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
Monday, June 27, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
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
Listening to: I Was a Male War Bride
Reading: Warbreaker by Brandon Sanderson
Friday, June 17, 2011
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
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
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
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
"That's a big craving."
Listening to: The Mummy
Reading: Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
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
Sunday, June 12, 2011
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
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
Thursday, June 9, 2011
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
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
Sunday, June 5, 2011
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
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
Saturday, June 4, 2011
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
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
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
*chirrup*
It is with feelings of both accomplishment and melancholy that I announce the departure of my friend, the Cricket. Tonight, I captured him (with a cup) and released him into the wild (through my window). It's for the best. Call me soft-hearted, but I was beginning to worry about him starving to death inside my room. Of course, I have no idea how he got in here, but now that he's gone, I'm going to miss watching his mute little voyages across my floor.
Good luck, little guy.
Listening to: Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian
Reading: Uglies by Scott Westerfeld
Good luck, little guy.
Listening to: Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian
Reading: Uglies by Scott Westerfeld
Monday, May 30, 2011
Rearguard.
I slid out of bed this morning and into a sitting position on the floor like a gelatinous mass. During my unrestrained laughter at this unexpected cartoon moment, my dad told me to get ready because everyone was either already here or on their way. I pulled on my socks, laced up my boots, and got ready to rock and roll.
Before I clear up this fuzzy introduction, let's discuss these socks for a moment. These socks are amazing. They come up over the knee in glorious blue and grey stripes and invoke a feeling that goes something like, "You can't see it, but my socks put your socks to shame." I can't help feeling like a witch when I put them on, especially when they're combined with my calf-high leather boots. This is a good thing.
To shed some light on the previous paragraphs, I was rousted from my bed this morning for a motorcycle ride to and breakfast in Florence (the one in Arizona, not Italy). I didn't actually ride on a motorcycle today. I was on the back of the trike. Boy howdee, that thing almost makes my uncle's La-Z-Boy/Electra Glide look like a wooden stool. It is spacious! Of course, the back end is part of a Volkswagon Bug, so it shouldn't come as a surprise that it's a mite roomier than a motorcycle.
Brunch was awesome. To sum up: outdoor patio, sparrows, fundidos.
A parting word of advice: If you ever find yourself following a motorcycle down the road, watch what they do when they pass a bike going the other way.
This post is affectionately dedicated to the cricket silently wandering around my room. May it find what it's looking for.
Listening to: "Provo, UT, Gurls" by BYU Divine Comedy
Reading: Uglies by Scott Westerfeld
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Giggle water.
While the rest of America has been enjoying Memorial Day Weekend, it's been Bonster Weekend here at my house. You have no idea how thrilling I find this. Bon is a stupendous human being.
We whiled away Friday afternoon with discussion and Paul Bettany. It took an extensive quest, but we finally found my copy of A Knight's Tale. I would estimate that I didn't remember a good third of that movie, which is both frightening and entertaining.
On Saturday evening, I went modern to a Great Gatsby party with Bon and Celery. They went as newsies. Granted, the ones in the musical were from the late 19th century, but men's fashion changes slowly enough that it didn't make a difference. A few highlights of the party:
1. Mocktails.
2. Eleven-layer bean dip.
3. Miniature cupcake-y goodness.
4. Throwing down in Egyptian Rat Screw.
5. Meeting someone else who has read Lackadaisy.
6. Meeting someone elses in general.
My favorite moment was when a group of boys arrived in an assortment of shirtsleeves, suspenders, vests, and fedoras. They had somehow managed to evenly space themselves as they entered one by one, and I was fully expecting a fourth man to walk out and for them to burst into song. But alas, no barbershop quartet were they. Indeed, they numbered only three. Their awesomeness as individuals minimized my disappointment.
Today, Bon and I kept each other awake in church through a series of asides and knowing glances. That girl is a marvel. I feel so lucky that she chose me as a friend.
Listening to: "Rolling in the Deep/Someone Like You/Turning Tables"
Reading: Uglies by Scott Westerfeld
Friday, May 27, 2011
Pomp.
At my cousin's graduation this evening, I was struck once again by how boring graduations are for those not participating in them and how even for the graduates the hype is greater than the true excitement. It's a strange phenomenon, this. The grand events of our lives are never as exciting as we're taught to expect them to be. Proms, graduations, weddings. Perhaps they would be more special if we didn't obsess over them so much. They lose their magic by being pushed over the edge into triteness and the land of unrealistic expectations.
Maybe that's why the tiny moments of pure bliss are so blissful: They're not cheapened by overemphasis. They spring up at us, and we are able to take true delight in them because by having no expectations, they exceed all expectations.
I am by no means promoting cynicism. I am simply lamenting a few sad facts surrounding what are meant to be the greatest moments of our lives. We build them up so much beforehand, we put so much pressure on them to be extraordinary, that there is no way they can even reach the bar. They appear to fall flat, so their true greatness passes by unnoticed. We're so busy watching the precise zenith of the sky that we fail to notice the shooting star just above the horizon.
You can't manufacture enchantment. Don't try to force excitement or enjoyment. Subtly craft a favorable environment, then step back and watch the magic happen.
Um...somewhere in there I think I stopped talking about graduations and starting thinking about how much anxiety there is around weddings. Then my mind wandered off completely into some mystical realm with stars and moonlight and glowing fairies and tall grasses and trees with scratchy bark and heady aromas and garlands of flowers and...
Listening to: "Brown Eyed Girl" by Van Morrison
Reading: Inkheart by Cornelia Funk
Maybe that's why the tiny moments of pure bliss are so blissful: They're not cheapened by overemphasis. They spring up at us, and we are able to take true delight in them because by having no expectations, they exceed all expectations.
I am by no means promoting cynicism. I am simply lamenting a few sad facts surrounding what are meant to be the greatest moments of our lives. We build them up so much beforehand, we put so much pressure on them to be extraordinary, that there is no way they can even reach the bar. They appear to fall flat, so their true greatness passes by unnoticed. We're so busy watching the precise zenith of the sky that we fail to notice the shooting star just above the horizon.
You can't manufacture enchantment. Don't try to force excitement or enjoyment. Subtly craft a favorable environment, then step back and watch the magic happen.
Um...somewhere in there I think I stopped talking about graduations and starting thinking about how much anxiety there is around weddings. Then my mind wandered off completely into some mystical realm with stars and moonlight and glowing fairies and tall grasses and trees with scratchy bark and heady aromas and garlands of flowers and...
Listening to: "Brown Eyed Girl" by Van Morrison
Reading: Inkheart by Cornelia Funk
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
When you wish upon a star.
Laura spent the night last night. There's something rather marvelous about chatting into the wee hours of the morning, about gabbing until every third word is a yawn and the rest are slurred with sleep. I've missed that. With everyone always being so busy and this valley being so big, circumstances aren't usually conducive to spontaneous slumber parties. It's nice when an opportunity crops up.
Unlike my previous experience with similar chances to unload, there were no lamentations or raving. Rather, our conversation was a celebration of things that make us smile like fools.
My! how I've missed that girl in the few short weeks since school ended.
As a side note, I'm bringing old-fashioned interjections back. Spread the word.
Listening to: Pushing Daisies
Reading: Inkheart by Cornelia Funk
Unlike my previous experience with similar chances to unload, there were no lamentations or raving. Rather, our conversation was a celebration of things that make us smile like fools.
My! how I've missed that girl in the few short weeks since school ended.
As a side note, I'm bringing old-fashioned interjections back. Spread the word.
Listening to: Pushing Daisies
Reading: Inkheart by Cornelia Funk
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Itchy fingers.
I love the abject laziness of summer. The downside, of course, is that there is but scant material for blogging.
Today's theme seemed to be art.
An animation major just moved into my ward. I got to chat with her a little after church and discovered that she and I have the same problem: We can't pay attention unless our hands are moving. She showed me her pretty doodles from Sunday School.
In the evening, while I was clearing out my deviantART inbox, I felt the need to jot down an idea for an image. Rather than walk all the way across my room for my sketchbook, I plugged in my tablet, Twen, and wound up in Photoshop. An hour later I was chipping away at my portrait of Rinoa Heartilly again.
There's something relaxing about gradually shading and reshading and erasing and trying again. Outside worries get swallowed up in the minutiae.
This portrait is my first real project with a tablet, so it's an interesting learning experience. For a screen cap of the current state of events, click here.
Listening to: "I Like It" by Enrique Iglesias
Reading: Inkheart by Cornelia Funk
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Chatter.
I just got back from a friend's birthday party. I definitely have attended more birthday parties in my adult years than I ever did growing up.
Tonight (or last night, depending on how you like to figure things like that) was a shining example of why I don't do crowds. Okay, it wasn't as stellar of an example as the last birthday party I went to, where I had to take refuge in the backyard because there were so many people there that agoraphobia was kicking in, but it was still a pretty good example. I get lost in big groups. There are too many voices vying for attention, too many people I don't know, too many inside jokes I'm not a part of. A strange mixture of pride and deference kicks in. Something inside me goes, "Okay. If you want to talk that badly, go ahead."
I like my conversations to be one-on-one or three-way. That's the ideal I've found where everyone has an equal chance to talk if they want to. Of course, there are always exceptions. There are some people I can only stand one-on-one because they become inconsiderate when a third person is thrown in. There are even some people with whom I wonder why I even bother being part of the conversation; they seem to be carrying on just dandy by themselves. I met with exhibitions of all of these tonight.
Most of my time, however, was not spent engaged in conversation at all. I was people watching. The entertainment this afforded me was decidedly worth going for. People say some of the most interesting things. Okay, fine, I may have laughed louder than was strictly necessary sometimes, but come on, I've been home all week talking to myself. I'd rather laugh too much than not at all.
This post doesn't really seem to be going anywhere in my head. Hm...
Listening to: "Dirty Little Secret" by The All-American Rejects
Reading: Inkheart by Cornelia Funk
Tonight (or last night, depending on how you like to figure things like that) was a shining example of why I don't do crowds. Okay, it wasn't as stellar of an example as the last birthday party I went to, where I had to take refuge in the backyard because there were so many people there that agoraphobia was kicking in, but it was still a pretty good example. I get lost in big groups. There are too many voices vying for attention, too many people I don't know, too many inside jokes I'm not a part of. A strange mixture of pride and deference kicks in. Something inside me goes, "Okay. If you want to talk that badly, go ahead."
I like my conversations to be one-on-one or three-way. That's the ideal I've found where everyone has an equal chance to talk if they want to. Of course, there are always exceptions. There are some people I can only stand one-on-one because they become inconsiderate when a third person is thrown in. There are even some people with whom I wonder why I even bother being part of the conversation; they seem to be carrying on just dandy by themselves. I met with exhibitions of all of these tonight.
Most of my time, however, was not spent engaged in conversation at all. I was people watching. The entertainment this afforded me was decidedly worth going for. People say some of the most interesting things. Okay, fine, I may have laughed louder than was strictly necessary sometimes, but come on, I've been home all week talking to myself. I'd rather laugh too much than not at all.
This post doesn't really seem to be going anywhere in my head. Hm...
Listening to: "Dirty Little Secret" by The All-American Rejects
Reading: Inkheart by Cornelia Funk
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Woof!
The weather could not have been more comfortable today. It was perfect zoo weather (though I didn't go): overcast all day and the temperature barely crawled above 70.
My friend K and I went to the dog park in the afternoon with her canine friends Haley and Jersey. There were all sorts of super awesome dogs there. A boxer named Bo demonstrated the correct way to galumph. An adorable little corgi mix spent a good hour multiplying her own adorableness by doing things like standing in the cooler full of water K brought and propelling herself across the ground like a torpedo with her front legs tucked under and her chin dragging across the ground. Haley busied herself sprinted across the park after balls, her fluffy tail streaming behind her, while Jersey introduced herself to every dog in the place.
It started raining right before we left. Arizona rain always astounds me. It's so gentle and refreshing, and the smell of wet sand is almost exotic.
It was most assuredly barefoot weather.
K also made me one of her scrumptious fruit smooties.
K : smoothies :: Willy Wonka : candy
Listening to: Smoky and the Bandit
Reading: Dawn of the Dreadfuls by Steve Hockensmith
My friend K and I went to the dog park in the afternoon with her canine friends Haley and Jersey. There were all sorts of super awesome dogs there. A boxer named Bo demonstrated the correct way to galumph. An adorable little corgi mix spent a good hour multiplying her own adorableness by doing things like standing in the cooler full of water K brought and propelling herself across the ground like a torpedo with her front legs tucked under and her chin dragging across the ground. Haley busied herself sprinted across the park after balls, her fluffy tail streaming behind her, while Jersey introduced herself to every dog in the place.
It started raining right before we left. Arizona rain always astounds me. It's so gentle and refreshing, and the smell of wet sand is almost exotic.
It was most assuredly barefoot weather.
K also made me one of her scrumptious fruit smooties.
K : smoothies :: Willy Wonka : candy
Listening to: Smoky and the Bandit
Reading: Dawn of the Dreadfuls by Steve Hockensmith
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Gamer girl.
Some good soul lent me a couple of classic PS1 games for the summer. I'm going to be kicking it with Spyro the Dragon and Squall Leonhart.
Got up at 7:15 AM today.
Life is good.
Listening to: "The Middle" by Jimmy Eat World
Reading: Dawn of the Dreadfuls by Steve Hockensmith
Got up at 7:15 AM today.
Life is good.
Listening to: "The Middle" by Jimmy Eat World
Reading: Dawn of the Dreadfuls by Steve Hockensmith
Monday, May 16, 2011
Rise and shine.
It looks like 7:30 AM is nest-building time for the local avians. It's also a great time to sit on a bench swing eating a bagel. Sure, the sun is shining right in my face in our East-facing backyard, but the weather is a delightful 67 degrees with a light breeze. Once again, I have been duly rewarded for getting up the first time I woke up.
Listening to: birdsong
Reading: Dawn of the Dreadfuls by Steve Hockensmith
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