lovely baby you have." Why babies? Why do the requirements for loveliness get so demanding as we grow? Cause we all know there are some ugly babies out there (none of yours, of course), and yet, being a baby is enough for us to overlook the way they look.
*
The Harold B. Lee library is out to get me. Or at least reveal to me my social-ineptitude. I roll up to the fifth floor, hoping to get my study on, and find my first obstacle: choosing a table. Do I sit at a table with only one empty seat--cozy, but presumptuous? Do I sit at a table with two seats taken on one side, and two seats open on the other, throwing off the balance of the universe? Do I sit at a table with one person on each side, forcing me to choose which party I sit by? Do I sit at a table with one other person, and do I sit next to, across from, or diagonal from this person, and what does each choice imply? And if I am choosing to sit at a table with people already there, do I pick the one with the most attractive boys (also presumptuous) or the least threatening girls?
(If you're curious, I chose the completely empty table.)
But upon choosing, my trouble is not over.
My social conscience cannot rest, because now I have to wonder what to make of who does or doesn't sit by me. "I've been sitting here alone now for 20 minutes. People continue to walk past, finding seats, and yet, not at my table. Do I smell? Am I scary-looking? Are they trying to tell me something?" Finally a boy approaches my table, pulls out the chair next to me, and asks if he can borrow it to sit at another full table. Awesome. Not only do you not want to sit by me, you want to anti-sit by me--and prevent others from sitting by me. Then, insult to injury, a couple sits across from me, snoggling over their computers and playing footsie with me by mistake. Sweet.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Loyalties
Dear earth,
I'm sorry I have forgotten you so quickly. It used to be all you all the time, and you've probably wondered where I've gone. Inside, for starters. It hurts me just as much as it hurts you...the fluorescent lights, the manufactured air, the unnatural white/beige color scheme, the hushed voices and subdued movements. There will never be enough windows to remind me how it FEELS to be outside.
You've been trying to catch my attention, I know. Last night, as I walked from class to class, I saw the sky, startled into seeing by its boldness, and I remembered how I used to say good morning to the sky and eat my lunch under its watch. And walking to a meeting in the dark, you made the crickets shout...how long had they been going before I noticed, because when I did--what a din!
I'd like to promise that I will be more faithful. I cannot.
For now,
cath
I'm sorry I have forgotten you so quickly. It used to be all you all the time, and you've probably wondered where I've gone. Inside, for starters. It hurts me just as much as it hurts you...the fluorescent lights, the manufactured air, the unnatural white/beige color scheme, the hushed voices and subdued movements. There will never be enough windows to remind me how it FEELS to be outside.
You've been trying to catch my attention, I know. Last night, as I walked from class to class, I saw the sky, startled into seeing by its boldness, and I remembered how I used to say good morning to the sky and eat my lunch under its watch. And walking to a meeting in the dark, you made the crickets shout...how long had they been going before I noticed, because when I did--what a din!
I'd like to promise that I will be more faithful. I cannot.
For now,
cath
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
George Banks is saying NO!
My iPod was acting up today (this is nothing new) so I restarted it. It's how we bond. We bond a lot. Pretty much every day. After restarting it, I was heading into a luncheon so I put it my pink bag and forgot about it. Later, while catching the end of the slightly off pitch live version of "Hey Jude" in Brigham Square, I thought, "hmm. John Lennon (or was it Paul McCartney) sure did a nice job of singing this song. Maybe I'll listen to it." I pull out my iPod, turn it on and find that it is EMPTY. I'm in playlists, hoping it's a mistake, so I scroll back to artists. EMPTY. Apparently, she shall not have music wherever she goes. This is dire.
Today also happens to be one of those days where no one looks me in the eyes. They are all too focused on my feet, and yes, I am wearing boots with fringe that sways while I walk. Would you like to talk about it?
Finally, having concluded that I would skip the devotional to do my homework, I headed into the library and made it to a computer when...the fire alarm went off. Suspicious. Very suspicious. I know BYU and it's subtle ways of encouraging us to go to devotional--closing all services, playing weird bell music, and the like--but a fire alarm in the library is just taking things too far.
Who's George Banks?
ME!!!
Today also happens to be one of those days where no one looks me in the eyes. They are all too focused on my feet, and yes, I am wearing boots with fringe that sways while I walk. Would you like to talk about it?
Finally, having concluded that I would skip the devotional to do my homework, I headed into the library and made it to a computer when...the fire alarm went off. Suspicious. Very suspicious. I know BYU and it's subtle ways of encouraging us to go to devotional--closing all services, playing weird bell music, and the like--but a fire alarm in the library is just taking things too far.
Who's George Banks?
ME!!!
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