Dusting off the keyboard

When you feel the need to post, but have nothing profound to say, what do you write? This post will be a smörgåsbord of happy things, because who couldn't do with a little more happy in their life?

1) I just watched one of my favorite movies for the umpteenth, "Chocolat". Nope, didn't forget the 'e', it's the title of a book, by Joann Harris (which I have yet to read) made into a movie, starring Alfred Molina, Judi Dench, and Juliette Binoche. I won't bore you with the details, I will be content to say that you should rent it, that it is a feel good movie, that there is one naughty scene, no questionable language, and it's a chick flick in a very subtle sort of way. Why bring it up? For the sermon in the last five minutes of the movie, from the village's greenhorn priest, on Easter Sunday.

"I'm not sure what the theme of my homily today ought to be. Do I want to speak of the miracle of our Lord's divine transformation? Not really, no. I don't want to talk about His divinity. I'd rather talk about His humanity. I mean, you know, how he lived his life here on Earth. His kindness. His tolerance. Listen, here's what I think. I think we can't go around measuring our goodness by what we don't do, by what we deny ourselves, what we resist and who we exclude. I think we've got to measure goodness by what we embrace, what we create, and who we include."

Whether you're Christian, Hindu, Atheist, or unsure, you can't deny. That is some dang good advice.

2) The happiest song I heard for the first time this week is called "Dental Care" by a band called Owl City. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O0Y1FLp-zlg I don't think they have a music video for it, so here's just a non-obnoxious video behind the music (a rare thing on YouTube). Lyrics, a little silly, whole song concept, a little weird, but overall, a happy go lucky kind of song. When you sing about having a smile on your face, you know it's happy times. Just spreadin' the love!

3) I've started a project. I suppose it should have a title, like a proper project, but instead I'll just explain the details. I've noticed one of the best feelings, universal to the few folks I've talked to, is when a stranger gives a sincere compliment on something about you. Whether, your outfit, your hair, or your smile, you can't help but feel better, even if you were already feeling good. Then comes the kicker: if the compliment comes and you were having a bad day. Your day just 180'd, am I right? In the spirit of "paying it forward", I've tried to give at least one stranger a compliment, everyday. Most of them, probably think I'm weird, but who knows, maybe one person really appreciates it, maybe I just 180'd somebody. It's easier for me, I'm on campus, around strangers everyday. Then again, why does it have to be a stranger? Point is, random compliments can go a long way, give it a shot.

4) Sometimes these are sad, but sometimes these are ridiculously inspiring. Makesmethink.com brightens my day, give it shot!

It's the circle...the circle of life.

At the tender age of ... sometime before 3rd grade... I watched a movie. A movie, that truly changed my life.

Because of this movie, I started playing softball. Because of this movie, I cuffed my jeans. On a slightly more morbid note, because of this movie, I started cracking my knuckles (you know, when the show the close up of Benny cracking his knuckles as he gets ready to pickle The Beast? Yeah, I do that now). Finally, because of this movie, I absolutely HAD to have these shoes

I grew out of the cuffed jeans, the shoes, and eventually the softball (never stopped cracking my knuckles...). But, as we know, fashion repeats itself. I saw tweens and "punks" buying Chuck Taylors again, but this time around it didn't hold much appeal for me. I joked that I was ahead of my time, wearing those shoes in elementary school, but not high school. It wasn't that I didn't like Converse high tops any more, it's just that you're paying a lot of money for a little bit of shoe. My blog confession is that I'm kind of a brand snob, and I didn't want the knock offs. But, I finally caved. I have some other shoes that are looking a little ragged, so I figured it's time to spend the money, and be hip. The bonus to buying P.F Flyers this time around? It's even cooler to buy them in colors other than black. My life, or at least my shoes, has come full circle.

One short weekend, in the Emerald City.

Considering my audience of Mormons, family members, and Mormon family members, I'm assuming you all know about the musical "Wicked" or at least know how to get a synopsis on Wikipedia.org. My gracious, generous, hip-happenin Mom hooked me up with a ticket (and one for herself, of course) to the musical of the year. Probably more like two years, but who's counting? I just had to provide a plane ticket for myself, to come to the ever beautiful Emerald City (Seattle, not in the land of Oz) this weekend to see the show. Done and done.

I've been listening to the soundtrack for about a year now, I know all the words by heart, and the only person I annoy with that is my roommate, who has to suffer through my car singing of the whole CD, on occasion. I read the synopsis of the story on Wikipedia, loved the characters, loved the story, loved the music, this was DEFINITELY going to be an amazing night. The closer it got to show time, I couldn't help get concerned. Maybe I was hoping too much. I'd been listening to the original cast soundtrack, and this would be the touring group. Then we see in the program that the girl playing Elphaba (the Wicked Witch of the West) is a standby, not the girl that's been performing all week. What if this production was sub-par?

Of course, it wasn't.

The music started, the stage began to move, the characters began to sing, and I was mesmerized. I was mouthing the words to myself (but not audibly, to the relief of all around me) and sitting open-mouthed during the whole show. I don't want to be melodramatic, so I'm trying to keep this review low-key but honestly, it was spectacular. Elphaba was dynamite, Glinda was perfect, Fiyero was spot on, Morrible, Dillamond, and the Wizard were all superb. My favorite song from the soundtrack is "The Wizard and I" and I think I must've had my mouth open and my face kind of blank because my Mom leaned over and said "Well, do you like it?" I couldn't respond truthfully, because I had already started crying as it was. So, I feebly said "oh, yeah, it's great". She must've known what I meant, because she shoved a tissue in my hand. (Note: If you are a member of the Banks family, you cry whenever something great is happening. It doesn't even have to be that great, just a little out of the ordinary. So, of course, I cried for no reason at the play, just because I love the play. Judge not.)

I can't describe how beautiful the set was, how perfect the costumes were, how moving the music was, and how fantastic the characters were. You'll just have to go see it for yourself. Everyone, should see this play.

Law decrees every home football game changes Provo to Cougar Town.

Well, first week of school down, and I don't like to think of how many more to go. But, of course with the beginning of a new Fall semester brings the advent of BYU football. Last year, BYU football got a cleat in its mouth for making their slogan (which is broadcast across the student populous through 5 dollar navy tee-shirts) "The Quest". Confusing at first, word soon spread that "The Quest" was the abbreviation for the true motto "The Quest For Perfection". This did not mean perfect sportsmanship, this meant a perfect season. Two years ago the Cougars had an excellent season and fans and sports columnists alike thought they should've been given a BCS bowl. With that much pressure, what else could've happened but the whole team choking, and playing a season that I can't even remember, even though I watched every game. Bronco Mendenhall has been quoted as saying it was his fault for putting too much focus on something that extraneous, and that this season there would be no motto, just playing football.

When I heard that BYU would be playing Oklahoma University last night, I was unenthused. I knew that like classic BYU, they would choke and it would be another slap in the face to the Mountain West Conference. When I did get back from campus yesterday, to my surprise it was only 7-10. The game wore on, I won't bore you with those details, and probably the ones I've provided were too dull for you to wade through, but the important part is this: the after game.

As soon as it was over, I personally opened my apartment door, stood on the front porch and yelled a hearty "WOO HOO!" I watched the rest of the post-game commentary from Bronco and Max Hall and then started to hear cheers throughout the neighborhood. Suddenly, there was an outburst of fireworks. A few minutes later, my roommate and I went to get a pizza a few blocks away, and as we left our apartment, all we heard were car horns honking and people cheering. We drove around the corner to get onto the main thoroughfare through town, and people were literally running through traffic up and down the street. One person had a huge BYU flag and was holding it out behind them as they ran down the suicide lane. Groups of people were just standing outside of apartment complexes cheering at every car that drove by. It was Provo pandemonium, and I loved it. For every honk I heard, I honked. For every yell I heard, I yelled too. Cougar Town has not felt that kind of pride in a long time.

I heard about some of the aftermath today, of last nights festivities. Some people congregated at LaVell Edwards Stadium, even though the game was away, and started a raucous party. Some more groups literally drove to the Salt Lake City airport and greeted the team after their red-eye flight home. Fireworks and honking were still going as I fell asleep last night, close to midnight. If there's no other reason to go to school, it's just to be a part of college football.

P.S The title to this post is not a joke, it is an actual law. Google it.

I have no way to gauge smut.

As promised, a post about "One Hundred Years of Solitude" by Gabriel García Márquez.

I thoroughly loved this book. I thought it was engaging, well written, and just plain interesting. I'm excited to read "Love in the Time of Cholera", by the same author (and widely publicized in one of my personal favorite movies, Serendipity). Why have I not yet stated "Everyone must read this book"? Because there's ... well, a bit of family lovin', in the non-legal way. I don't know how to explain this without sounding disgusting but because the book starts in the 19th century (or so it seems, the author never says), because it takes place in a remote South American village, because it's not immediate family, and because it isn't graphically described, I wasn't really phased by it. I know, I know. I'm a creeper. I'm just saying, I really enjoyed the book. The author had a way of writing with ease, even about strange village traditions and beliefs. They seem completely foreign to modern logic, but maybe that was part of the appeal to me. Fantasy, in a very realistic way.

For example, when the wandering waif girl shows up with nothing but a satchel and a name, the protagonist family soon discovers the bag contains the bones of her dead parents, begging to be buried properly. I forget specifically why, but for one reason or another, the family waits, and puts the bag of bones in a room. Throughout the next few chapters, the bones are found in different locations throughout the house. A 21st century reader would assume there's a subplot about someone wanting to steal the bones, but it's just common knowledge in this literary world that bones can move of their own free will. I'm poorly explaining this, but the author weaves magic into the mundane, touching all five of your senses in the process.

Don't judge me when you try to read it and are too disgusted to finish it. I suppose I'm just a smutty reader.

We didn't vandalize any art, if you're worried.

DISCLAIMER: This is not to knock family in Utah. This is not to say I hated going home or didn't love my family before this week...Just wanted to throw that out there.

Once again, I have a good excuse for a lack of blogging, I've been on a mini vacation here:


for the past week. I should be ashamed to admit, before this last visit, I had never returned to my native land with the sole intention of being with my family. That was always pleasant, but I always also had an itinerary that included a long list of eateries to sample and friends to catch up with. For the first time, I told very few people I was even coming back into town, I did see a few friends, but for the most part, I made a point to stay at home. And to my adolescent surprise, it was the best week I've had in a long time. For perhaps the first time in my life, I miss home not because of friends or weather or ease of living, but because I'm not with my family all day, everyday.

Of course, such intense feelings of love and devotion come only, from short trips. The picture above was from Wikipedia. Unfortunately, the only picture from the whole week was one of some audience participation art at the Seattle Art Museum, where myself and two accomplices wrote "poop" in a table of wooden blocks. See, and you thought I had grown up because I enjoyed being with my family.

Oh, Emily

What to say about Wuthering Heights…I don’t know if I could recommend it. I certainly wouldn’t read it again. Perhaps I didn’t read it in the right spirit, or maybe I wasn’t fully prepared to jump back into the prose of the Bronte sisters. I was quickly reminded of the annoyances felt as I read Jane Eyre and couldn’t stand Rochester. This time, it was Heathcliff, and he was a brute. And yet…I couldn’t stop reading. I wanted to see how low he would go, because like every great English novel, you know he will have a great redemption, in one form or another. Heathcliff ended a little less gloriously than Rochester, but he did pull his weight at the end. There were also a lot more characters to keep track of, that spanned three generations, and two households, and yet, again, I had to know what happened to all of them!

My wise mother once told me that a book has 50 pages, and 50 pages only, to hook you. If that sacred bond is not fulfilled, the book is to be forgotten and never touched again. She didn’t ever say it so dramatically, but…that was essentially the rule. So despite my disgust with eighty percent of the characters, I really was hooked. I really wanted to see how it ended, and it was a pretty good book. I also don’t think I’m very good at analyzing deeper themes from literature. If I was, I might see a larger value in the Heights. However, I just started One Hundred Years of Solitude and it promises to be a lot more interesting thus far. I’ll keep you posted. Ha, get it?