On vlogging.

I've been feeling peculiar all morning. It's like my movements require no energy or effort, like I'm in my body, but I'm just along for the ride. I'm hyper aware of my own gestures, and each is somehow 100% efficient. I'm not even being philosophical. It's the best kind of weird.

The weather is beautiful, the break has begun, and "Iris" was on the radio. This is, as they say, living.

However, none of that pertains to the purpose of this post. After two weeks of radio silence, it is my pleasure to present to you a vlog.

Because I had delayed writing about so many things, I decided that making a video would be quicker than bushwhacking my way through a dauntingly lengthy written post. In one respect, I was right. In another respect, I was very, very wrong. Filming the video and moving through all of the events I wanted to cover took far less time than writing them out would have. Editing the video was a horse of a different color. If filming the video was a lovely bay, then editing it was a dapple grey someone rode into a paintball battle and then left out in a downpour laced with food coloring.

I don't think Windows Movie Maker likes me very much.

Trimming out the the "um"s and "anyway"s took longer than writing probably would have, but it felt like less work. I didn't really notice the time passing because I was too wrapped up in rewatching tiny segments of video to make sure I cut the clips precisely where I wanted them. It required just the right amount of brain power.

It was after that that Movie Maker decided to be a jerkwad.

Pretending to be a real vlogger, I decided to make an end screen with my YouTube name on it. My poor computer freaked out when I opened Photoshop and Movie Maker at the same time, which is understandable. Of course, then Movie Maker freaked out when I tried to import a song to lay over my picture. Troubleshooting that probably took me about an hour. I had to try several different websites for converting music files and convert my mp3 into two different formats before I found a combination that worked that Movie Maker would open for me. I don't know whether the Windows website is lying about which formats it accepts or whether the program just hates me.

It took a good 25 minutes to publish as a .wmv file, and then another half hour to upload it onto YouTube, only to discover that Movie Maker hates me even more than I thought and what they claimed was a 16:9 format was, in fact, not.

I had to delete the YouTube video because I couldn't stand looking at the squashed image. I may not know much about making videos, but I still have my pride. At that point, also known as 3 AM, I called it a night and went to bed.

It was a good thing most of my classes got canceled today because I woke up late, and by golly, I was going to upload that video before I went to school if it killed me. I tried three more publishing settings, and even busted out some math, before I found one that preserved the widescreen format. Movie Maker is a lying liar. The hostility between us is mutual.

Even after all that work, I think the video that I finally uploaded is actually grainier/more pixelated/whatever the term is-er than the original. The one publishing setting I found that preserves the 16:9 format has slightly larger dimensions than the original footage, and in true computadorian fashion, the video did not expand well. The difference is smallish, but it still bothers me.

Of course, what will probably bother most viewers is the length. This thing clocks in at a whopping 9 minutes and 33 seconds. Vlogging: I'm doing it wrong. Among professional vloggers (yes, that's a thing), the general consensus is that videos should generally not exceed four minutes in length. I just didn't know what to cut! Everything I kept seemed important to me. I wanted to include all of the events that I'd put off blogging about, but I also wanted to include all of the humorous asides and tangents that cropped up as I was filming. My silly rambling generally seems to be people's favorite thing about my work.

Some of you asked for long and detailed. The rest of you can blame them if you're unhappy with the outcome.

And because no blog about a vlog would be complete without video:



Listening to: The Remus Lupins
Reading: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs

Bloggiversary.

Two years. So many things in this life take only two years. An associate's degree. A term in the House of Representatives. A mission.

Two. It's such an unassuming number. It's a single digit: 2. Spelled out, it only takes three letters: T-W-O. Most of its fame comes from a type of pencil lead. That, and being the loneliest number since the number one.

And yet...

So much can happen in two years. Lives can change. They can settle into a groove. People can grow. They can stay the same. They can get together or fall apart, step up or let down, continue on or turn around.

If you're counting cookies, two is a very small number, but if you're measuring lives, it's as long as forever and as quick as a wink. It's 24 months. 104 weeks. [insert Rent song here]

Two years ago, I started a blog, inspired by a friend who is now halfway through spending two years on a religious mission in Sweden. It's like a recurring theme.

But yes, that's right. This is another post about blogging, cleverly disguised as philosophizing. Or is it philosophizing cleverly disguised as a post about blogging? Not important.

Two years ago, I wrote about pizza and football. A year ago, I was evaluating my life. Today? Well, my last post was about football, and there's been an awful lot of self-evaluation going on behind the scenes.

At a glance, not much has changed. But a life cannot be measured by glances. The gauge of a life is the long, piercing look, steady and constant and unflinching.

This blog has been filled with anecdotes, captain's logs, musings, poetry, pictures. With things said and unsaid. There have been periods of prolificacy and periods of silence, periods of exuberant joy and periods of quiet despondence.

At a glance, not much has changed. But under the gaze of that long, piercing, steady, constant, unflinching look, so very much has changed.

I could list the qualitative changes within me, but I'm not sure even I fully comprehend the most important ones. For now, it is enough to know that I have changed, that I am changing, that I will change.

It is a far, far better person that I become than I have ever been. It is a far, far greater place that I go to than I have ever known.

Here's to two more years, and two more, and two more...

Listening to: Dizzy Up The Girl by the Goo Goo Dolls
Reading: Matched by Ally Condie

Sunburn #2.

Homecoming!

Which happened over a week ago.

...My bad.

I don't mean to let so much time pass between posts, but I'm acutely conscious of how much time it takes to do large events justice, and there are so many wonderful distractions on the internet. Distractions named exciting, exotic things like Hulu and YouTube and Neopets. But enough dilly-dally!

Friday, October 28th was a busy day. After going to the temple, sitting in on another Latin class's worksheet day, and going to my own Latin class, I had to stop by Joann's for fabric and notions (that's what the random bits for sewing projects are called) and then go to a sketchy cab company office to pick up the football tickets I won.

Yeah, so my friend works for a cab company, and they had a contest wherein whoever posted the best picture of one of their cabs to their Facebook wall would win two tickets to the Homecoming game. First, no one goes around taking random pictures of cabs. Second, you had to friend them on Facebook to be able to post on their wall. All of which was fine by me. Being the only person to enter the contest drastically bolstered my chances of winning. After picking up my tickets from their office in a derelict car lot, I hurried home to begin work on my costume for Saturday.

Solis Diaboli (our classics club) assembled the full Greek Pantheon for the Homecoming parade. I was their Artemis, so my accessories required a crapton of silver spray paint.

In the midst of all this spray painting and sewing, I decided it would be an awesome idea to take a break, drive all the way to Tempe, and walk up a windy hill with a candle so I could stand at the top for an hour with several hundred other people. Oh, I meant to say, "and participate in the Lantern Walk." It was actually kind of fun. Sure, I lost count of how many times my candle went out, and it's really hard to walk uphill, protect a candle, and explain the Festinalia at the same time, but there was something amusing and enjoyable about the whole thing. Maybe it was the six full minutes of fireworks. I'm a sucker for fireworks.

Back at home, I spent a good hour making sure my peplos would fall just above my knees. It's Artemis's signature look. And a huge exception to how long peploi usually are.

After working until 1:30 in the morning, I caught what sleep I could before getting up at 8 so I could be ready for my friend when she got there at nine to help with my hair. Our timetable was running flawlessly at that point.

On campus, we (a different we) gathered the Pantheon and found our place in the parade staging grounds. They stuck us back toward the end with the fraternities because the Classics Honor Society is Eta Sigma Phi. I guess the planning committee didn't realize it was an academic organization. In addition to the Pantheon, students from some of the Latin and Ancient Greek classes came in togas and stolas. The mortals carried a giant stuffed cow, and we had ourselves a right proper sacrificial procession: sacrifice in front, mortals following, gods bringing up the rear. It was so *ahem* epic. Yes. Yes, it was.

After the parade, and the subsequent (authentic) toga contest (which, strangely, featured only one toga as the rest of the contestants were females in an assortment of stolas, peploi, and chitons), my dad and I headed over to Sun Devil stadium, where I proceeded to earn my second sunburn ever.

My first sunburn was from the Homecoming game my freshman year. What is it about the late October sun streaming down over Frank Kush Field that so effectively reddens (or at least painfully pinkens) my skin?

We had great seats near center field, only 20 rows up, behind four Canadian guys who'd never been to Arizona before and had no idea who Sparky was. They'd come down for the weekend to escape the snow and to golf. They were downright uproarious. They spent the first half of the game making bets on every play and passing money back and forth as they won or lost, occasionally asking people to break larger bills or settle a dispute about the terms of some wager or another.

As for the game, we creamed them. Like corn. All thanks to our very own Jolly Green Giant, Brock Osweiler. And, you know, everybody else on the team. Because our receivers are boss.

And our defense! This is how mind-blowing our defense is (not talking about the heartbreaking results of last night's game): Colorado got the ball to the goal line and we stopped them. 2nd and goal from the goal line, and we held the line. 3rd and goal from the goal line, and we held the line. 4th and goal from the goal line, and we held the line.

They would snap the ball and all of the players would fall to the field like a building collapsing in on itself. The refs would move in and pull guys off one by one to find were the ball was, and somehow it was always a few inches to the wrong side of the white line. With three tries, they should've been able to get it in by accident. Brock Osweiler could've done it. Of course, all our Goliath has to do is trip and bam! yardage. Vontaze Burfict, our most notorious linebacker, is a beast. That boy came at them like William Wallace.

One of the best parts of winning the game was all the bison burger jokes I got to make afterward.

I was supposed to meet up with my friends to read Macbeth around a bonfire after the game (we're hardcore), but what with all the walking and the wild cheering, I just couldn't bring myself to drive over there. My calves were in revolt. I went over to my dad's girlfriend's house and watched Hocus Pocus instead.

For Halloween on Monday, I stayed home and passed out Mike and Ikes to the few groups of trick-or-treaters who stopped by. In these tough economic times, I would expect more children than ever to turn out to collect free sustenance from those strangers willing to spring for fun size Snickers to fuel their tiny sweet teeth, but no. One of my teachers told us that she bought ten pounds of candy and only had one customer. What is happening to our nation?

In between proffering my bowl to small superheroes and petite princesses, I watched Practical Magic ( <3 ) and Labyrinth. The latter has become my Halloween tradition since coming to college. I don't know what it says about me that that's the scariest movie I own (thanks, David Bowie), but I'll gladly accept whatever it is.

The end. Oh! and a picture.

Listening to: "Dance With The Devil" by Breaking Benjamin
Reading: Matched by Ally Condie

Chocolate.

Not to be a downer, but I had kind of a crappy morning. This is relevant. There I was, sitting upstairs in the Institute, trying my dangedest not to cry (and failing), when up comes Noor. I would say "when up walks Noor," but the man just kind of apparated. Before I knew he was there, he was crouching down beside my chair and asking, "What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure, and I think that's part of the problem," I muttered (approximately).

"Is it...school?"

"No."

"Is it a boy?"

"No."

"Do you need chocolate?"

Tentative head nod.

"Watch my stuff for a minute." And he was gone like the Flash. I'm not just saying that for imagery, either. He sprinted off down the hallway.

I spent the next few minutes trying to pull myself together for decorum's sake, then before I knew it, he had returned and had his hands hidden behind his back.

"Slow-release or fast-acting?" he asked.

I thought about it for a second. "Fast-acting," I decided.

And he whipped out a big bar of Hershey's special dark. Fast-acting, indeed. Where he went to get it is beyond me, but I'm not sure I really want to know. Somehow not knowing makes it better, like maybe he slipped through a closet and brought back magical Narnia chocolate. Dementor-fighting Narnia chocolate. The one chocolate to rule them all.

He left the slow-acting M&Ms for later. Noor, I can't thank you enough. Honestly. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Several hours later, as I was reading a little Brandon Sanderson before my lit. class started, I heard one of the girls behind me saying that all she needed was a little chocolate and she would be fine. Before I was entirely conscious of what I was doing, I had reached into my backpack and pulled out the package of M&Ms, which I promptly placed next to her sleek black MacBook. (This alliteration and rhyme is dedicated to Laura, who loves it.) The girl protested that she could not take my chocolate, but considering how it had come into my hands, I insisted. Then suddenly the girl was getting up to give me a hug and people all over the room were talking about how generous I was. One girl said I was like an angel. Even the professor was watching the proceedings. Needless to say, I felt very self-conscious.

"No," I wanted to say to them. "I'm not an angel. I'm not deserving of this praise. I'm only giving what was freely given. I'm just paying it forward."

After that, before our professor turned us loose into a Socratic discussion of a short story about a balloon, I started thinking about Gordon B. Hinckley, and the advice his dad had given him while he was on his mission: Forget yourself and go to work.

Yes.

Listening to: Vlogbrothers
Reading: The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson

I need a peplos.

I keep forgetting about my Solis Diaboli meetings. It was purest happenstance that I was standing in the lobby of LL when one of the members called my name and asked me when and where the meeting was.

And that's how I wound up with the role of Artemis for Saturday's Homecoming parade.

Listening to: Eureka
Reading: The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson

Steel horse.

In a rare move, I skipped my ward's monthly Friendship Dinner tonight. I just really did not fancy the idea of getting back in my truck and going anywhere.

Which is just one of the many reasons why I was surprised with myself when I lobbied to go on a motorcycle ride with my dad and his girlfriend in search of pie. I usually have to be coaxed into going on a ride, but tonight I blurted out, "I wanna go!" before I knew what I was saying. Every time I ride, I get a little more comfortable. I'm hoping this is a good sign, as I plan to take the Team Arizona course when it cools off for good. On the way home, it pleasantly sprinkled. It's like having the windows down but better.

Dad: "Do you know how to get on the back with the saddlebags there?"

Me: "I get on from the left like with a horse, right?"

Dad: "Right. You put your foot on this peg, put your hands on my shoulders, and swing your leg over."

Me: "Like a horse."

Dad: "Right. Just stand straight up."

Me: "Yeah, like a horse."

&c.



Listening to: Once Upon a Time
Reading: The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson

"Go take a shower!"

All I've had to eat today are doughnuts and a piece of string cheese. I'm not going to apologize.

Kylie the Magnificent and I hung out for a solid 18 hours, starting around midnight last night. We always get into the most delightful hijinks. And I need to stop taking her to Walmart. We went in for milk this morning and came out two hours later with six movies, two sets of Jenga, a little fishing game, bagels, doughnuts, hangers, an iPhone case, and a plate with a turkey on it. And milk. We didn't forget the milk. It's not like we're that irresponsible. As a side note, Walmart is now selling Sparky pillow pals. This is both kind of weird and radically awesome (which could describe many things about my week). I think I want one.

We spent the rest of the day watching chick flicks, gabbing, cleaning, and crocheting. Not necessarily in that order. We'd both been passed out on the couch for a good two hours when her fiance finally got off work and came by. Semiconscious Kylie is entertaining.

I wish to laugh as hard as I laugh when I'm with Kylie every day of my life.

Listening to: "I Melt With You" by Modern English

Reading: The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson

Mrow.

What is it with girls and cats? And I say that lovingly. I am not immune.

Today, after two tests and a frustrating hour of mind-befuddling Latin poetry, all underscored by an unrelenting ache in my lower back, I walked out of the LL building to see two of my friends apparently staring at rocks. Only they weren't actually staring at rocks. Oh, no. They were staring at kittens. Large, almost full-grown kittens. We (and by "we" I mean Lauren) spent the next half hour trying to pet them. The cats were not having it. The black one kept running off into the bushes while the grey one backed up deeper and deeper into a pipe that runs under the building. Try as she might, Lauren couldn't tempt one out. But they were so cuuute.

Listening to: Psych
Reading: Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson

Suggestions?

I see that very few of you wanted to read my post about yarn. That's fair. I get it. I mean, it was a post about yarn. It wasn't even well-written.

The latter's the part that bothers me. Even my dull posts used to be at least somewhat entertaining.

I think the ultimate problem is that I'm losing the impetus to blog, although it is also true that my life is rather uneventful of late (but happy, very happy). I just don't run home anymore to open up a new post.

In addition to my posts becoming lame and sporadic, I've ended up blogging about blogging a lot lately, and that's just a little too meta and repetitive.

What I need is something like the 30-Day Blogging Challenge. To that end, I want you to send me questions, prompts, would-you-rathers, whatever comes to mind. Send me as many as you want. Send me off-the-wall requests, philosophical suppositions. Anything!

Help me help you. Help me help you.

Listening to: Psych

Reading: Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson

Worsted wool.

Friday night: Gathering of the Knights of Ubiquity. Alone time with a Prince (horse, white, magical). Pecans. The Mad Magazine (board) Game. Aladdin on VHS. Laughter. Whatever happened after I left because I could no longer keep my eyes open.

The rest of my weekend was spent crocheting. I even found this place on University today called Tempe Yarn that carries every kind of yarn you could imagine. They even have fiber so you can spin your own yarn! Not that I'm that hardcore. I should probably learn how to follow a pattern before I really go crazy.

Listening to: He's Just Not That Into You
Reading: Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson

Avert your eyes.

This was supposed to be a post about how freakin' disturbing the abortion protestors' display at the MU is, but it's late, and I'm tired, and I'm reading a spectacular book that I'd kind of really like to get back to. So just pretend that this is a post about how freakin' disturbing the abortion protestors' display is, mkay?

You wouldn't even be going too far if you pretended that it was really freakin' disturbing.

Listening to: Glee
Reading: Dramarama by E. Lockhart

Safeway.

Garsh! With the infrequency of my posts, you'd think I was on another hiatus or something.

Tonight, I came to realize how much I kind of love grocery shopping. It makes me feel all grown up! Or something. Which seems at odds with "my never grow up, never grow old" philosophy, but it doesn't feel like it's at odds.

It's incredibly peaceful to roll a cart along, thinking about nothing and everything, singing along to Jason Mraz, and purposefully turning down aisles.

It's a little bit like the feeling I get when I wind up in the school supply section at Target, but with edibles.

Listening to: Something Borrowed
Reading: The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks by E. Lockhart

Incidentals.

Lately, I feel like my life is rather uneventful. I go to school, maybe some incidental events happen to demarcate the days, lather, rinse, repeat.

I love it.

This week, I had an amazing conversation with my dad, I got to hang out with Laura, I went to the temple with Celery, and I tried pocky for the first time and spent a morning with my dear Latin friends (known to all as The Amoeba).

Yesterday was another Kylie day. She came over for the whole day, and we did homework and wasted hours on Pinterest and watched Cry Baby. I've decided she needs to be my new PR rep. I lost count of the number of times she asked me how I'm still single. She's convinced that I'm every guy's dream girl because I get riled up watching football and I'm fairly skilled with a rifle. The way she hypes me up, I almost feel like I should be paying her. What did I ever do to deserve someone like her?

For that matter, what did I do to deserve Laura and Celery and my 'Moebs?

I'm so blessed.

I'm sorry this post is neither entertaining nor elegant. It's late, and I want to get back to my library book. Did you know that you can now borrow library books on your Kindle?

That's enough randomocity for one post, I think. End transmission.

Listening to: "You And Me" by Lifehouse
Reading: What Happened to Goodbye by Sarah Dessen

Winds-day.

It has been a blustery day. The rain is coming down hard as I type this, leaving behind a delightful petrichor. That's a word I learned recently that refers to "a pleasant, distinctive smell frequently accompanying the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather" (OED). It's beyond perfect.

Of course, it wasn't raining this afternoon. It was lightly dusting. It wasn't enough to really obscure vision, just enough to make distant objects seem hazy and my lips feel powdery.

The wind, however, was perfect. Perfect, that is, for the macaw-shaped kite that Laura always keeps in the trunk of her car (or the boot, as they say in Britain). We went out to the parking lot by the music building and flew it for a solid half hour. The university photographer (because, apparently, they have one) hung around for most of that taking pictures of our fun. He said it would make a nice interest piece amid all of the pictures he takes of engineering students studying. I should say so.

I'm a firm believer in the idea that growing old is a choice. People make jokes about being old when you turn 20 or 30 or 40 (what is wrong with our society?), but those numbers don't really mean anything. My grandma still thought she was middle-aged when she was 82. It's about how you feel, not how many times the Earth had orbited the sun since you said "hello" to the world.

I feel like I'm at just the right age to be rushing outside to toss a kite up into the wind on a breezy autumn afternoon.

Listening to: "Little Red Corvette" by Prince
Reading: Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters

Blowin' that popsicle stand.

Moving is an interesting business, as I learned when I helped Kylie the Magnificent move yesterday. You would think, with all of the times that I myself have moved before, that I would've known this already. I guess I never really paid enough attention.

We met at the Institute around 2, and I drove her to her house to put a preliminary load of boxes and breakables in my truck before heading over to get her new keys. The long wait was made somewhat more entertaining by a strange old man with long white hair who kind of looked like Leonard Nimoy and asked us several tricky wordplay riddles.

After unloading everything we could lift and hold onto long enough to get it up two flights of stairs, we headed back to the house so Kylie could supervise the boys as they moved the furniture. We knew that one guy had arrived already and two more were on their way, but she was definitely not expecting to find her fiance sitting in her kitchen waiting for her when we got back. He's skipped his last class to come up and help her move. Considering he lives two hours away, this premeditated act has to be one of the sweetest things I have ever seen. It seems like I've been seeing a lot of those lately. Anyway, his surprise was all the more unexpected because Kylie had been on the phone with him about five minutes before and had caught no wind of his being in the area.

After that, time started to drag by. The couches got moved, I made a Gatorade run for everybody, her fiance's friend showed up with a 15-foot trailer (and somehow managed to back it in in front of her house, despite the parking there being three-times more retarded than Kansas City's street layout), and she and I watched the boys dismantle and ferry things for a few hours, all the while getting more antsy. I think the fact that we both felt pretty useless was the biggest contributing factor to how restless we were by the time they'd finally loaded up the trailer and it was time to grab the bunnies and the fishbowl and get moving.

After Kylie and I had carried up all of the chairs, pictures, and small boxes we could find, she ordered everyone to take a break. After ten minutes of witty discussion (none of which came from me, as my brain had apparently shut down most unnecessary processes about two hours earlier), she and her fiance put the bunny in the bathtub (the hutch wasn't set up yet) and went to go get pizza, and the master trailer maneuverer continued carrying up the last few things by himself. I felt kind of bad that all I was doing at this time was fusing closer and closer together with the couch, but whatcha gonna do?

Yesterday was the first day in my life that I truly regretted my own laughable physical prowess. I was pretty much relegated to moral support, but I suppose that's okay. I'm good at that, and Kylie really did need it.

After eight hours of shifting things and some pizza, we called it a night.

The range of emotions I saw or experienced over the course of the day was weird. There were times when I was laughing so hard my face hurt, and others when Kylie was clearly stressed as only a science major knows how to be.

It felt good to help a friend, despite how feckless I thought myself to be at times. I can't think of anything I would've rather been doing yesterday.

Kylie? You're magnificent.

Listening to: The 181st Semi-Annual General Conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Reading: Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters

Post.

Let's talk about letters. I love letters! I mean, who doesn't? Enjoyment-wise, they're right up there with puppies and gourmet chocolate. Or regular chocolate. I'm not that picky. Well, sometimes I am, but let's just go ahead and file that under "irrelevant" for now.

Opening a mailbox is like opening a wardrobe door. Most of the time, all you're going to find is the same old clothes that hang there everyday. Every once in a while, though, you find that you can step through that wardrobe, and magic comes flooding out.

Amid all the stiff, typed bills with their cellophane windows and the folded up junk mail addressed simply to "Resident," a small, white envelope with a humble, handwritten address is like a little whiff of Christmas.

Of course, that's just half the fun. I'm beginning to realize just how much I enjoy writing letters, too. I simply put my pen to paper and let go (metaphorically). It's the ultimate free write. Increasing my pleasure is the knowledge that in a few days, someone I care about will open their mailbox and find a surprise. I really love making people smile.

Like so many things, sending a letter is an act of faith. You seal it, stamp it, and send it off into the world, hoping it will make its journey safely, but never really knowing for sure until some kind of reply makes its own perilous way back across the globe, crossing continents and oceans to find you.

It's a pity email, texting, and social networking have driven good, old-fashioned correspondence to the brink of extinction. You get so much more of a sense of a person when you can hold their words in your hand and see the shape and slant of their letters and examine the weird spots where something on their table stained the paper.

Unlike the uniform font of electronics, with their flat, impersonal screens, letters convey the very vibrancy of life.

It's love in an envelope.

Listening to: Castle
Reading: Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters

Montage.

Egad! You blink, and suddenly a week's gone by with nary a post. Tsk, tsk, this will not do. My laxity now necessitates a highlight reel. We're actually going to have to back up past my last post. I meant to post twice last Sunday, but as you could probably tell, that didn't happen. My bad, y'all.

Friday the 16th: I went to IKEA for the first time, and my peepers were opened to the full meaning of the phrase "eyes like saucers." In the evening, Kylie the Magnificent came over, and we watched Easy A and wasted a lot of time on Etsy.

Saturday the 17th: I bought a laundry hamper and organized my dirty laundry. ASU lost to Illinois. The pain of this loss was soothed somewhat by the knowledge that our mascot could beat up their mascot. What the heck is an Illini?

Sunday: I went to church. I'm sure it was awesome.

Monday: Season premiere of Castle.

Tuesday: Sadly, one of my dad's motorcycles caught on fire as he was working on it in the driveway. I came home to what looked like the aftermath of a Vin Diesel movie. That's one way to freak a person out. Season premiere of Glee.

I'm sure Wednesday was awesome in its own special way.

Thursday: I finished the second Harry Potter book in Spanish.

Friday: I spent the afternoon at As You Wish with my most pulchritudinous Laura. Her post about it is here. Every time I work with glaze, I feel like I was born for it. I may stink at sculpting things, but I sure can spruce 'em up. This affords me no end of pleasure.

Saturday: Three loads of laundry and a victory for ma boys against USC. Bring it!

Sunday: A little girl I had never seen before in my life gave me a drawing in Sacrament Meeting. There were cake pops at family dinner.

Monday (today): I picked up my fired piece from As You Wish. Friendship dinner for FHE.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I just got my entry letter from Pottermore. I'm off to get sorted!

Listening to: "Don't Look Back" by She & Him

Reading: Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters by Jane Austen and Ben H. Winters

Lufu.

I've taken a lot of linguistics courses over the past few semesters, and with every one, I fell in love and thought to myself, "I could dedicate my life to this." How could I have been so blind? I chose linguistics because Merriam and Webster had given me a taste of etymology, and I was hungry for more. This week we started discussing Old English in my history of English class.

As soon as I started reading the chapter in the textbook about the Anglo-Saxons and Northumbria and the Danelaw and Alfred the Great and Viking invasions, I fell in love all over again. It was like someone had struck a giant bell deep within my soul, and with each puissant knell, I could feel the echoes of history thrumming through my bones. The sounds and the cadence of their words just seem so familiar, like a song I heard once, long ago. I can almost feel these people, dead a thousand years or more, singing in my blood.

How could I have ever imagined specializing in anything else?

"[They] have bewitched me, body and soul."

Listening to: "Storm Warning" by Hunter Hayes
Reading: Harry Potter y la cámara secreta por J. K. Rowling

Dancing in the rain.

I had a wonderful weekend. How could it have been otherwise?

I got up early Friday morning to go to the temple with Celery. Terrible as it sounds, I don't think I'd been since I was about 15. I grew to dislike youth temple trips, and then I just didn't think about it or I was busy or I wasn't sure what to do. Life certainly has a way of sidetracking us, doesn't it? The subject of the temple has been coming up a lot lately, so I decided it was time for me to go back. Luckily for me, I asked the perfect friend to go with me. She goes every Friday. If I hadn't been with her, I never would've found the unobtrusive little door around the side that leads straight to the baptistry. It was beautiful to step out of the world for a spell. I didn't have any life-changing moments or flashes of revelation, but I felt...cleansed. All of my worry went away, and the world seemed bright and clean and peaceful.

I'd been stressing about a Latin test the night before. I'd decided that sleep was more important than studying, and after a morning at the temple, I knew I was right. What's a Latin test compared to a day made for going barefoot and a chance to sit by my favorite fountain in a flowy skirt and watch the sunlight play on the ripples?

To top off my delicious day, ASU beat Mizzou in overtime. It was tense and exciting and I loved every minute of it. I'm so glad that they finally put Brock Osweiler in as the starting quarterback. They should've done it last year. That boy is like Robin Hood with a football. His receivers don't even have to break stride. The ball just falls into their arms like a gift from heaven.

I decided yesterday was going to be a lazy day. On towards evening, a short rain/hail storm blew in. After it wandered off again, I scampered out to play in the gutters. You're never too old to frolic. I left the front door open as I went back to my letter writing, though I later switched to the back door after I slipped and fell in the entryway trying to look at the lightning. For some reason, my first thought after my brain stopped going, "Ow! Ow! Ow!" was, "Well, that's a surefire way to take the mickey out of a person." ...Whaaa? From what fiendish depths did my mind dredge that saying up?

Of course, not even wiping out in my own living room could dull my marvelous Saturday. I got Swedenmail. Nothing can ruin a day with Swedenmail. I'm convinced it can cure anything from a broken heart to the zombie virus.

I ended Saturday by staying up way, way too late to watch Beastly, which I impulsively bought when I went to buy salsa at Safeway. Hey, I'd just wiped out in the entryway. I deserved some kind of pick-me-up. I've only seen it twice, but it's already stolen my heart, and I don't think it has any intention of giving it back. It's the emotional equivalent of the brown sugar-iest of my brown sugar songs. I almost listed the title of said song, but I'm still holding out hope that some boy will like me so much that he'll take the time to figure it out on his own. I'm not about to just prance around passing out my kryptonite willy-nilly. And before this paragraph evokes any more déjà vu, I'm just going to go ahead and direct you to my original post about Beastly. All of the sentiments expressed therein still stand, only now they've been doubled. It was unquestionably money well-spent.



Listening to: "Fearless" by Taylor Swift
Reading: Harry Potter y la cámara secreta por J. K. Rowling

Discourse.

Every once in a while you meet a conversation that makes you feel like you're accomplishing something with your life. It may be about something completely inane*, like boys or flirting or the wisdom of eating partially-burnt chocolate chips (true story), but you walk away from it feeling like you've clarified one of life's great mysteries. Sure, something's bound to crop up in the future to make you question all of this new-found enlightenment, but just for a day or two you get it. You have a handle on life, and everything's gravy.

Ya feelin' me? Gravy.

*The relative inanity of such topics is completely subjective. Personally, I think they're all worth it in the way that a pint of Haagen Dazs sorbet is worth it. You can't argue with flavor like that.

Listening to: Gilmore Girls
Reading: Harry Potter y la cámara secreta por J. K. Rowling

Murphy's Law.

Yesterday, I accidentally put water on my cereal. It's been one of those weekends.

If you need me, I'll be in my room hiding under the covers.

Listening to: "Do You Believe In Magic" by The Lovin' Spoonful
Reading: Harry Potter y la cámara secreta por J. K. Rowling

Grizzly bears.

I'm fairly certain there was something I wanted to blog about the other day, but now I have no idea what it was. Oh, well.

Instead, I'm going to celebrate the little things that made me smile today.

First, they've been having a security guard watch the gate at the Institute parking structure this semester, presumably to prevent people from tailgating or borrowing access cards. She is one of the most cheerful people I've ever seen. Every morning, there she is with a big smile on her face, saying "good morning" and admonishing people to have a great day. She's living proof that smiles are contagious.

Secondly, we discussed prepositions in my grammar class. I'm such a sucker for prepositions (and three-piece suits, but that doesn't really have anything to do with anything). We talked about the other parts of speech, too, and in way more detail than most people care to fathom. When the professor asked us to write a sentence containing an adverb modifying an adverb, I cheekily put down, "Indiana Jones proceeded very cautiously." It made me giggle.

Next, I got to sit in the second floor window of the music building and read a cleverly written chapter on the Indo-European language family while munching on Chicken in a Bizkit.

That's what I was doing when Laura showed up with a cooler full of mason jars--mason jars filled with cake. Not just any cake, mind you. Rainbow cake. That girl is a marvel. After she got out of choir, there were four or five of us just sitting around eating magic out of a jar.

Latin was, well, Latin-y.

In my history of English class, we talked about nifty things like metathesis (when two sounds in a word switch places, like saying aks for ask) and cognates (words with a common ancestry). Sometimes I feel like I just get way too darn excited about odd things like sound change and parts of speech. I was fairly bouncing in my seat at times.

Thursdays are my longest days, but that was almost worth it to hear the startling boom of fireworks partway through ENG 414 that indicated the football team was running out onto the field for the first game of the season. Oh, how I do adore fireworks! And football. But mostly fireworks.

It was a mighty fine day, in my estimation.

Listening to: "You Give Love A Bad Name" by Bon Jovi
Reading: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

Oh, duh!

I may have mentioned that I had a headache over the weekend that started around 7 PM on Wednesday. I thought it was gone by Saturday, but it popped up again on Sunday like Navi from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. It was probably just in hiding on Saturday because of all of the ridiculously long naps I took. Anyway, 'round about 9 o'clock on Sunday evening, I decided that enough was enough, so I did what any normal person would do: I googled it. Once on the Mayo Clinic website, I decided that my symptoms best fit those of a stress headache. The recommended treatment section gave me three options: aspirin, ibuprofen, or Tylenol. So by "normal," I totally mean that I instantly felt like a goofus for not thinking of painkillers myself. Of course, I'm not the sort to depend on medications when I don't absolutely have to, so it's not that ridiculous that I didn't remember they were an option. Still, it's pretty ridiculous. Who does that?

I spent the a good chunk of today chilling with Bonster and Celery. We went to see Monte Carlo at the $2 theater then commiserated and such in Taco Bell. If I could spend every evening in like manner, I would be a happy girl.

Listening to: Monte Carlo
Reading: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

Furiously happy.

I'm having a pretty great weekend considering I've had a headache since 7 PM on Wednesday and despite my truck's radiator springing a leak last night somewhere between merging onto the 202 and pulling in at my house, where it proceeded to hiss and exude the sickly, sweet scent of antifreeze, making it necessary for my dad to drive me to my one class today, which was so short that it wasn't worth him driving home and then coming back to pick me up, which meant he had to find something to do while I discussed Latin deponent verbs, and he didn't really need to have an excuse to go in search of ice cream. Actually, none of this is really bumming me out. Sure, I'm worried about my truck the way a mother would be worried about a kid down with the flu, but my dad is the Dr. Gregory House of cars, so I'm not really that worried.

My headache and my truck kind of joined forces to convince me going out with my friends today was a bad idea. Initially, we had plans to go to Jester'Z Improv, but then those plans got extended into watch a movie, then go to Organ Stop, then go swing dancing, and then go to Jester'Z. Upon seeing the Revised Plans Facebook Thread, which quickly got wildly out of hand and off topic, my headache started tsk-ing and calling attention to just how wiped out I was from the week. Despite my friends' creative efforts and extensive strategizing on how to get me around to all of these activities (strategizing which actually didn't make complete sense in the end, as it was extremely unclear to me when or how they meant to convey me home), everything in and around me was saying, "Look, there is no way you are making it through a straight nine-odd hours of exuberant activity tomorrow. We're putting our foot down on this one." Who was I to argue once biology and the internal combustion engine had spoken?

I say today, but I'm never really sure whether to call it Friday or Saturday or Mavis the Dancing Cow once the clock has rolled past midnight. I generally run with the idea that it's not tomorrow until I've had a reasonably amount of contiguous sleep, and it's bright outside again. I mean, really. What crazed scientist decided that the day should roll over in the middle of the night instead of at dawn? It's not natural. I think things like this should be governed by natural cycles. When the sun comes up, that's a new day. Oo! Oo! Point of peevishness: Why did they decide to move the beginning of the calendar year to a random day that doesn't coincide with anything? It used to coincide with the beginning of spring, which totally makes sense. Why wouldn't the year start at the beginning of a season? I don't even really care which season. Yeah, spring has that whole rebirth and renewal thing going for it, but the first day of any season would be better than random January 1st. If they were going to move it to winter, couldn't they at least have set it to the solstice? And least that's a natural marker of time. The Chinese know what's up. They've got that lunar calendar going on, which is another method which makes much more sense to me than whatever this is that we're going by.

Anyway, it was actually a good thing that I didn't go out today, for a reason other than because all of nature was crying out against it. It was my dad's girlfriend's daughter's birthday, which meant dinner at Ah-So. I'm seven sorts of okay with that. I also won't complain about the Italian cream cake we had afterward. I might, however, complain about how full I still feel, despite having brought this upon myself and therefore really having no right to complain.

None of this actually has anything to do with why I'm blogging tonight. I'm blogging tonight because I've been catching up on reading posts by The Bloggess, and I felt the impetus to share her genius with you. Which is just another way of saying that one can only post so many links to Facebook in one night before the situation crosses over into the ludicrous. She's just too darn funny. I can't help it. I've been laughing uproariously for the past three hours. You know how there are different levels of laughter? This is the voiceless, I've-never-smiled-so-big-in-my-life laughter, which is just a step down from can't-breathe, going-to-die laughter. The latter can only be maintained for a short period of time, which is probably why we've haven't quite gotten there yet. That, and it's hard to read when all of your energy is being diverted into making sure you don't pass out from lack of oxygen.

My bad about all of the relative and subordinate clauses tonight.

One last thing ere you go. I listened to "Airplanes" umpteen times on YouTube today, so I figured it was a sign when it came on the radio while I was in the bathroom at Ah-So. What it was a sign of is beyond me, but that's neither here nor there. Have some artistic social commentary.



Listening to: "Airplanes" by B.o.B ft. Hayley Williams
Reading: Harry Potter y la cámara secreta por J. K. Rowling

Doppelgangers.

One of my professors, no joke, looks like a cross between Tim Curry and Tom Selleck. I had another teacher a few years ago who straight up looked like Robert De Niro, had the same timbre to his voice as Timon from The Lion King (not the same accent), and was the classiest dresser I've ever seen. I love my department so much. <3

Listening to: "Beautiful Soul" by Jesse McCartney
Reading: Harry Potter y la cámara secreta por J. K. Rowling

Simple pleasures.

I forgot to mention that I saw a van painted like the Mystery Machine the other day.

In other news, certain aspects of my schedule quietly amuse me, namely the rooms my classes are in. I have five classes this semester. Four of those classes are in the same two rooms. The other class meets in two different rooms. Yes, two. It's an odd arrangement, to be sure.

This evening, I was watching Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince in Spanish. Thank you, HBO. That made my day. That, and the nap I took on the floor of the literature building.

Listening to: "DJ Got Us Fallin' In Love" by Usher
Reading: Harry Potter y la cámara secreta por J. K. Rowling

Cousinhood.

I love my family. They're so delightfully outrageous, especially when you get all the girls together for a night out. What, with Hannah spearheading criticism of the waitress and Laura laughing at the movie that had the rest of us in tears, it's been an interesting evening.

Listening to: The Help
Reading: Harry Potter y la cámara secreta por J. K. Rowling

Tia Rosa.

School started yesterday. However fascinating my variety of English classes may prove to be, I can already tell that Thursdays are going to be nightmare-ishly long. With the heat exhaustion and resultant headache yesterday, I was relieved that it was syllabus day and most of my classes let out early, especially the 3-hour day-ender. That professor, who looks like a cross between Tom Selleck and Tim Curry, announced that we will regularly have breaks in the middle of class. What kind of freakish schedule makes breathers during a class necessary?

I was doubly glad that, that particular class let out early, as that meant I could make it to my friend Drew's show on time. One of the fun things about my life being inundated with music majors is that they do cool things like put on shows at the MIM and do live jazz sets at quaint taquerías. Last night was the latter.

It was, to quote said friend, delicious. I especially loved the bit where he jazzed up the cantina song from Star Wars.

Of course, my favorite moment of the evening had nothing to do with the music. Drew's elementary school-aged brother is a precocious younker who seems to revel in being ridiculous for the benefit of us college kids. For example, he got in a contest with one of my friends to see who could take a bigger bite out of a styrofoam cup. That was strange. That, however, was not my favorite scene from last night. No, that honor is reserved for another. There was a bundle of roses sitting on the table, so in the middle of a conversation about something utterly unrelated, the young rapscallion randomly asked if we knew that roses were edible. We'd all vaguely heard such, yes. He then resolutely tore off a few petals and nonchalantly ate them.

That kid will never cease to amaze and entertain me.

Listening to: "Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO
Reading: The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson

On blogging.

I haven't felt much like blogging lately. Actually, I've kind of been dreading it. My posting style involves a lengthy, labor-intensive writing process, and for the past few weeks, that's just been daunting. I was forcing myself to blog for a while, but eventually it just became too overwhelming. I know. It's blogging. What's overwhelming about blogging, right?

This isn't what this blog is supposed to be about, anyway. It's supposed to be a celebration of serendipity and everyday magic. Recently, it's become a detailed record of everything that happens whenever I do anything. It's time to regroup and refocus. It's time to make blogging something I enjoy again.

Just for posterity's sake, here's a quick list of the things that have been going on recently:
Thursday: The Musical Instrument Museum and Hamlet
Saturday: random formal dinner
Yesterday: movie night (Ocean's 11)
Today: lunch with friends and book buying

Tomorrow, fall semester begins. Hopefully, a new/old phase in my blogging will begin as well.

Listening to: "Glitter In The Air" by P!nk
Reading: The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson

A merrier me.

Despite how thoroughly awkward and clueless I am, I have decided that I quite enjoy swing dancing. Because my friends are fabulously cool, we set up our own little soiree last night (Tuesday) and danced until we could barely stand. If we keep doing things like this, I may eventually figure out how this swing dancing things works. In the meantime, I'm glad that the boys I know are exceedingly patient.

The last dance of the night was by far the most entertaining. This is what I get for being friends with music and theater majors. One boy was dancing with two girls at the same time. I'm glad that boys are generally in charge of leading, for being as inept at actual dancing as I am, I'm fairly certain that I couldn't have thought quickly enough to figure out how each girl needed to be spun or passed to keep us from colliding with each other or losing our grip. Don't worry. Someone got it all on video. I'll try to provide a way to see it within the next few days.

Not surprisingly, despite how physically and mentally exhausting my night of dancing was, when it was over, my face hurt more than anything. That's what laughing until you can't see straight does to you.

After we could dance no more, we headed over to a frozen yoghurt place with Hello Kitty all over their merchandise. My favorite was the little pink spoon. I almost kept it. What Hello Kitty has to do with froyo is beyond me, but then again, I also have no idea what Snoopy has to do with life insurance. I'm just not going to question commercial marketing decisions.

I filled my bowl with a mixture of Dutch Chocolate and Peanut Butter Cookie flavors. I considered topping it with peanut butter cups, but that just seemed like overkill. I went for chunks of Heath bar instead. It was marvelous!

Once we had our yoghurt, we sat outside together until well after midnight, enjoying fine company and what one guy described as a "balmy evening".

I spent what was left of the night with Laura. She is housesitting a small zoological garden. I have never seen such a large collection of exotic birds and rodentia in a domestic dwelling. And I didn't even get to see the lizard room. Naturally, most of them have more health problems than you can shake a vet bill at. Laura calls it "the special needs house".

I got quite the reception. The deaf dog, Scruffy, wouldn't stop barking at me unless one of us was touching him. While I was petting the chinchilla, she tried to gnaw on my thumbnail. And the cat. Oh my goodness, this cat. Imagine, if you will, a little smokie with broken toothpicks stuck in for legs and a tail. At this scale, the head is about the size of an M&M, but of course, more spherical. As if these odd proportions weren't enough, Sushi's face is the pièce de résistance. Her nose and mouth are minuscule, even for a cat, which only serves to make her eyes seem that much more enormous. Even without this facial imbalance, in relation to her skull, she makes ostrich eyes look reasonably sized. It's like someone took the classic image of an alien and translated it onto a cat. Naturally, she spent the entire night rubbing her face against mine. She couldn't have contented herself with rubbing against my leg or something. No, she had to give me Eskimo kisses or whatever it was she was going for. At one point she was even laying across my neck. Do you know what it's like to be woken up every half hour and find yourself staring into the most massive eyes known to felinity? It's downright unnerving. That's probably why I found it so hilarious.

I was just in a mood to laugh yesterday.

And on that note, have some Mary Poppins.



Listening to: "I Love To Laugh"
Reading: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

Surrealism.

Yesterday, they used blueberry bagels for the Sacrament. It was quite strange.

Listening to: Notting Hill
Reading: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

Repose.

It has been a quiet few days.

On Thursday, I went over to Bonster's. We worked on an eye-searingly holographic Star Wars puzzle, played cards, ate bean and bacon soup, and watched Persuasion (2007). The latter was hysterical. Some parts were just so awkward that I couldn't help laughing until I couldn't breathe. Most awkward kiss ever? I think so. It was so awkward that I'm justifying redundancy in my word choice.

Yesterday and today have been distinctly uneventful. I did get to spend some quality time with my dad. We went out to brunch at Village Inn yesterday, and this morning he made scrambled eggs with leftover jalapeño rings from Del Taco. Yes, most of our quality time is spent over food.

The past two days haven't been entirely unproductive, though my grungy bathroom would like you to think otherwise. I've been working sporadically on a commission for Laura. The parameters were simply something bright and colorful, so she's getting an amalgam of desserts, flowers, and childhood relics. Progress shots here.

I generally try to end my posts with something thoughtful, but all I have today is the unshakable feeling that the greatest thing about an empty bag of Swedish Fish is that it still smells like Swedish Fish.

Listening to: "Glitter In The Air" by P!nk
Reading: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

Plastic bacchanalia.

I realized this morning, as I was laying in the shower, talking to myself in Spanish, that I really needed to get out of the house.

That's the only reason that I found the motivation to drive out to Hobby Lobby and buy new inking pens. Of course, it helped that Bonster agreed to go with me. Have you ever noticed how many fake grapes they have scattered around Hobby Lobby? Not that fake grapes aren't the coolest fake plant ever, but I felt like I was in some sort of ancient Roman agricultural festival.

Beyond that, how is it that Bonster always knows just what to say to drag me out of a funk?

Listening to: "Me Voy" by Julieta Venegas
Reading: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

Sun-splashed.

Egad. I spend the entire summer doing nothing, posting erratically, then come home and get slammed with more exciting things than I know what to do with. That's not to say that my summer wasn't exciting. Au contraire. Indeed, some memories of this summer will be fondly treasured, and not even Swedish Fish will temper their poignancy.

No, the problem is that five weeks of pent up excitement got condensed into four days. The science of it all is mind-boggling. I should've anticipated an exhausting weekend when I woke up with Shakira's "Suerte" stuck in my head.

On Thursday evening, my beautiful Laura arrived for a night of gossip, giggling, and insomnia. The high point of the night was when we were both chatting through my Facebook account, confusing our friends and coming across like a character with a split personality disorder.

Friday morning, Laura's boyfriend picked us up, and we went to meet some friends to see Cowboys & Aliens. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Afterward, we all went to a little pizzeria for lunch, where they had a yellow brick road painted on the floor to guide you through the back into the dining area. Their calzones were worthy of Olympus.

Friday night, the Knights of Ubiquity, as my friends have christened themselves (I missed that meeting), met at Sh.'s house. Ostensibly, we were there as chaperones for her sister's sixteenth birthday party. In reality? We threw our own, better party right under their noses. We were dancing like fools to N*SYNC and Taio Cruz and singing our hearts out to "Dancing Queen". Sure, the high schoolers had some sort of show off-y diving contest, but mostly it seemed like they just sat around being lame and requesting Justin Bieber songs. Drew stalwartly refused to play any, bless him. That's right. Not only were we chaperones, but our numbers supplied both the DJ and the photographer. Psh! Listen to me talking like I actually did anything.

Even if the young 'uns' festivites did come across as weak sauce, Sh.'s family sure knows how to throw a party. There was a pool; a popcorn machine; a snow cone maker; two separate blowup slides, one of which was a water slide; and a dunk tank. Ya heard me. A dunk tank.

At one point, I walked around by the water slide to escape the speakers for a while (Ch! me and my sensitive ears), and my friends somehow convinced me to go down it. So I did. Fully clothed. Several dozen times. My thighs are still complaining about the climb up to the top. You'd think I'd forced them up that spiral staircase in the Parisian catacombs again.

One of my favorite parts of the evening was when Drew made me dance with him. Okay, he didn't have to try that hard to convince me, but I got the feeling he wasn't going to take no for an answer. Maybe it was because he said, "The next song, I'm dancing with you," instead of phrasing it like a question. And so it was that I swing danced (swung danced?) to Michael Bublé's "Save The Last Dance For Me". Mostly I tried to keep up and not die while he threw me around the dance floor. I had a blast, though! He dipped me at least three times and spun me around so much that I was dizzy when it was over. I could grow to like this swing dancing business.

After the teenagers started wrapping up their party, we all went down to the basement, dimmed the lights, and blasted Beethoven. This is what happens when you hang out with music majors. While most people were in a string quartet-induced state of semi-consciousness, I had my first experience with Angry Birds on someone's iPad. Eventually someone started a massage train. I was the caboose, but I didn't mind. Just being around everyone was enough to make me feel like I didn't have a care in the world.

Saturday morning was blissfully lazy. In the evening, Bonster came over bearing a Walmart bag full of candy. That girl is a wonder. She's like my drug mule. Anytime I need some Swedish Fish, there she is with a pound of the little darlings in hand. As a point of interest, the first three ingredients listed on the packaging are sugar, invert sugar, and corn syrup. No wonder they're such a great emotional cure-all.

Saturday happened to be my dad's girlfriend's birthday, so we all went to Joe's Crab Shack (Bonster tagged along). I love crab! I had my first out-of-the-shell crab meat on Saturday. Some people may think it's a pain in the butt, but I found it to be rewardingly challenging. I ate way too much food that night. I shouldn't have packed in dessert, but the fudgey-ness of the chocolate cake made my tastebuds swoon with delight.

Later on, Bonster and I walked home from my dad's girlfriend's house (she has to have a shorter title!) in a light spattering of rain. Uncharacteristically, we chatted about boys. Characteristically, the conversation evolved into a philosophical discussion on the nature of human relationships.

On Sunday morning, I walked into a shower of hugs at church. It's like that every week, but after being gone it just completed the sense of rightness I'd been feeling all weekend. Every friend I've seen since I've been back, every hug and hi-there, has hit me like a solar flare. I feel like the sun has been shining from inside my heart. Every bit of my soul is aglow. It's the same way I felt when I first applied to ASU. I may miss Missouri dearly, but every bit of me is singing that this is where I need to be right now.

Around 4 PM on Sunday, I met with my little visiting teaching circle, and they got a lightning-fast rundown of my summer while we stuffed ourselves with tortellini and cheesecake. It had to be speedy because I had to get to family dinner by 5. I couldn't very well skip because there were so many family birthdays this weekend. This is what happens when your aunt and uncle are twins.

While I was at family dinner, a monsoon hit. It was gorgeous! It might not be a Missouri thunderstorm, but there's something intoxicating about the scent of the desert when it's wet.

Speaking of gorgeous, Pandora presented me with this little gem today:



Le happy sigh. <3

Listening to: "Limón Y Sal" by Julieta Venegas
Reading: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

To turn from here and go.

It's odd leaving one home to go back to another. How many homes can one person have? It's taxing to weep and bid goodbye to one home, then in a matter of hours greet the other with a grin and feelings of complacency.

My last few days in Missouri sped past like the last few grains of sand in an hourglass. Once I hit Monday and people started really saying goodbye, that was it. I spent Tuesday hugging trees (literally) and staring at the greenery around me like I might never seen a plant again. I spent most of Wednesday cuddling my dog and trying not to cry at the thought of leaving.

It was mostly a quiet car ride to the airport, my mother and I just enjoying each other's company, until we started singing "Seven Bridges Road". It was stuck in my head, and it seemed appropriate. At least, much more appropriate than "Hooked On A Feeling", which was stuck in my head the day before.

Just for the record, I love the Kansas City International Airport. It's so easy to navigate. Other airports just don't make any sense.

Going through security, I somehow managed to avoid going through a body scanner. They pointed me toward the metal detector instead. I would call those three minutes of my life both a win and a narrow squeak. I flew to Phoenix via Minneapolis, so I had one incredibly short flight followed by one incredibly long one, which felt even longer because my mind wouldn't shut up and let me get to sleep. Crimanitley! I need Swedish Fish.

My flight got in close to midnight, so my poor dad only got four hours of sleep before he had to go to work this morning. I've spent the day bingeing on unlimited internet and enjoying the air conditioning and arid climate.

Tomorrow: laundry.

Listening to: "Suerte" by Shakira
Reading: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

Red Rover, Red Rover.

I forgot to mention a few entertaining things about Saturday, like how my brother clothes lined himself playing Red Rover, or how the first person to break through the line in that game was a girl who can't weigh a hundred pounds sopping wet. I may not be brave enough to play Red Rover, but it sure is a riot to watch.

Listening to: Bringing Up Baby
Reading: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

Weird bonding moments.

Whew! It's been a busy few days, which makes my mother's computer getting a virus all that more inconvenient. This post is coming to you from my Droid Eris (whose name is Iris). All hail the mighty smart phone!

The events of my weekend begin on Thursday with me painting my thumbnail clear with silver sparkles. This will become relevant later.

Friday morning, after a slight emotional crisis, I slid into my mom's Durango and headed down the highway for Kansas City. I met my friend Em at Winstead's, that most beloved of restaurants, and we had a pleasant breakfast of double cheeseburgers, onion rings, and chicken fingers. After creeping out two guys while trying to stare down the waitress, we got our check and blew that popsicle stand.

A few minutes later, we met my friend Ash at American Eagle in Zona Rosa. The next few hours were poured into a heroic quest to find a white dress shirt for her boyfriend. He kept rejecting the ones we found because they didn't fit right or they were too transparent. Finally, after Ash spent 15 minute explaining to him that all dress shirts are see-through like that, we emerged triumphant from The Gap.

We girls had a few hours to kill while he went and got a haircut (there was some kind of outrageous wait time), so we ducked into Hot Topic to amuse ourselves. Em bought a Green Lantern shirt and a voodoo doll that somehow resembles both Robin (of Batman fame) and a ninja. Ash got a new stud for her lip piercing.

Since Ash hadn't had anything in her piercing for a month or more, we headed to Barnes & Noble, where we were certain of finding a bathroom in the event of blood. In the bathroom, I watched, fascinated, as Ash tried to force the stud through her lip. Em wandered off to browse the general fiction section, so she missed the truly entertaining part. After 10 futile minutes, Ash turned to me and said, "I'm about to ask you to do something that will take our friendship to a whole new level." The problem was that, while there was still a hole most of the way through her lip from the outside, a layer of skin has grown over the hole on the inside of her mouth. The favor she asked of me was to ignore all pain and blood and push the stud through the hole from the outside until I broke through that layer of skin. It took some determination and a little encouragement with my fingernails, but I managed to work it through. Ash mentally wandered off to a happy place away from the pain, but on the plus side, there was no blood.

After Ash left with her boyfriend to continue her own busy day, Em and I wandered Zona Rosa some more. At one point while we were outside, I excitedly help up my thumbnail and totally confused her. In my giddiness, I forgot that she didn't know I had painted my nail with a clear polish that was supposed to turn red in the sunlight. My sparkley reddish nail meant nothing to her.

We hung out in B&N some more while I charged my phone next to the foreign language section. Em flipped through a Russian primer while I amused myself with Las Crónicas de Narnia. I almost bought it, but I talked myself out of it. I'm immensely proud of the self-control I showed in the face of my book-buying addiction.

After a crab sandwich at a sub shop (I love crab meat!), I followed Em back to her place because I felt more confident finding my way home from there. The roads in Kansas City are seven kinds of screwy, and the roads right around Zona Rosa are even worse.

For dinner I went out for Chinese with my friend Gnome, who amazingly has a one-door Civic. One side of his car was hit by a ladder, and the other side was backed into by a semi. He has to crawl in and out through the passenger door. We had a blast swapping stories and stuffing those crispy noodle chip things into the dredges of his wonton soup.

Saturday afternoon, my brothers and I went to a summer bash that involved Red Rover and sprinklers and water relays and frisbee and watermelon and whipped cream fights and water balloons. It was marvelous!

In the evening, a bunch of people met at someone's house and we watched Tangled. The commentary that occasionally flew around the room was priceless.

Days like these are the gems on the necklace of time.

Listening to: Gidget
Reading: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

Strikes, spells, and timey-wimey stuff.

After weeks of quiet reading, this one almost seems like it got a little out of hand.

Monday, I went to a large unbirthday party and watched my friends and acquaintances destroy a piñata and attack each other with cupcakes, among other things.

By Wednesday I somehow wound up on a group date. Bowling and dating are both rather unusual for me, though not unheard of. I have never bowled so well in my life. I am prodigiously proud of my high score of 58, and if the company could always be so good, I might bowl oftener.

Thursday was, of course, the midnight premiere of Harry Potter. My group consisted of a snitch, Hogwarts, Bellatrix and Narcissa, and three house elves, one of which could also be taken for a cave troll. I went as Dobby's headstone. Morbid, I know, but it was last minute. I worked with what I had. I shan't go into detail about the other people who dressed up or the girl who talked loudly in a British accent while we all waited for the movie to start or the people who asked to take our picture. I shan't even say much about the elegance with which the 3D effects were handled. I shall only say that there was something comforting about everyone in the theater quietly sniffling at the same time.

I was still a little groggy Friday afternoon. I kept weaving into the cart while my brother and I were grocery shopping at Walmart. Eventually, I decided it would probably be best if I just stood still and let him do the shopping.

After a refreshing nap, I had my first true exposure to Doctor Who last night, compliments of my friend SB. I would've preferred starting at the beginning, but I thank her nonetheless. I knew I'd like it, and now I can't wait to go back and see the rest.

Listening to: Holiday Inn
Reading: The Eye of the World by Robert Jordan

Crackle and bang.

Around 9:30 this evening, with three minutes left to watch in Hitch, it dawned on me that this was Independence Day, my very favorite holiday, and that I had done absolutely nothing to commemorate it. Then a huge aerial exploded in the vicinity my backyard and scared the Cheez-Its out of me.

Praying that the firework stand by the gas station was still open, I gathered up my wallet and my brother and hopped in the Durango.

Hamilton is really not that impressive on the Fourth of July. At least, not compared to the battlefield of Evanston, Wyo., where you have to drive cautiously through the streets at 3 MPH, dodging mortar tubes, firecrackers, and small children. Sure, a family on the next block was set up in the middle of the road, limiting my route options, but most of the streets were clear.

However, although I was under the impression that they were illegal within city limits here, we saw some aerials going off on our drive through town. It thrilled me to see that the stand was both open and putting on a beautiful show of its own.

T and I grabbed the essentials (firecrackers, ground flowers, bottle rockets, and sparklers) and moseyed on home to enjoy our spoils.

I did some obligatory air writing with my sparklers while I made sure that T stayed a sensible distance from both the house and his truck as he played with his explosives. That boy is a veritable font of pyrotechnic ingenuity. It's amazing what he can do with a few empty cream soda bottles and a lighter. For the record, dropping a flower into a bottle is not nearly as exciting as it could be, but it sure is pretty.

Highlight reel:

At one point, T stuck a whole bundle of bottle rockets in a bottle with the paper still binding them together, then lit a sparkler and stuck it in with them. It knocked the bottle over and a bunch of the rockets shot off across the ground.

I feared for our lives when the bundle of firecrackers he threw slid across the hood of the truck, which happened to be where we were keeping the rest of the fireworks. Fortunately, nothing terrible happened.

Our one impulse buy was a little T-Rex. He was magnificent. First, he shot fire from his mouth. Then, three fireworks along his back lit up like spikes. His grand finale was a bunch of sizzling stars shooting out of his feet. I wished we had more. We could have gotten some of those little tanks and reenacted Godzilla.

One of my favorite moments was when Tristan lit a flower out in the road and danced around it, quintessentially himself.

Stars! how I love the way today smells. There are few better smells in the world. I love that sulfuric perfume, the one that leaves a metallic taste on the back of your throat as it passes by. You can't fabricate that. It only comes around once a year, but I would wait for it forever if I had to.

Listening to: the scream of bottle rockets
Reading: Looking for Alaska by John Green

Summer magic.

Last Monday, I worked my way through a couple of airports en route to this most beautiful of places, Northwestern Missouri. They did this new thing at Sky Harbor where they swabbed my palms and ran the cloth through a computer. It was pretty nifty.

The past week has been spent reading and breathing deeply, grinning at every crash of thunder and staring up at the night sky like I was in love. Even the power going out made me disproportionately giddy.

If only a man could make me feel like this.

Listening to: Quigley Down Under
Reading: The Marvelous Land of Oz by L. Frank Baum

Domus.

I'm in Missouri again, that wonderful place that smells of soil and wet dogs. Of course, it is also a place of more limited internet time. I'll update when I can, but if you don't hear from me, it's because I'm reading or outside starting at the stars.

Listening to: I Was a Male War Bride
Reading: Warbreaker by Brandon Sanderson

Geek out.

Yesterday, Bonster and I went to a couple of comic book stores. The first was dark and creepy. We only stayed long enough to ascertain that, no, we definitely couldn't stand that smell. The second was light and airy and packed to bursting with awesomeness. While B. went to town initiating herself into the world of comic books, I spent the duration of our stay trying to remember the name of a high fantasy series that was made into a graphic novel. I didn't make much progress. I couldn't remember the titles of any of the books or who it was by. I could only figure out what it wasn't. Ah, well. Next time.

Afterwards, we went and saw Prom at a two-dollar theater. I'm such a sucker for cheesy teen movies.

Also, I'm in love. Don't get too excited. His name is Nintendo 3DS, and he grants one the power to carry The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time around in one's pocket. I'm already beginning to pine the way I did before I got a Kindle. What is this materialistic society doing to me? I need an electronics purge.

Listening to: "Me Río de Ti" by Gloria Trevi
Reading: Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice

Sweet tooth.

It's amusing to watch the cashier's eyes widen as you plop scones, danishes, oatmeal cookies, Oreos, peanut butter cups, and milk down onto the convey belt with the simple explanation of, "I had a sugar craving."

"That's a big craving."

Listening to: The Mummy
Reading: Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice

Kerplow!

I noticed a little display of fireworks for sale in Circle K this morning as I bought...whatever those things I had for breakfast were. I think they were some form of chicken. The fireworks display looked crowded and conspicuous, obviously trying to squeeze into a space that was not meant to be squozed.

Just ten minutes later, as I motored down the road, I passed a forlorn building that used to be a Hollywood Video, the paint faded around where decorations used to be. Someone had strung a temporary banner over the "Hollywood", one that loudly announced "FIREWORKS".

The firework laws may have changed here in Arizona, making ground fireworks legal during certain times of year, but it's obvious that fireworks aren't native to the area or even naturalized. In this condensed urban sprawl, fireworks dealers are having to fit themselves into nooks and crannies, putting up cardboard displays next to the c-store register, squatting in defunct businesses, and cramming pavilions into weird open spaces outside the mall. Their appearance screams, "What am I doing here?"

I make this judgement fairly, having once lived in a place where the presence of fireworks was part of the town's identity. Evanston, Wyo., has at least four permanent fireworks dealers, three of which are giant warehouses clustered competitively around the same intersection. I fear I rave about Evanston far too much, so instead of typing another gushing review, I will instead direct you here. If you're only interested in hearing about Evanston's love affair with fireworks, head toward the end of the post.

Here and there sit in an interesting juxtaposition, one place only beginning to try to live in harmony with home-blown pyrotechnics and the other long living off the fumes of black powder.

Listening to: "Hells Bells" by AC/DC

Reading: Along for the Ride by Sarah Dessen

Culinary innovation.

Yesterday was movie day. My family went and saw Super 8 and Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides.

Super 8 was incredibly awesome. I was struck most by the quality of the acting. I don't know how they managed to find so many child actors who can actually act. Immediately following the film, I was kind of questioning it's rewatchability. The plot was great, but it depends a lot on the viewer not knowing what's coming next. Upon further consideration, however, I have decided that this is not a deterring quality. I still rewatch Alfred Hitchcock films, and he was the master of startling moments. The acting alone is high enough quality to demand a second viewing.

Pirates was also incredibly awesome. I have to second the verdict flying around the internet: While it may not be as good as the original, it blows the second two out of the water.

Today's exciting moment is brought to us by Campbell's. Yes, the soup company. I finished the last corndog for lunch/breakfast, so when dinner rolled around, it was get creative or go hungry. I cooked the last thing of tortellini in the pantry, panicking while it boiled about what I was going to put on it. I recalled from my last encounter with the stuff that it was kind of dry on its lonesome. Enter ingenuity.

I'm not a brave cook. I don't experiment. I go by my grandpa's philosophy: If you can read, you can cook. When I'm pushed to it, I rely on  recipes like they're the last dry land in a roiling sea. Wow, I'm really going to town on the similes today.

Anyway, the point is that I found two contenders in the panty: a can of stewed tomatoes in tomato juice and cream of mushroom soup. I opened the tomatoes and decided their juice was a little too much like water for my purposes. They were relegated to the status of side dish. After I rinsed the noodles, I dumped the cream of mushroom soup into the empty pan and stared at it with regret. Sitting in a mound in the center of the pot, it looked like a bad life choice. Some daring part of my brain decided to kill two birds with one stone. My plan of action was to rinse the last bit of soup out of the can with milk and then use that milk to thin the soup out into a sauce. The regret only escalated after I poured the milk into the pan. I stirred hopelessly for a minute or two, convinced that my only two ingredients were going to stay separate. Then, miraculously, they started merging together, blissfully thinning out as I had only dreamed they could. Of course, the resultant sauce was still a little bland, so I popped open the spice cabinet to see what my options were. The outlook was grim.

We have the most ridiculous spice cabinet ever, and I don't mean that in a positive way. It contains only garlic salt, onion salt, crushed red pepper, parsley flakes, lemon pepper seasoning, peppercorns, and taco seasoning. You see my dilemma. I added a touch of the garlic and onion salts (Who buys salt instead of powder, anyway? My dad has no idea where they came from.), but they weren't really doing much. I wasn't really fond of the idea of either of them in the first place. In a last-ditch effort, I grabbed the taco seasoning. I remembered that my mom puts it in her spaghetti sauce, but that wasn't entirely comforting considering she makes a red sauce and I was working up from a very pale soup. Two puffs of red powder and some tentative stirring later, I was licking the spoon in amazement. I had done it. I had created something delicious.

My dad agreed.

Listening to: "The Best of Me" by The Starting Line
Reading: Uglies by Scott Westerfeld

Pipes.

Oh, my giddy aunt.

In the past, when I heard my friends talk about Organ Stop Pizza, I imagined a small, dark restaurant with little round tables and a little electric organ in the corner. I have no idea what could have possibly given me this idea.

I was in no way prepared for a two-story performance/dining hall that puts the gym at Penney High to shame and an organ that rests on a spinning platform and controls everything from an accordion and dangling marimbas to bubble machines and the creepiest cat marionettes you'll ever see.

We heard songs ranging from "Hey Jude" and "Bohemian Rhapsody" to "Under the Sea", including the entire soundtrack from The Sound of Music.

The pizza was pretty good, too.

Will I be going back? Just try to stop me.

Listening to: Eureka

Reading: Uglies by Scott Westerfeld

The spice of life.

I have this crazy idea that I'm going to make a vlog about Mexican food tomorrow, but don't quote me on that. For today, I've been spending oodles of time on deviantART again, which has me oozing artsy thoughts out my tear ducts.

Conversations with new people always sound the same. "What's your major? What's 'linguistics'? Where are you from? What do you like to do?" My answer to the last is generally reading, writing, and drawing, though lately I've been mixing it up by throwing in sleeping and spending way too much time on the internet. Of those options, the one people always latch onto is drawing. I guess it stands out more than the rest in our literate, online world where everybody and their cat wants to be a famous author and most college students have an undeclared minor in napping. With the rest of the options therefore being old hat, for their first follow-up question, people always ask me what I like to draw.

...

Do I have to answer that? The simple answer is either girls or dragons. The first sounds creepy, and the second automatically either alienates whoever I'm talking to or brings out their ubergeek. I don't have a problem with geekdom. I'm actually quite at home there, but I'd prefer a conversation about art to be about art and not about The Lord of the Rings. The more complex answer is that I like to draw a variety of things, and I don't understand why I have to list specific objects. I mean, really. Art is experimentation. Why limit yourself? Of course, I don't want the first impression I leave to be based on some crazed rant about how their question is invalid.

In the end, I usually end up hedging the question and steering the conversation elsewhere. The real question here is, why am I blogging about this instead of drawing?

Listening to: "Carry On Wayward Son" by Kansas
Reading: Uglies by Scott Westerfeld

Gummiberry juice.

X-Men: First Class has completely thrown off my sleep schedule. I didn't get to bed until 5 AM yesterday morning, and then I turned around and got up at 7:40 to go to the zoo with Bonster and Celery. I regret nothing.

Full of Wendy's tasty breakfast selection, we traipsed about, gawking at orangutans, cavorting in photo booths, and spending far more time than is customary at those penny squasher machines.

After the zoo we stopped by Jamba Juice to get something to cool down our systems. Were you aware that they have a secret menu? Naturally we ordered from it. I felt like I was being inducted into a secret club. Of course, at first I just felt like I was trying to pull some kind of prank when I walked up and ordered Fruity Pebbles at a smoothie joint. When they finished our orders, I accidentally grabbed Bonster's and tried it. That was awkward. It all worked out in the end, though. We'd always intended to try each other's off-menu flavors. I highly recommend the White Gummy Bear. Celery made an excellent choice in that one. There's a slight twinge of peach as it slides across your tongue, which I found entirely delectable.

With our Jamba Juice in hand, we motored on back to Bonster's house, where we watched Galaxy Quest and vegged out like zombies.

After much staring off into space, we settled down to some good, old-fashioned Mario Party 6. The CPU was incredibly annoying, so we spent a lot of time badmouthing Toad.

Bean and bacon soup for dinner and A Walk to Remember for dessert.

Listening to: "Iris" by The Goo Goo Dolls
Reading: Uglies by Scott Westerfeld

Kitchyup.

If ever there were a time to dream about X-men, this morning was it. When I say this morning, I mean this morning (or Friday morning, depending on the time stamp). I went to bed around five. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Our story really begins on Wednesday.

Shortly after noon on Wednesday, I arrived at Bonster's house for six marvelous hours of X-men movies, Red Vines, and frozen pizza. There's nothing like a good movie marathon. Perhaps the best part of the afternoon was the birth of the phrase "pectoral cleavage".

This marathon was in preparation for the release of the new movie, X-Men: First Class.

On Thursday, I drove over and met some friends in Tempe Marketplace for the midnight premiere. There is also nothing like a good midnight premiere. In fact, I propose that we sometimes do the same things over and over again (movie marathons, midnight showings, rereading Jane Austen novels until we have them memorized) because these experiences and the pleasure they afford us are unique, and we want to keep experiencing that one-of-a-kind joy. Of course, that really has nothing to do with my story.

There were nine of us (ten later on), traipsing around, eating frozen yoghurt (which I was forced to get by She of the Awesome Bumper Stickers, which I am interpreting as a sign of affection), and playing Egyptian Rat Screw on the floor of the movie theater.

The movie was simply splendid, made all the better by the types of people that tend to go to midnight shows. Maybe it's all in my head, but it seems to me that midnight movie crowds are more apt to laugh out loud, cheer, boo, groan, and applaud as a collective. (As a side note, I'd like to point out that elegant little Oxford comma in the last sentence. They're terribly marvelous creatures, if you ask me.) Last night's theater-goers were no exception. I think it's safe to say that everyone in that room agreed on what the best part of the movie was, as evidenced by the roar of applause for a certain cameo appearance.

I really have no good segue to put here, but is this the right time to mention the guy sitting in front of us with gauges the size of Snapple lids? If it is, then it's probably also the right time to mention how hilarious it is when Laura her-hees into a silent, packed theater.

After the movie, we all moved on to IHOP, haven to the night owl and the all-nighter. We placed our orders in a hodgepodge of bad Russian accents, Scottish brogues, rapid-fire French, and scrumptious German. Far from being put off by us, the waiter was the one speaking French. Around 4 AM, after a discussion about laser-mounted polar bears, much quoting of The Princess Bride, and a long round of Two Truths and a Lie, we finally vacated the premises. My abs got quite the workout. I was light-headed from laughter long before we even got our food. By the by, I've decided that anytime I'm at IHOP after midnight, I have to order the Swedish crepes. It's a thing now.

The sky was already lightening as we split off for our cars and headed homeward. Zany me, I decided that I had to go running when I got home. My logic may have been that 4:30 is about the time I want to go running once I start exercising regularly again, and I was already up...

The weather is something else around here at 4 AM. It's also a great time for rocking out to "DJ Got Us Fallin' In Love" on 100.3.

Listening to: "Nice Guys"
Reading: Uglies by Scott Westerfeld