Melissamerica

Our little guy

2011-04-20T08:00:00.000-07:00

I said I wouldn't be an obnoxious pet owner. I wasn't going to talk about my cat incessantly. I wasn't going to spend a lot of money on my cat or refer to myself as its mother. I wasn't going to even contemplate having the cat in the family Christmas card.

But then again,

I wasn't ever going to get all gooey and school-girlish over some boy.

I wasn't ever going to turn into my mother.

I wasn't ever going to start enjoying Rod Stewart.

I guess I was wrong.

Correct me if I'm wrong

2010-10-06T15:09:00.000-07:00

But isn't using vinyl lettering to decorate the entrance of your man cave sort of violating the principles of the man cave?

A five year plan

2010-10-04T15:08:00.000-07:00

Three years ago I made a five year plan.

A friend was giving a group of us each a ride on his new scooter. It was a short ride, just to the end of the street and back. I was trying hard to hold on tight but not, you know, too tight. We were sitting up straight, making a bit of small talk, mostly just staying quiet. As we cut through the warm summer air, I got a picture in my head: a five year plan. I would get a scooter of my own. I would find the job I was looking for as a school librarian. I would bundle my books together at the end of an afternoon, hop on my scooter, and zip home.

I felt pretty smart--coming up with such a manageable plan. This was a plan I really could make happen. But there was something else I was hoping for, something I never would have confessed. I wanted more than just the scooter. I wanted the fellow driving it. And I was holding onto this thought like I was holding onto his shirt--tight but not too tight. Because you never know when you're going to need to let that sort of thing go.

I bought my scooter the very next summer, and this year I finally got that library job. But my five year plan wasn't really complete until last week. I woke up while it was still dark, kissed my sleeping husband goodbye, and strapped on my helmet to go to work.

Two years ahead of schedule.

Here's to getting more than you planned on.

Skinny Fridge

2010-04-26T20:13:00.000-07:00

Let me introduce you to my favorite household appliance. The reflection of me that lives in this fridge is a decidedly trimmer, slimmer gal (as if it were possible!) than the one I see in my bathroom mirror.

I don't care if this is a conspiratorial plot by the fridge makers of the world. I'm absolutely sold.

Come on over. You'll feel like a million bucks.

For Grandpa on the day of my birth and the day of his death

2010-04-02T10:40:00.000-07:00

My grandfather is dying.

He has been dying for as long as I can remember. Before the year I was born, Grandpa had already survived a world war, two heart attacks and a stroke. While I was learning to walk for the first time, Grandpa was learning to walk for the second. In my first memories, I can see him walking slowly up the driveway to our house. My mother would whisper. "Go give your grandpa a kiss. We don't know how much longer he'll be with us." I ran to him. He took my hand, kissed it, and asked, "How's my little jewel?"

These days, when I go to see grandpa, he's usually in his recliner watching TV. He still takes my hand and kisses it. He calls me his little jewel.

"How's Matlock?" I ask.

"He won again." Grandpa laughs.

You wouldn't know it, but my grandpa is the stuff of legends. He grew up wandering the red hills of Dixie when the west had only newly given up being wild, and tales of Butch Cassidy and the gang were still a part of recent memory. He fought in WWII along with three of his brothers. He was at Normandy Beach, The Battle of the Bulge. When he came home to Utah, the boys at school nicknamed him "Rabbit" for his quick moves on the BYU basketball team. The girls named him their Most Preferred Man on Campus.

But that's not what makes him legendary. It's the part that comes after that--the part where he settled down, got married, and became a coach.

I've grown used to the look people give me when they find out I belong to Don Snow. I get this look at family reunions when I introduce myself as Uncle Don's granddaughter. I see it again when I meet someone who played for Coach Snow. It's a look of love and reverence. They ask how he's doing with genuine concern. They tell me their stories of him. And I start to feel like the love they have for Grandpa reaches me as well.

Since grandpa has always been dying, my parents sent us on trips with him while there was still time. I went to Chicago with my grandparents when my aunt got married. There's a photo of me standing in front of a glass case of cockroaches at the zoo. Grandma mislabeled it "Metropolitan Museum of Art."

Since time was so short, we sat with my grandparents at football games. Year after year, we unfolded our blankets on the bleachers watching the game, shouting along with grandpa at the referees.

Since we just never knew, we had Grandma and Grandpa over often to visit. We visited them. We ate lots of food. We played games. We held a Don Snow basketball camp for all the grandkids.

When I left home for a year and a half of missionary service, my family gathered to see me off. My grandpa had tears in his eyes. I gave him an extra long hug. I didn’t know if he’d be there when I came back. Seven other grandchildren did the same thing. He was waiting for us all on our return.

Months ago, Grandpa took a terrible fall. He fought back to his feet like he's done every time before. But he has been thinner, quieter, slower in his movements. We were going to leave town over Christmas, but my parents decided to gather the family instead. My sister came home from Greece. My brother flew from Hawaii. We wanted to all be there, you know, just in case.

Grandpa celebrated his 90^th birthday in February. And he made it to my wedding a week later.

But today is my birthday. It’s also the day I've known for thirty-one years would come. As I come to the end of writing this, my mother calls from the hospital where grandpa has spent the last night in intensive care. We've decided to let him go. I'm leaving soon to say goodbye.

My grandfather is dying.

We love you, Grandpa. We'll miss you. Thanks for taking your time.

The way my students see things

2010-01-14T08:21:00.000-08:00

One of my students was complaining yesterday that she couldn't enjoy the movie The Fourth Kind because the entire time she kept thinking, "What is Ms. Campbell doing in this movie?"

I'm hoping she was talking about Milla Jovovich, and not one of the aliens.

This reminds me of the time The Lord of the Rings was in theaters, and my students were telling me I looked like "that one elf" from the movie. I assumed they were referencing the lovely Cate Blanchett. However, come to find out, one of them was talking about this guy.

Student Sentences: Notes to the Teacher

2009-12-03T07:47:00.000-08:00

Dear Ms. C,

Im sorry that your 7th period is a nag! But I just want you to no that i'm always going to be here for you. And that if you feel that you are going nuts just turn around and look at me. And you'll no that at least I'm listening.

Love,

Your favorite student
to my favorite teacher

Student Sentences: After class

2009-12-02T15:07:00.000-08:00

Kayla: Ms. C, are you in love?
M: Um, yes Kayla, I am.
Kayla: What does it feel like?
M: Well, it's very nice.
Kayla: Does it feel like butterflies?
M: No, not butterflies. Better than butterflies.
Kayla: Oh. Hmmm.
M: Are you in love, Kayla?
Kayla: Yeah
M: What does it feel like?
Kayla: It feels sort of like flying.

A little spooky

2009-10-30T15:42:00.001-07:00

This morning, a blog I follow featured a post from a fellow who worked for fifteen years at the old (rumored-to-be-haunted) Utah State Hospital. I want to recommend it to you as a great Halloween read. If you feel so inclined, you can find it here.

Now just who do you think you're fooling?

2009-10-30T13:41:00.000-07:00

I really regret giving this particular company any more attention, so I apologize in advance for the question I'm about to ask you. But--

Have you seen this American Apparel Ad?

DISCO PANT: There's a reason why these are our most popular pant.
Everyone--and we mean everyone--looks amazing in them.

Really? Everyone?

Because I can think of about a zillion people who would not look amazing in this pant. Roseanne Barr. Manny Ramirez. Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi.

And that's just my short list.

I like singing while I'm sick

2009-10-21T18:52:00.000-07:00

It's my best hope of sounding like Janis Joplin--short of chain smoking.

I wish I was a big, black man.

2009-10-12T14:17:00.001-07:00

I think my students would pay a lot more attention.

2009-10-08T12:39:00.000-07:00

Today I read one of the best news stories in recent memory.

Frugal Geri Halliwell recycles seven-year-old vintage dress... but at least she can still get into it

In addition to the clever headline, this brilliantly crafted piece features a bevy of priceless collectible gems like this one:

In contrast to her modest cleavage seven years ago, the halterneck dress struggled to contain her ample décolletage last night.

Ms. Halliwell may have the gall to put her clothes on a seven year rotation--but, don't worry, she's not getting away with it!

Meanwhile, today I'm only mildly (read not-at-all) concerned that my eighth graders will notice these are the same pants I wore yesterday.

The answers to all your questions

2009-07-23T21:45:00.000-07:00

1. Name three types of people who should qualify for forced labor camps:

-People who leave fliers on my windshield.
-The top-dwellers of the pyramid in pyramid schemes.
-Political pundits who behave as though they get five dollars every time they can keep someone from finishing a sentence.

2. What was the last thing you ate?

Blueberries

3. What’s a goal you have?

I'd like to see the aurora borealis.

4. What do you think of entertainment awards shows?

I've never watched more than 30 seconds of anything other than the Oscars. If I'm watching a little bit of the Oscars, I spend the majority of my time writing an acceptance speech. I would give a knock-out acceptance speech.

5. How do you want to die?

I want a little bit of notice. I don't want it to be painful. I don't know if these requests can coexist.

6. What is your favorite vacation/get-away spot? Where will you be traveling next?

I love any place with a little bit of charm or class. However, this weekend I'm going to Las Vegas.

7. How do you pronounce “gyro?”

I'm from the western United States, so I pronounce the "g" as a "y." I'm part Greek, so I get to flip the "r" if I feel like it.

8. What have you found entertaining lately?

Having my own private swimming pool.

9. Do you follow any blogs of nondescript people who you don't know? Why do you follow those blogs?

I used to do this all the time, but not any more. Google Reader has helped me focus my efforts on blogs of people I know.

10. What would you use a time machine for?

I would go back to the year 1955 to save my friend from being shot by Libyan terrorists. In the meantime, I'd boost my father's confidence and get him to kiss my mother and take on the class bully. I'd also play the electric guitar with Chuck Berry's cousin.

11. What is your favorite restaurant?

Oh, please don't make me choose.

12. What actors should be barred from acting?

Hayden Christensen
Eddie Murphy
Jessica Simpson

13. What’s the last book you read?

Love, Loss, and What I Wore by Ilene Beckerman. The best part about this book was being finished in 20 min.

14. What’s the last movie you enjoyed?

I just finished watching an adaptation of Thomas Hardy's The Mayor of Casterbridge. I don't know if I loved it, but I got a little teary-eyed at the end.

15. Reveal something that really bothers you.

When someone yells at me.

16. What will it say on your gravestone?

I'm not sure yet, but please make sure they don't say it in Comic Sans.

17. Put your iPod on shuffle and list the first three songs that come up, then explain yourself:

"Never Turn Your Back On Mother Earth" -Neko Case
This is a merely pretty good song off an out-of-this-world album.

"I Would Be Sad" -The Avett Brothers
I'm returning to The Avett Brothers after an unintended hiatus. It's nice coming back.

"You Are the Best Thing" -Ray LaMontagne
I really like the horns in this number. Very cheery.

18. What is the biggest mistake you have ever made?

I've made lots of mistakes, but I've managed to avoid ruining my life just yet.

19. What kind of toppings do you generally request for your pizza?

I love fresh tomatoes on my pizza.

20. Who/what would you love to have complete control over?

My middle school students. I'd be happy, and they'd be making good choices.

21. What does your ideal Saturday consist of?

I'd get up early and completely refreshed. I'd do something active--maybe go for a run, take a beautiful morning hike. I'd come home and do something reflective--maybe read a book, take a nap. I'd get together with some good company to eat some excellent food and have some great conversation. Then, at a quarter to twelve, a mysterious stranger would wire one--no, let's make it ten--ten million dollars into my bank account.

22. What is one skill you lack completely but wish you could master with the snap of your fingers?

Tennis. I'd love to be a fantastic tennis player.

23. What's something you live in constant fear of?

Having to throw a Frisbee.

24. What was the first album you listened to non-stop, over and over again?

I received A Hard Days Night, Help, and Rubber Soul on the same day. They were my very first compact discs. I listened to all three of them over and over again--about equally.

25. Have you ever seen a live, wild rat? How about a dead one?

I can't recall ever having seen a wild rat, dead or alive. I feel very fortunate. Or maybe I just have a bad memory for seeing rats.

26. What thing have you most aggressively promoted?

Running. I cannot stop pressuring people to run. I have no idea why.

27. Is there a band or musical trend you would love to see erased completely?

Everclear. I was once forced to listen to a great deal of that band on the way to a youth conference I attended in the nineteen-nineties. Also: I sometimes get their name mixed up with Afterglow.

28. If you had to describe yourself using 3 words, what would they be?

Single White Female

29. Where is the last place that you'd see yourself living?

Baghdad

30. What was the last video you enjoyed on the internet?

An episode of Chuck.

31. What is your favorite smoothie combination?

Something with lots of berries. I wanted to make myself a berry shake this morning, but my mother has broken the blender.

32. What is the worst thing that has ever happened to your car?

During a horrible snow storm, I was side-swiped by the world's slowest moving mini-van.

33. What album have you been listening to most?

I'm in a scattered-song phase.

34. What clues you into a person's idiocy?

I catch them leaving a flier on my windshield.

35. What is your favorite store to wander through?

Something with clever boxes, notebooks, or other small curiosities.

When I'm riding my scooter

2009-07-09T14:29:00.001-07:00

I came to two important realizations today while out running errands on my scooter.

1. When I'm riding my scooter, there is absolutely nothing wrong with the world.

But then, I parked and prepared to make an appearance at my local library--during the heat of summer--modestly cloaked from ankle to wrist. I was looking into my rear-view mirrors to fix my low ponytail and bobby-pinned bangs, when it came to me:

2. When I'm riding my scooter, I look like the biker bride of Warren Jeffs.

My optometrist is awesome.

2009-06-09T21:49:00.000-07:00

He really is. And here's why:

He remembers all the major details of my life. Sure, he writes notes about my life onto his charts while we talk, but still.

He knows my whole family (blasted genetics) and can converse with me about all my relatives.

He's very amusing.

When he uses big optometry terms, I never feel like he's showing off or talking down to me. I get the sense that he's genuinely entertained by big optometry terms, and he likes explaining them.

He memorizes short stories and poems in his spare time. He asks me for recommendations.

Do you have a health-care professional you really appreciate?

Gather Ye Rosebuds

2009-06-09T07:59:00.000-07:00

My roommate was telling me about an early pin-up girl who refused to have any photos taken of her after she reached a certain age because she wanted history to only remember her as the fresh, young thing she was in those first photos. (I'd figure out her name for you, but I'm a bit wary of conducting google searches under the phrase "early pin-up gal")

Anyway, this story (and another friend's post) reminded me of a question I had a couple weeks ago while looking at some pictures of Angela Lansbury* early-on in her acting career.

Would you prefer to have head-turning, remarkable beauty in your early youth and then gradually lose it?

Or would you like to be fairly average-looking at 18 but age particularly well?

*And, for the record, I think Lansbury aged just fine.

Very well, your majesty

2009-04-29T07:19:00.000-07:00

Since I am the sinister sourpuss of the fairy kingdom, I had a really great post planned regarding an I-15 billboard advertisement for Princess Festival.

But then I went looking for a suitable image and found out the event raises money for a variety of very nice charitable causes. Oh.

Took the wind right out of my sails.

Student Sentences Part 3

2009-04-16T14:03:00.000-07:00

Me: (to four boys crowded around my doorway)
Get to class. The bell's about to ring.
J: We want to see the new girl. We heard she's hot.

Y: (while typing at the computer with one hand raised)
Is damn a bad word?

C: I have a twin.
K: You do? Wow, I didn't know that.
C: Yeah, he's in some of my other classes.
K: Oh, is he the one I hit in the face at lunch with a marshmallow?
C: No, that was me.

Commemorative

2009-04-02T10:33:00.000-07:00

It's my birthday today. My 30th.

Yesterday I was wishing I could think of something fitting to write. Something wistful. Something wise. Something that would make you feel like this:

or this:

Sorry. I just don't have it in me. I woke up this morning feeling a bit more like this:

and this:

I guess I'll just have to work on wise and wistful some other time. For now, it's good to be here. And it's good to have you with me.

May I use the hall pass? I have some marshmallows I'd like to eat.

2009-03-26T23:13:00.000-07:00

Are you familiar with Walter Mischel's famous Marshmallow test conducted in the 1960's? You can see it reenacted here (feel free to skip the sermon at the end).

Apparently, the kids in Mischel's test that waited to eat the marshmallow were more well-adjusted and more successful students later in life.

I do a similar test with my 7th and 8th graders. It involves the hall pass.

I'm supposed to limit the use of hall passes from my classroom. Something about academic growth, safety, and individual responsibility. I give each student 3 hall passes at the beginning of the semester. I tell them to use them whenever they want. You only have three, so plan ahead for personal emergencies. Only you can decide what circumstances are urgent enough to warrant the use of a hall pass. If they choose to keep their hall passes until the end of the quarter, I give them extra credit. It's the only extra credit I offer.

I have noticed an interesting trend. The students who uses their hall passes in the first week are the same students who fail my class. On the other hand, turning in a hall pass at the end of the quarter for extra credit is almost a sure sign that you don't need it.

Besides being a nice little social experiment, this procedure is supposed to cut down on steady stream of bathroom requests.

Wow, what a dramatic ending to this chapter. So, tell me, what did you think of Johnny's last dying words? Oh, excellent, Eustace? What's that? No, you may not use the hall pass.

If they have a pass, they raise it in the air. I nod, and they can leave--no questions asked. No matter how hard I try, though, this procedure does not keep students without passes from asking me repeatedly to use the hall pass. And, lest you think me cruel, let me assure you that only one in a million of these requests constitutes an actual emergency. I am sick and tired of monitoring the bathroom use of teenagers. Sometimes I feel like standing in the middle of my room and screaming.

Yes! By all means, wander the halls, call your mother, polish your nails, goof off outside the doors of other classrooms, freshen up with your Axe body spray, meet your girlfriend by the vending machines, text your cousin, vandalize the lockers. I don't care. Just take that blasted hall pass. And, please, don't ever come back.

My middle school students are obsessed with this scent

2009-03-25T13:41:00.001-07:00

Who wants to run a half-marathon?

2009-03-10T18:46:00.000-07:00

This summer, I'm running The Bryce Canyon Half-Marathon with one of the finest teams ever assembled. I am neither a graceful runner nor a fast one, but I enjoy it. As the senior member of our team, I've put together some recommendations on training for the big day.

MY BIG THREE FOR BEGINNERS

1. Run one long run a week.

I usually do mine on Saturdays. Rest up the day before (and generally the day after). The first week, your long run may only be 3 miles or so. Your long runs will get progressively longer as you go.

2. Run at least two other days that week.

My mid-week runs are 30 min to an hour. You can run more days if you like, but run at least three. I like to alternate days so I'm running M/W/S or T/TH/S. Most training programs recommend cross-training on your off days, but that's your business. If you don't do your midweek runs, you will lose ground and your long runs will become very painful. If you want to be high energy, you can do speed work or hill work on these days.

3. Walk sometimes.

Throw your ego out the door. Walking prevents injury and saves lives. Pick an interval you feel comfortable with and be consistent. For instance, for this race, I'm running 6 min and walking 1. You can pick a shorter interval or a longer one--choosing, for instance, only to walk at mile markers or aid stations (I've used both those strategies). Walk early and walk often. If you wait until the time you're desperate to walk, it's too late. Walking changes the way you work your muscles, helping you go farther, feel better, and recover more quickly. It sounds counter-intuitive, but you may even run the race faster.

OK, MELISSA, HOW DO I DESIGN MY TRAINING SCHEDULE?

You can get lots of help planning a schedule online. Runner's World has a billion. Also, Jeff Galloway and Hal Higdon have designed two of the schedules most popular with beginners.

Mostly, you just need to take a look at your race date and map out your long runs backward from that. You should bump up your long runs by about one mile a week. You can go as high as two, but you probably shouldn't exceed that. Once I get my miles up a bit (7-10), I alternate every other week with a shorter run (about half the distance of the previous week). Make sure you especially go easy the Saturday before the race--as well as the week leading up to it.

Some training programs have you run the actual distance before the race. Some just have you run the race as it would naturally fall as you increase your mileage. That's your call. You can base that on your time frame and your personal preference. Knowing in advance you can master the distance can give you a bit of a mental boost. However, some folks claim you peak better if your not still recovering from a previous run (this applies more to the marathon distance, I think). I'm a bit crazy. If I can, I like to run a mile or two past the distance a few weeks earlier so the actual race feels somewhat shorter.

The race isn't for a while, so you've got lots of time to work up to this nice and easy. Make sure you have proper footwear, a great attitude, and we're off and running.

Three things I'm so pleased with I can't resist sharing

2009-02-26T07:20:00.000-08:00

Neko Case's new album Middle Cyclone is really something to write home about. The album won't be officially released until next week, but you can listen to the whole thing in advance here.

The Writer's Almanac has been around a long time, but I've only been following for a little while. The daily poem is always short and occasionally awesome. The historical bits are delightful. Mr. Keillor tells you the things worth knowing.

Finally, let me recommend this clip one from one of the romantic comedies I endorse:

Student Sentences Part 2

2009-02-21T15:42:00.000-08:00

I think its not far because we have eight different classes and sometime we fill like eating some snakes.

-Grade 7
Re: The possibility of losing the vending machines at school.

Student Sentences Part 1

2009-02-05T08:17:00.001-08:00

From a worksheet on conjunctions:

Ms. Campbell got upset but was still smiling.

If you please

2009-01-28T13:57:00.000-08:00

1. What's something new that you like?
They just switched my prep hour to first period. It's lovely. I sort-of feel ready for the day.

2. What's something new that you despise?
I miss having my old sixth period prep. In fact, I think I could be a really good teacher if I could just teach one class every other hour. A class of smart, conscientious seventh graders. About 15 of them.

3. What's a neat thing you did that made you feel great?
I went to New York City, kids. It was great.

4. What's something that made you feel terrible?
On the day I arrived in New York, I got a bizarre (and thankfully short-lived) allergic? reaction that caused my eyes to swell up and my vital systems to consider shutting down. The only thing worse than being sick is being sick on vacation. I felt like a total drag.

5. What's a great quote you've come across recently?

The author makes a tacit deal with the reader. You hand them a backpack. You ask them to place certain things in it — to remember, to keep in mind — as they make their way up the hill. If you hand them a yellow Volkswagen and they have to haul this to the top of the mountain — to the end of the story — and they find that this Volkswagen has nothing whatsoever to do with your story, you're going to have a very irritated reader on your hands.
--Frank Conroy

6. Who is a great mom?
My mother is the best woman I know.

7. What is a word you cannot seem to get a hold of?
I have looked up the word "sanguine" at least a dozen times. I still feel pretty iffy about it.

8. What's something that let you down lately?
My parents had some fried chicken at their house yesterday that my dad warned me wasn't particularly great. He was right.

9. What's something that did not let you down lately?
I finally went in to buy a gym membership today. I have been putting it off because I hate haggling with people over price. But I went in there; I was well informed. And I feel I got a decent enough deal. My research did not let me down.

10. Now just list some words you think sound great:
gem
tangential
fisticuffs
Melissa
phlegm
intended (noun)
winning (adj)
kiddo

Show me a better album cover. I dare you.

2008-12-06T11:52:00.001-08:00

Hmm, is that so?

2008-11-19T07:58:00.001-08:00

I am endlessly entertained by Channel One, and I force my students to be quiet while I watch it. Today, we got to listen to Tyra Banks tell all those girls out there how important it is to love their bodies and simply be pleased with the way they look--no matter what. Apparently, along with being totally obnoxious, Tyra's big into making these sorts of public service announcements.

Just a thought:

Wouldn't this message be more meaningful coming from women who aren't supermodels?

Nuclear Holocaust Dream Team

2008-11-01T22:52:00.000-07:00

I've always admired my mom's friend Julie. She's domestic. I'm not talking scrapbooking domestic. I'm talking raise your own rabbits, shear them, card the hair, spin it into yarn, and knit it into sweaters kind-of domestic.

I was telling my roommate Rachel about her, and I referred to her as "one of the top ten people I'd want with me if I needed to survive a nuclear holocaust."

This statement, of course, prompted inquiry about the other nine survivors--a question I was not prepared to answer without some thought. We got talking about it and, turns out, assembling your own Nuclear Holocaust Dream Team is sort-of a good time. We developed strict rules. You can't pick immediate family members (yes, yes, you'd bring them first) . Also, if you're single, potential significant others have to be assumed a given as well--unless you want this to degenerate into a game of M.A.S.H., which, by the way, is a perfectly acceptable route for this activity to take.

So, who would you pick to weather the storm of the century with you and rebuild civilization from the ground up?

Halloween: Items 3

2008-10-31T08:28:00.001-07:00

1. I'm having the time of my life at work today. My students have the day off, and I figured out I can hook my iPod up to my classroom audio enhancement system.

2. I watched Teen Witch yesterday. After watching this show, I'm starting to suspect that most nostalgia for 80s teen movies is probably misplaced.

3. Hey kids, I've got a crazy new idea for a Halloween costume! Take any sexy persona (stripper, prostitute, middle school teacher) and try to make it look less sexy. You're bound to be an original. The rest of the world is tackling the reverse problem.

I don't know what it is about teaching that makes me start to speak like your great aunt

2008-10-26T10:42:00.000-07:00

Me: All right class, we have four minutes to get this room looking spic-and-span.

Hilario: MS. CAMPBELL JUST SAID "SPIC!"

Nice Notes Part 2

2008-10-15T12:30:00.000-07:00

One of my students left today to go back to Mexico--a beautiful, quiet angel who has been sitting in the middle of my oft-noisy fourth period class. She stayed behind after the bell to say goodbye. I gave her a hug and her report card. She gave me her teddy bear and this note.

teacher.

Hi you make my life into reading
now I have read more then 3,000 page
and I'm happy I with the you like
the teddy beard my favorite one

I
love
you

I ♥U4ever

And so begins my fall break. There are things to smile about.

Nice Notes

2008-09-13T17:26:00.000-07:00

I've been sitting through lots of teacher training lately. We talk a lot about how to trick kids into liking us so they will do their homework. Turns out, the best way to do this is to actually like them. Blast.

Several years ago, one of my education professors told us to keep a "Happy File" like the one she had compiled over her years of teaching. Every time she received some kind of appreciative note or bit of encouragement, she'd put it right into that file. Then, when she was having a particularly rough go of it (as tends to happen to teachers), she would look through all the nice little things she had gathered and keep going.

It's kind of a silly, simple idea, but I like it anyway. Besides, I realized I've been keeping a file like this in my head for years. I can still remember--with extreme clarity--the nice things said to me by a kindergarten teacher, an camp counselor, a coach, a neighbor, a mission companion, a college professor, a student. Certain kinds of sincerity hold quite a bit of sticking power.

I think it's interesting how well and how long these phrases have continued to make me feel just awesome--even when it was very casual, or small, or off-the-cuff. Some of the things in my file come from long time friends who knew me well and some came from unexpected strangers like the young girl I helped at the candy store who told me just before she turned to leave, "You're pretty, and I like everything about you."

So, I was wondering something: what's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to you? Get over your considerable modest reserve, pick one you don't mind reporting, and tell me about it.

Because Craig is so blasted persuasive

2008-09-10T21:32:00.000-07:00

Sleep with or without clothes on? If it involves sleep, I don't care what the conditions are--I'm in favor.

Prefer black or blue pens - It's what's inside that counts.

Dress up on Halloween? Only if I've got a great costume idea, but I'm plum out of great costume ideas.

Who sleeps with you every night? No one. And I go to bed and just cry and cry.

Think you're attractive? Judging from the photo evidence, my attractiveness level ranges from repulsive to radiant. I'll pick, let me see, radiant.

Want to get married? I hate trying to answer these sorts of questions gracefully.

Do long distance relationships work? In jr. high I had a Greek pen-pal named Olga. We don't speak anymore.

Do you believe in astrology? No, but I do believe in astronomy--which, as we all know, is almost the same thing.

Do you believe in love at first sight? Yes. She's baby blue, and she's parked right out front.

Do you think dreams eventually come true? A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartaches, whatever you wish for you keep. Have faith in your dreams, and someday your rainbow will come shining through. No matter how your heart is dreaming, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true.

Favorite fictional character? Back when I was reading actual books, every time I started to really relate to a character, they would commit suicide. I didn't see how this could possibly be healthy.

Is there somebody in your life that you could not survive without? I'm having to make my own lunch for work now, so I guess my mom's off the list.

What went wrong in your last relationship? He didn't make parole.

Is there anyone you trust even though you should not? A student

Ever given your all to someone who walked away? A student

Ever kissed someone you regretted after? If I said "a student," do you think they'd revoke my license?

Ever had your heart broken? I keep my heart in the freezer for safety reasons.

Ever broken somebody elses? Not yet, but first quarter grades will be here soon.

Who has the power to make your world fall apart? I don't think I want to find out.

Want to say something to someone? Yes, something intensely personal and interesting, and I plan on saying it right now--in this survey I'm posting on my blog.

Wish things could have gone differently with someone? I wish Meredith Fromm hadn't moved out of our neighborhood after kindergarten.

How's your heart lately? My resting heart rate is currently about 72 bpm. Pretty average.

Idle Curiosity

2008-08-31T21:15:00.000-07:00

Possibly, I've always been naturally curious. I just can't be sure. In the dark, pre-internet age, I may have asked myself all sorts of interesting questions. But, if I did, I'm fairly sure the large majority of these questions went unanswered. The enormous trouble of locating an answer to an off-handed, whimsical sort of question far, far outweighed the slight annoyance of immediately dismissing that question from my mind. No longer. These days, I am unable to allow any idle curiosity to go unsatisfied. And, frankly, I think this is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

Here are three things that I have learned today:

1. The longest possible stretch of land for a person to walk over would start at the southern tip of Africa and end where the eastern part of Russia meets Alaska.

2. There have, indeed, been a number of notorious and frightening female serial killers.

3. The song played as a one minute warning before the tardy bell rings at my school, "Flight of the Bumblebee," was written by Russian composer Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov (pictured here).

I knew my mother could help me with my classical music query, but a 33% success rate just isn't the kind of percentage I can live with anymore. Even mothers have their limitations. Has anyone else learned anything interesting lately?

Just look at how much fun I've been having

2008-07-27T22:58:00.001-07:00

I've had several requests for a picture of the new addition. Well, here you go. As of one week ago, I've been kicking around town on this sweet little number.

Oh! my.

Oh my.

Close Encounters

2008-07-25T16:34:00.000-07:00

This week I had another great running adventure. Let me tell you about it.

I was jogging out on these lovely paths down by the river. There's a nicely groomed trail, but sometimes I like to canter about the unpaved horse routes that meander roughly parallel to the official trail. On just such an occasion, a few days ago at dusk, I looked down the path and saw some sort of shadowy thing a few feet ahead of me. There are quite a few birds in those parts, so I heavily considered just running right on through. It wouldn't be difficult to shoo the unfortunate goose or duck away. However, at the last second, I decided to cut over to the paved path and let the poor creature be. Thank heavens. Just as I cut away from the trail, I turned back to take a last look. At that moment, the animal turned so I could see the unmistakable profile of a skunk lowering his tail and sauntering off into the bushes. I was floored. If I had continued running--as I very nearly decided to do--I would have run right into a skunk who was obviously poised and ready to greet me. All I could think to do was keep right on running (a little faster), repeating under my breath, "Awesome. Awesome. Awesome." I almost got sprayed by a skunk. Almost.

Shining Moments

2008-07-14T13:37:00.001-07:00

In my last post, I revealed a dark secret that anyone who has known me for longer than 30 seconds has already figured out: I'm clumsy. Thank you to those who commiserated with me. I was very impressed with some of the falls described in your comments. I was also impressed by several friends whose relatively stumble-free history indicates a positively inhuman level of balance and grace. Today, in order to off-set the overwhelming despair over my chronic physical ineptitude, I decided to create a Top 10 list of my most memorable athletic achievements. Unfortunately, I could only think of six.

6. One evening, I lobbed a hook shot over a 7 ft tall woman (You think I'm exaggerating. I am NOT. Seven.) Normally, I cannot make a hook shot to save my life; but, for some reason, I thought this shot was a good idea. I just visualized that ball floating lightly over her towering head, and then it actually happened. I could not have been more stunned.

5. I once did two full chin-ups in jr. high during our quarterly evaluations. I usually could get one chin-up in by using the time-honored technique of jumping without making it look like jumping. After that, legs dangling hopelessly below, I was doomed. This means that one day I did an actual chin-up. I'm still not sure how that happened.

4. A bare-handed, left-handed softball catch I made (without thinking) in sophomore gym.

3. Powder Puff Football senior year. I had the time of my life. Until one of my good friends and a couple of girls from the other team got into the best brawl I have ever witnessed, and we were all disqualified. Completely worth it.

2. Seeing the finish line of my first marathon.

1. It was a warm summer day. I was reclining on the couch, toying with a shiny quarter. My brother was sitting clear across the room with his shirt pulled up, rubbing his belly. I took that quarter, launched it into the air, and it landed exactly where I intended: right on top of his navel.

I'd love to hear some of yours.

Face First

2008-06-18T22:28:00.000-07:00

This evening, I had a great run through Sugarhouse Park--the best I've had in a long time. Halfway through my run, I tripped on something or other and was sent sprawling face first in the grass. As I lay there with one arm stretched out--checking around for witnesses--I thought immediately of my friend Rachael who taught me how to baseball slide during first period gym of my sophomore year. At that time of the morning, the grass was still dewy, and we made it a point to slide into every possible base. For me, this merely meant illegally sliding into first (if I was lucky), but I distinctly remember Rachael having to slide into every single base on her way to an outstanding home-run. I'm pretty sure our teammates despised us.

As I continued what turned out to be a great run, I started making a mental list of spectacular falls I've had in my lifetime. They have been numerous and varied. Fortunately, it seems I am fairly good at landing. Thank you, Rachael. And thank you, muscle memory.

Apple a Day

2008-06-18T10:27:00.000-07:00

I eat a lot of apples. Today, I ate a lovely Golden Delicious apple. I was pleasantly surprised at just how golden and delicious this apple was. I have been steering away from all greenish apples because I tend to think green=tart. Not necessarily so. I spend some serious time pondering apples in the grocery store because I can't seem to keep the different cultivars straight. (Gala and Fuji give me fits) In order to improve, I'm going to go ahead and publish a tentative ranking of the most common varieties right here on my blog. I will add strains or alter standings as needed. For this study, we shall assume a fine, representative specimen from each, and apples will be judged on stand-alone eating quality only.

Cameo
Braeburn
Fuji
Golden Delicious
Gala
Jonagold
Granny Smith
Red Delicious

For Michelle

2008-06-02T09:54:00.000-07:00

My sister and I like to run around town like we're holding imaginary suitcases. She'll shout out the signal sometimes, say, when we're walking into the grocery story.

"Imaginary suitcases!"

Then she's off like a shot, running across the parking lot with her arms absolutely motionless to her sides. For some reason, this never ceases to entertain.

It seems like I waited ages for a baby sister. When Michelle was born, I already had three brothers; boys were a dime a dozen. So, when my dad poked his head around the hospital waiting room door and said, "It's a girl," I was pleased as punch. And I've been pleased as punch ever since.

When I was in high school, Michelle liked to lurk in the corner when my friends came over. She stayed quiet so I wouldn't notice and send her away. I did notice, but I usually let her stay anyway. I thought it was endearing. Just like I thought it was endearing when she would copy the little things I did, trying to be just like her big sister. Hey, I figured the world could use a lot more people exactly like me.

But then my plan backfired. She didn't turn out to be my carbon copy. In fact, when I returned home from my mission, I took one look at my little sister and realized two things. 1. My sister wasn't little any more. 2. My sister was going to better looking than me. Needless to say, I was horrified.

I should have braced myself. This was only the beginning. I would go on to discover she could make me look incredibly foolish during family basketball games, play a very large and instantly impressive instrument, and pass the AP Calculus test. And that's just the short list.

I've tried hard to be jealous of my sister, but it doesn't work very well. I love her far too much to wish her any lesser degree of awesomeness. Besides, I'm still delighted when she does some of the same things I do. She's leaving for her mission in Greece this Wednesday, and I'm going to miss her terribly. But, once again, I love her far too much to keep her here at home.

Last weekend, we went to pick out a suitcase--one of the final things left to do before her departure. We settled on the nice, grey number that I drove to triumphant victory while racing her through an obstacle course we conceived out of shopping displays at Dillards. Sure, I came in first, but let's be honest: I got a head start.

Well, Michelle, it looks like those suitcases aren't imaginary anymore. Happy trails.

All my love, sweetcakes.

Found

2008-05-21T17:18:00.001-07:00

Lizzy is as good as her word. We arranged to have her leave my notebook at the campus Lost & Found, and I picked it up today. The note she attached indicated that she had looked things over (totally understandable). So as I waded through my long-lost notebook, I kept wondering what sense Lizzy had made of the contents. Here are a few things I forgot I was missing:

1. This classy--and cryptic--phrase from the opening lines of my notes.
Needs to resemble [must be a urinal] in order to not be a urinal

2. My vehicle registration certificate

3. My French translation practice exams.

4. Giant color photographs of red blood cells.

5. A poem I was required to write (and read aloud) for my super-intimidating course on confessional poetry.

6. A paper on Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, complete with grade and thorough commentary/criticism from Howard

7. The playlist for a set of great mix CDs I acquired during last semester.

8. A Judith Butler (bless her heart) article entitled Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits of "Sex"

9. Notes on the biblical account of the prodigal son.

10. A handout on the Vampire Population Growth Rate.

I'd like to send Lizzy a Thank You. Any ideas?

Sick Day

2008-05-13T09:19:00.000-07:00

I stayed home sick from work yesterday. Just fabulous.

That last statement should register a 0 rating on the sarcasm meter. I am being perfectly serious. Normally, being sick is no fun at all, but I had a great time being moderately ill yesterday. I slept until noon, had a really nice afternoon nap, and went to bed early. In between, I ate a bit, and I read part of a book I want to read that no one has assigned me to read. This ranks right behind contracting Hepatitis A (please note the A) as my best getting sick experience ever. In that case, I got to miss an entire month of third grade for an easy down payment of 3 days of delirium. Such a good trade-off.

Once, when I was a sick little girl, my mother asked me, "What do you feel like?" I think she wanted to evaluate my symptoms, but I was a bit bewildered by the question. I assessed the situation. I was feeling slow and heavy and kind-of oily.

"I feel like peanut-butter."

I still think this is brilliant.

Five

2008-05-08T13:29:00.001-07:00

Thank you, Jamie, for tagging me.
I am "IT."
And I will happily supply the information requested.

1 - Five places that I go to over and over:

*Sugarhouse Park
*The folks'
*My place of employment
*The University of Utah (until last week)
*The fridge (How come 'fridge' has a 'd' and 'refrigerator'
doesn't?)

2 - Five people who e-mail me (regularly):
I'm bending the rules here a bit.

*My sister Michelle
*Elder Nilson (former director of the Mormon Trail Center in Omaha, Nebraska)
*Utah librarians (list-serve)
*English grad students (list-serve)
*Facebook

3 - Five favorite places to eat:

*Mom's
*In my papasan chair
*On a hike
*In a foreign country
*Out

4 - Five places I would rather be right now:

*Any of my 5 favorite places to eat would do.
*At a really great concert
*Going down for a nap
*Visiting my friends A & R in North Carolina
*The Kentucky Derby

5 - Five TV shows I watch all the time:

*I regularly catch up on American Idol via YouTube (Let me take this opportunity to remind everyone once again that David Archuleta is my former student.)
*Heroes (With my sister Michelle)
*24 (With my brother David. I'm not sure what his recent marriage will do to this tradition)
*Bones (sort-of)
*I'm leaving this slot empty. I'm sure it will be filled shortly.

This just in

2008-05-04T10:41:00.000-07:00

Lizzy still has my notebook.

You've got mail

2008-05-02T09:28:00.000-07:00

I never check my university mailbox. Any important school-related news comes either from my dept. or my professors, and both regularly contact me via my gmail. But today, I had an hour to kill in-between turning in my last project and my convocation at 11:15 this morning. I decided to just see what kinds of junk mail I had in my uMail. Turns out, two of the messages were fairly interesting.

Message 1: A message from one of my professors informing me that the deadline for my last project has been extended to May 6th.
It's a good thing I didn't know this little bit of information because I can guarantee I would not have stayed up until 5am last night finishing it, and I would not be the free woman I am today.

Message 2: A message from a Good Samaritan who found a notebook I lost right before finals week of last semester. Interestingly, a wallet I lost over a year ago was also discovered this week. This is far more than anyone needs/wants to know, but I'm including my email correspondence with Lizzy because I really enjoyed her email.

Hi Melissa,

My name is Lizzy and today (Dec. 6) I found a two subject notebook of yours in OSH Room 133. I looked you up on the campus directory, which is how I have your email, just in case you're weirded out. It looks to be your American Modernism and Oral History notebook and has a lot of articles, notes and papers in it. It seems to me that you've put a lot of work into it and I know if I had lost something like that I'd want it back. I'd like to get it back to you if you want it, and will put it where ever works best for you. I can hang onto it and you can meet up with me somewhere or I can drop it off where you can easily get it. I work on campus at the Bookstore, or if you'd rather, I can leave it at a lost and found for you where ever you'd like. I just don't want it thrown away if you're looking for it. Email me back and let me know what works for you, and good luck with finals!!

Lizzy

My reply:

Lizzy,

This is what I get for not checking my campus mail frequently. I was cleaning out my mailbox today, and I saw the message you left me last semester concerning my lost notebook. I looked all over for that notebook and gave it up for lost ages ago. Thanks for being so conscientious as to contact me about it. Awesome. I'm fairly sure that you must have thrown the notebook away (or given it over to the lost and found) long, long ago. That's not a big deal. I've learned to live with it's absence, and I seem to be OK. I guess I just wanted to clear up the mystery for you and say "Thank you" for your attempt to contact me. I'm not really revealing myself to be very well put together--I lose notebooks, and I miss important email messages. At any rate, you sound like a fine human being, and I hope you know how much I appreciate your going out of your way for a complete stranger. Best of luck to you.

My thanks,

Melissa

I'm off to don the cap and gown. It's a great day for tying up loose ends.

An Alternate Plan

2008-04-28T19:52:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I cautioned readers against shooting for the moon. This may have left many individuals in a quandry. "What, then, should I make the focus of all my hopes and dreams?" Fortunately, I found the answer today while researching for my term paper on the critically acclaimed film Plan 9 from Outer Space. Everyone's favorite candidate for Best Worst Director/Screenwriter of all time, Mr. Edward Wood, Jr. offers us this piece of substantially more reasonable advice.

Aim for the STARS, and if at the end of your life you’ve only reached MARS, remember one thing. STARS flicker in
and flash out. MARS is a planet.

Truth or Dare

2008-04-26T13:21:00.000-07:00

In elementary school, the words "Truth or Dare" had the power to strike fear into my young little heart. As a child who was both fiercely private and fiercely anxious to please, this game proved a tremendous conflict of interest for me. I remembered all of this yesterday while sitting on the fringes of a wedding shower gift circle with my eight year old cousin Louisa (or, as I like to call her, Weezer). After a while, she, like me, must have been getting restless because she looked over and whispered "Truth or Dare?" This time, I could not have been more delighted.

If you ever have the chance, I strongly recommend playing Truth or Dare with a soft-spoken, quite reserved little child.

These are the outrageous questions/challenges Weezer posed to me:

Truth
*Have you ever played a trick on a friend?
*Have you ever felt embarassed in front of your mom?
*Have you ever dated anybody? (Wide-eyed, in hushed tones)
*Have you ever played truth or dare before--besides today?

Dare
*Put this clothespin on your nose.
*Go and ruffle (my 3 yr old nephew) Colin's hair.
*Do six jumping jacks in the kitchen
*Do twenty jumping jacks downstairs

I know I should be writing my final papers, but this post was already fully formed in my head and was taking up valuable real estate I just couldn't afford to have occupied right now.

Things to like about my new job

2008-04-18T10:08:00.000-07:00

1. We build enormous machines that move around real materials. OK, I don't build them, but I talk everyday to people who do. I think that's a direct connection to production that even Karl Marx could appreciate.

2. I am in charge of the snack basket.

3. The gal who previously worked at my computer left me an awesome collection of country music circa 1990.

4. When I page an employee, my voice echoes impressively through three large, industrial workshops. At first, I felt sheepish about using the intercom. Now, I live for these opportunities.

5. My mother sends my lunch to work with my boss.

No more secrets

2008-04-16T21:45:00.000-07:00

Technology has sort-of killed the Secret Song. You know, the song that artists would tack on at the end of an album so that, if you left your CD running for a while after it was over, you'd hear a lovely little number that wasn't listed in the liner notes.

The magic is gone. These days (on my iPod or my computer) my songs and albums are in quite a bit more flux, so I tend to question silence between songs more readily. I can also easily see how long any given song is going to be. A short song at the end of any album with a listed running time over nine minutes is kind-of a dead give away.

I just think it's interesting, that's all.

Re: Shooting for the moon and potentially missing

2008-04-07T00:25:00.000-07:00

1. Or you could plummet to the earth in a fiery blaze.

2. Or you could spin endlessly into the cold, dark vacuum of space.

Yes, by all means, please throw me in that briar patch.

2008-03-24T16:16:00.001-07:00

This morning I got up at an unearthly hour to prepare for a morning meeting with Howard, my graduate program director. Howard is in charge of compiling the questions for my big in-house MA Exams I take this Friday. He is also in charge of arranging the question for my big research question that I take home the very same weekend.

Howard asked me this morning,

Would you mind if we moved the take home portion of your exam to next weekend?

I was pretty sure I heard,

Would you mind if we sent you home with this wheelbarrow full of money?

I don't mind at all.

False Advertising

2008-03-19T09:43:00.001-07:00

I wish this book were half as entertaining as the cover promises.

This reminds me of the semester I got to carry Michel Foucault's History of Sexuality around BYU campus. All for nothing: not a single scandalous passage.

Campaign

2008-03-13T08:51:00.000-07:00

Campus elections are today.

I wish that the upcoming general election were being run in the same fashion as our university student elections. Huge posters of John, Barack, and Hillary would be posted over every inch of available public space. And each of these posters would have a mustache drawn across the candidate's upper lip. Outside of these delightful posters, campaigning would take only one other form: each party would compete to offer the best free food to voters.

Once, I gave these booths a wide berth, but not anymore--not since my sister showed me how entertaining political participation can be. We compete to see who can act like the most serious-minded voter.

"Well now, I'd like to know just what differentiates your party from the other parties?"
"Tell me why you chose this particular name for your party?"
"If elected, what will you do specifically to benefit me as a Humanities student?"
"And just exactly what party is currently in power?"
"I see. Thank you for your time and for this delicious glass of TANG."

Candidates love this kind of behavior. It puts them right at ease. You see, generally the campaigners act slightly embarrassed. Everyone involved knows you are there for a bagel and not for a lesson in student government. The most comfortable staffers are the ones who have fully accepted their ethically ambiguous position. We're not really going to tell you about the issues. We're just going to offer a small bribe and remind you to vote. Those folks who are genuinely interested in disseminating substantive information about their platform have a much harder time. That's why actual questions about the campaign make them visibly glow with excitement.

I'm all about making people visibly glow with excitement. And I'm all about free hot chocolate.

Paint it, Black

2008-03-03T10:07:00.000-08:00

Something from this article in the NYTimes today struck me as bizarre (similar wording crops up in other news sources).

Rolling Stones frontman Mick Jagger only survived an assassination attempt by Hells Angels members nearly 40 years ago because a boat carrying his would-be killers was swamped in a storm, according to a new BBC documentary.

I find this a curious way to characterize the plot on McJagger's life. John Lennon was at least as well known as Mick (and I like him better), but I'd still call his death "murder." Lincoln, King, Kennedy--assassinated.

R.I.P.

2008-02-28T10:51:00.001-08:00

They have painted over the second stall in the Marriott Library women's restroom.

Everyone with two X chromosomes knows that the second stall was the best place for bathroom graffiti on this university campus. For proof, I cite a conversation I had with my sister about campus graffiti. She mentioned the Marriott second stall immediately. If you used this restroom with any frequency, you would notice that the second stall was almost always the first one occupied. Well, I'm not surprised. The second stall had some great reading material.

I'm not really worried that this new paint job will prove the demise of the university's very own PostSecret. But I would like to take this moment to pay tribute to a few things we have lost--however temporarily.

*A suggestion for stall occupants to add a new Facebook application.
Is this girl on the payroll?

*At least one fantastic use of the word "womyn."
Men are so obsolete. Just check the spelling.

*"I love Adam"
"Adam Ferguson?"
I'm so amused by this response. I picture the first girl coming back and saying, "Why yes. Yes, Adam Ferguson." This would be the most successful scoring at the "Do-You-Know?" game I have ever witnessed.

Finally

2008-02-25T19:51:00.000-08:00

Alert newspaper reader, Dad, recently brought this comic to my attention. (Yes, my father just achieved an unprecedented twice-in-a-row blog mention)

Please pay particular attention to panel 4.

This comic strip marks the first time I have seen the word "nuther" used in print. I'm talking about black and white on paper "a team of editors looked at this" kind of print. I absolutely love this word. It seems to occur when the word "another" gets interrupted by the word "whole." Go ahead and try it out--rolls right off the tongue. My brilliant professor uses this word. A whiny Luke Skywalker uses this word. Lots of people use this word. I use this word whenever I can manage it. Do you have any favorite strange words?

10 Reasons to Love the Harlem Globetrotters

2008-02-12T20:19:00.000-08:00

My Dad is convinced that all of his ideas are brilliant. And sometimes he is right. This week, he decided to take the family to the Harlem Globetrotters game. Brilliant.

OK, the game itself was fairly amusing--good "fun for the whole family" kind of fun--but I'm really more entertained by the idea of the Harlem Globetrotters. Here are 10 reasons why.

10. Equal parts basketball: equal parts dancing.

9. Globetrotter to NBA crossover. OK, this hasn't happened for a while, but Wilt "The Stilt" Chamberlain was first a Globetrotter. I'd like to see a bit more of this. I think the NBA could use more snazzy nicknames.

8. Snazzy nicknames. Next time I play in anything that remotely resembles an athletic competition, I'm going to insist that my teammates call me by my Globetrotter name. I'm not sure what this is yet--possibly Sweet Feet, The Big Chill, or Blueberry Tart.

7. Honorary Members. While the Globetrotters are pretty much an all-black team, they have honorarily inducted some white folks. Notable athletes Henry Kissinger, Bob Hope, and Pope John Paul II were all Harlem Globetrotters. The team has also inducted Whoopi Goldberg. They are equal opportunity inductors.

6. Bill Cosby was signed to a $1-a-year lifetime contract with the Globetrotters in 1972. He got a nickel raise in '86.

5. Zany antics. The Globetrotters are infamous for charmingly mischievous pranks that--in almost any other althetic context--would be considered unsportsman-like. The dastardly Generals are often theatrically accused of cheating near game's end for resorting to 1. distraction and 2. disregard for rules. Distraction and rule-breaking are the bread-and-butter of the Harlem Globetrotters. Oh the irony.

4. The Generals. If you cheer for the underdog, this should be your favorite team of all time. The Generals haven't beaten the Globetrotters since 1971. However, the Generals have occasionally adopted different team names and jerseys to make it look like the Globetrotters have more varied competition.

3. 22,500-345. On their official website, the Globetrotters claim to "own the best winning percentage in professional sports."

Krusty's Accountant: Let me get this straight: You took all the money you made franchising your name and bet it *against* the Harlem Globetrotters?
Krusty the Clown: I thought the Generals were due!

2. Every single Globetrotter game is a real, competitive contest. Real and competitive.

1. No matter where they travel, the Harlem Globetrotters are always the home team.

Tracking

2008-02-07T08:59:00.000-08:00

It's very frustrating to look for a parking spot in a crowded lot. And it's a joyful moment when someone happens to pull out at exactly the right time for you to slip into their space. I love when I can leave my own parking space wide open for a hopeful car coming down the aisle. It's all yours. I hope this space is as convenient for you as it was for me. Well and good.

However, I find it unsettling when I'm walking across a parking lot, and someone decides to follow me at length to my spot. I don't want to be ungenerous, but this puts a lot of pressure on me. What if I don't remember exactly where I'm parked and have to stand and think about it? What if I only want to retrieve something from my car? What if I wanted to spend a few minutes arranging things before I leave? And just how long do you plan on trailing me? If it weren't so cold, I'd be tempted to walk right past my car and circle the parking lot indefinitely.

Life Elevated?

2008-02-02T09:24:00.000-08:00

I guess it looks OK up close.
I just think we could have done better.

The name of a man is a numbing blow from which he never recovers. ~Marshall McLuhan

2008-01-23T23:17:00.000-08:00

I have made a shocking discovery. According to a very recent, non-scientific, completely arbitrary study in which I gathered absolutely no actual data, I have determined that approximately 42% of the U.S. population does not know the meaning or origin of their given name. This came to my attention during a set of class introductions that required us to provide this information. I thought this was a pretty straightforward exercise. I was wrong.

Now, I realize that we don't often put this information to use.

"Hello, my name is Melissa. I'm named after a bumbling sort of insect. And you?"

But this is your name we're talking about. This is how people know you, think about you, call you, talk about you behind your back. As far as words in your general vocabulary go, your name is kind of a big deal. If there is a word on the planet you should know about, this is it. Surely, somewhere along the line, most people have had the occasion to learn the etymology of their own name. It may be possible to get through elementary school without completing this assignment, but I'm not sure. Please go ahead and forget your 8 times tables before you forget the meaning of your name.

OK, so I might be taking this a bit too far. Perhaps it's just my intense fascination with names that makes this widespread indifference so bewildering. Hey, I may have even supplied just a little too much information during my own class introduction, but--trust me--I was holding back. I neglected referencing a butterfly, a plant, a computer virus, and a charming song by the Allman Brothers that all carry my name. I also did not mention that I am currently investigating why my name appears on the expiration date stamp of several gallons of milk that were purchased by members of my household in the month of January. I obligingly omitted a detailed history and defense of the oft maligned Campbell clan name--even after provoked by a would-be rival MacDonald seated nearby. See? I was the soul of restraint.

Perhaps I should apologize to those who occupy this appalling 42%. Not today. After all, what is the use of riding the information highway if you insist on navigating with roller skates? Go google yourself this instant.

Spotlight on Spelling

2008-01-23T19:00:00.000-08:00

I like to spell words correctly. I don't mind so much when other people misspell things, but it really irritates me when I do. Occasionally, I run up against a perfectly common word that--for some strange reason--just gives me spelling trouble. This makes me feel like a complete idiot. You see, I know this word. I really do. I have looked up this word before. Multiple times. I just can't seem to remember which spelling is correct and which spelling is ludicrous. I find this quite disturbing. How can I learn from my failures if I keep forgetting what they look like? I conduct extensive internal arguments, "Look, Melissamerica, it is most definitely spelled 'sur'-prise. Hmmm, but is it really?"

Now, I don't mind misspelling hard words. I look up "bourgeoise" every time I use it, and I'm fine with that. But when I had to look up "niece" today, I was completely annoyed. (And I will go ahead and admit that I just had to go back and change that spelling yet again) This is intolerable. So, I'm posting these pesky words here on my blog, hoping to lock them into place once and for all.

A short list of potentially embarassing words I should know how to spell:

niece
surprise
equipment
tendency
privilege

There are certainly more, but that'll do for now. I'd like to know if you have any pesky words--or if you even care about spelling.

Which Disney Princess Are You?

2008-01-22T00:23:00.000-08:00

I wish this were one of the possible results for any of the Disney Princess Quizzes I keep getting requests to take.

You Are Maleficent!

Self-serving and calculating. You live for parties and don't appreciate being left off the guest list. You actually have little patience with princesses. You do enjoy putting people to sleep.

Which Disney Princess Are You?

My favorite part of this exercise was taking a Princess Quiz and asking myself, "Now how would Maleficent answer this question?"

As in:

1. Where would you go on your dream vacation?

a. somewhere new
b. Seaworld
c. the South of France
d. Hell

Keynote

2008-01-17T13:10:00.001-08:00

It's only January, but Cornel West just skyrocketed onto my list of favorite people for 2008. I went to hear him speak today at the University of Utah, and it was (how do I put this?) e-lectric. His entire way of speaking is poetry. Explosive, agile, spontaneous poetry. I was going to take better notes, but I was too busy listening. Among other things, I particularly enjoyed the following:

1. when he railed against the "Santa Claus-ification" of Martin Luther King, Jr.

2. when he demonstrated how Martin Luther King, Jr. "out-Socrates-ed Socrates."

3. when he called William Butler Yeats "a blues man of the Irish persuasion."

Here are a few other gems (minus the power of context and the considerable charm of his dramatic baritone):

"When you see a Negro walking around, you ought to give him a standing ovation."

"To be a blues man or woman is to be a prisoner of hope."

"Indifference is ideologically promiscuous."

"I'd rather lose and be right than win and be a gangster."

"Can we bring the present Ice Age to a close? This is the question. And how do we melt this Ice Age in such a way that makes it cool, hip, and appealing to fall in love with truth and justice?"

Thank you, Dr. West.

Anderson Cooper 360°

2008-01-15T10:57:00.000-08:00

Going grey was the best thing that ever happened to Anderson Cooper. Imagine you are a serious minded yet boyish-looking broadcast journalist hoping to transition from a high-school audience to an older demographic. How can you possibly get people to take you seriously? Simple. White hair=instant credibility.

I don't actually follow any of Mr. Cooper's work on CNN, but I'm very pleased he's made it this far. You see, I believe Anderson Cooper is leading a charmed life. I'm not talking about the whole son-of-a Vanderbilt, Ivy-Leaguer, famous newscaster thing. I just think Anderson Cooper is lucky to be alive. Some of you may remember when Anderson Cooper was a humble field reporter on Channel One, everyone's favorite high-school news source. While reporting for this top-notch organization, it seemed that Anderson's life was in constant jeopardy.

This was a common scenario:

Lisa Ling: And now, we go to the field where Anderson Cooper IS IN MORTAL PERIL.
Anderson Cooper: Hello everyone. I could be killed at any moment.
Lisa Ling: Tell us about the situation there, Anderson. Quickly.
Anderson Cooper: It's not quite clear what is going on. But you can see that behind me, at an incredible distance, very dangerous events are unfolding. I may need to leave immediately.
Lisa Ling: Thank you, Anderson. Your journalistic dedication is amazing.

I'm ashamed to say that some of us were a bit skeptical about the actual danger Anderson Cooper faced on a daily basis. It's just that, once in a while, we might accidentally get some of our news from other sources. And those other news outlets were not so forthcoming about the hazards of their reporters' circumstances. We had to make uninformed judgments based on external factors--like the surrounding smoke or the shouting people carrying guns.

Fortunately, we had Channel One. And as sensitive, globally conscious young people, we could have stimulating discussions about world events later at lunch.

Rachael: I see Anderson Cooper was in the line of fire again today.
Me: Thank heavens he hasn't been shot.

But maybe Anderson Cooper really did dodge a few bullets. We all know that severe trauma can manifest itself physically in dramatic ways. And suddenly, Anderson's salt-and-pepper just made him look a lot more legitimate.

Afternoon Run

2008-01-08T18:09:00.001-08:00

I'm fond of this little walking trail slash bird sanctuary near my house. It's nice to find a place like this just off the street in the middle of the city. Let's preserve more animal habitats, eh?

2007 Wrap Up

2008-01-02T17:33:00.001-08:00

Here's my version of an excellent year-end list that's been making the rounds.

Best device: It’s been little over a week, but I'm already absurdly devoted to my iPod Classic. I am so in love that I’ve knitted her a sweater. And I particularly enjoy showing it off.

Worst Device: The award goes to my speaker remote that broke after I installed the battery incorrectly. I realize I’m the idiot to blame here, but I really have very little patience for a device that has so very little patience with me.

Best Idea: Bangs

Worst Idea: Braces

Best Movie: 2007 marks a surprising and uncharacteristic lull in movie watching for me. I still have a long list of "to-watch" movies for the year, and I'm pretty sure my favorite is somewhere on that list. So I'm giving the nod to an older movie I saw this year that I'd been meaning to watch for a long time: Cold Comfort Farm. Delightful.

Worst Movie: Invasion was a terrible waste. Based on my rating history, Movie Lens predicts that my least favorite movie of 2007 would've been Bratz: The Movie. It's uncanny how well they know me.

Best Restaurant: Archibald’s at Gardner Village—for lunch at work. I never really eat at this restaurant, but the cup of soup ordered to go is delicious, reasonably priced, and comes with some tasty sourdough bread.

Worst Restaurant: My one visit to Rubio's in Sugarhouse was pretty disappointing.

Best Concert: This year was a spectacular year for concerts. The Avett Brothers were impossibly, unspeakably good.
Incredibly Honorable Mention: Morrissey, The New Pornographers

Worst Concert: The French Kicks. I’m glad this was a free concert because I don’t like the thought of paying good money to have some reprobate in front of me summon roughly thirty people to squeeze into the half-centimeter of space available between my friends and his. Also: one of them spilled his beer on me. And the music was pretty mediocre.

Best Book: The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
He had come such a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close he could hardly fail to grasp it. But what he did not know was that it was already behind him, somewhere in the vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.

Worst Book: The extra book my Oral History classmates volunteered to read when they inexplicably voted IN FAVOR of an optional class period the day before Thanksgiving. I conscientiously objected by not showing up.

Best Parts: enjoying a superb home life, discovering the Bonneville Shoreline Trail, finding out that the second year of grad school is markedly better than the first year of grad school

Worst Part: Finals Week of spring semester was quite possibly the darkest time of my academic career.

Best Albums: Feist--The Reminder
The Avett Brothers--Emotionalism
The New Pornographers--Challengers

Worst Album: I try not to subject myself to an entire album of anything I hate. I will note that I dislike the song “Big Girls Don’t Cry” by Fergie.
And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket
But I've got to get a move on with my life

Best Job: Secret Shopping. I've never been so pleased to get great service.

Worst Job: Working Witches Night Out at Gardner Village. This is a weekend where hundreds of women dress up like witches to go fight crowds and stand in long lines. The whole time, I was watching the horizon, hoping for a giant twister to drop a house out of the sky.

Best City: St. George--Home of the St. George Marathon

Worst City: West Valley City--Home of Dana Orthodontics

The Mud Flap Girl

2007-12-16T15:55:00.001-08:00

Hey, I guess it was kind-of amusing when those WWII lads painted racy ladies on the fuselage of their B-52s. But I'm drawing a line in the sand. Those playboy-esque silhouettes on trucker's mud flaps are creepy. Naked women? On flaps that catch mud? Give me a second to think of a more blantantly degrading objectification of women. OK, The Hottentot Venus totally takes the cake, but whatever.

I'm baffled as to the motivation of the buyer here. Is this man hoping to attract women? Let's see, girls, you're going out on a date. Your date picks you up at seven. You exchange pleasantries. You walk out to his pick-up truck. His truck is sporting mud flaps. Mud-flap-girl mud flaps. And a back window decal that reads "Boobs. Got 'em? Show 'em." Wow. Sexy.

Maybe he's trying to signal to other men that he's attracted to women.
Working this hard to broadcast your heterosexuality? Not a good sign.

Achtung Baby

2007-10-25T13:26:00.000-07:00

On my way to class today, I encountered a well-placed CAUTION: WET FLOOR sign. While I was exercising the appropriate amount of caution, I noticed how wonderfully illustrative the little stick figure person is on that sign.
Tread lightly, unless you want to end up with limbs flailing like this poor sap.
It made me wonder about the fate of stick figure characters in other precarious situations. Sure enough, wet floors are just the beginning.

They're not kidding around here.

Highly effective. I'm never going swimming again.

Stick figures: Making the world a safer place for all of us.

Say What? Part Deux

2007-09-02T19:11:00.000-07:00

I love singing along to the radio. I even sing along when I don't know the words. Look, I'm not about to miss out on all the fun due to a little technicality like COMPLETE IGNORANCE OF THE ACTUAL LYRICS. Besides, getting the words wrong from time to time can be pretty entertaining. In fact, lately I've been thinking that sometimes mistaken lines can be more interesting than the originals.

Case Study #1:
Recently, I fell in love with a song by Camera Obscura called "Hey, Lloyd, I'm Ready to be Heartbroken." I could've sworn one of the lines said,
I've got my life of compilation hits, sort-of
So, I was slightly disappointed to learn that the lyric actually reads,
I've got my life of complication here to sort out
Even now, listening closely, I still hear it the other way. And it makes a weird kind-of sense to me.

Case Study #2:
I'm starting with the man in the mirror
I'm asking him to change his ways.
And no message coulda been any clearer
If you wanna make the world a better place, etc.
"The Man in the Mirror" happens to be my least favorite Michael Jackson song, but--and I am not kidding around here--this song nearly rocketed to "Billie Jean" or "Thriller" status when I was in the car the other day, and I thought I heard Michael crooning,

No mustache coulda been any clearer

Wow. That is such a better lyric.

The Avett Brothers

2007-08-29T21:41:00.001-07:00

All day today, I've had a smile just beneath the surface.

Last night, I saw The Avett Brothers perform in a little place in Salt Lake City. Simply put: it was the single best live show I've ever seen.

A few hours before the crowd started to gather, we spotted Seth Avett taking a picture (with his camera phone) of their band's name on the marquee.

Kind of like this one:

Yeah, I know I'm a geek, but the scene was completely endearing.

Wednesday Update

2007-06-27T22:24:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry to report that I haven't really been up to much lately. I washed my car this morning. I worked this afternoon. I had a beautiful run this evening. Beautiful, that is, until a bug flew straight down my throat. I hate that.

I'll do some musing and write something more interesting later. Thanks for missing me.

J'ai fini

2007-05-11T09:33:00.000-07:00

You have to be careful when expressing the English phrase "I am finished" in French. The literal, word-by-word translation tells your listener that you are dying--not long for this world. You're better off saying "I have finished" when completing a task.

Sometimes, though, when I'm tearing my hair out trying to finish up my final semester projects, the two feel like pretty much the same thing. Today, I am here to report that I have, indeed, finished my finals. Luckily, I can also report: they have not finished me.

March Madness

2007-03-26T22:46:00.000-07:00

Anyone else this weird?

2007-02-14T23:04:00.000-08:00

Today, I was reading an article about why people see faces in objects around them (ie: the man in the moon).

I must admit I do occasionally see faces--most recently in the remnants of a sticker left on the back of a bathroom stall at the gym. However, I've also taken up another hobby: identifying geographical features on my own body.

First off, the bruise on my arm from last week's basketball game looked like Australia for a while, but it turned kind-0f heart shaped just in time for Valentine's Day. How lovely.

Also, I sometimes like playing connect-the-dots with my freckles. I'd like to announce that I've located The Big Dipper on my forearm.

If I didn't know better, I'd say I have too much time on my hands.

Survey Says

2007-01-31T17:30:00.000-08:00

Lately, I've been getting a new round of those email "get to know you" surveys. It seems like the same ones tend to circulate every so often, and--frankly--I think some of those questions leave something to be desired. Bacon or Croutons? Ahem, case closed. So, I've created my own survey full of questions that I wanted to answer. Feel free to join me by answering some of these questions or by supplying interesting questions of your own. Cheers.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?
guinea pig

What’s something you do that you wish you didn’t do?
I blush too easily.

What was the last song you sang when no one else was around?
That Old Feeling (a la Chet Baker)

In the movie about your life, which actor would you choose to play you?
Cate Blanchett

Where’s the last place you went on vacation?
Yellowstone National Park

If you were arrested, who would be your “one phone call?”
my dad

What book are you currently reading?
The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin

What historical event would you like to have been present for?
I'd like to have been on the moon to watch Neil Armstrong arrive
(making me the first--heh).

What historical figure would you like to have met?
Joan of Arc (provided I could speak French)

Name something you can’t do very well.
throw a frisbee

What's the worst injury you've suffered?
split my forehead open--had it stitched up

Name one thing that makes you a “freak of nature.”
My pinkie toenails grow into a point (aka "The Claw").

What’s one thing you would do as President of the United States?
resign

What day in your life would you like to go back and watch as a spectator?
my birth day

Name something you intend to do but haven’t done yet.
send some "Thank You" cards

If you could do anything you wanted today, then rewind the day and start over fresh—no consequences—what would you do?
shave my head

What’s your favorite city you’ve ever visited?
Edinburgh

If you could be transported for just one day anywhere in the world, where would you go?
Easter Island

What was your most recent purchase?
Luna Bar

Name one thing you’re looking forward to doing this week.
playing basketball in my community league

So?

2006-12-29T11:55:00.000-08:00

Yeah, it's horribly consumeristic and all that jazz, but I want to know.
What'd you get for Christmas? Let's just dish for a minute, shall we? We'll talk about social issues tomorrow.

This year's highlight: a lovely print my parent's gave me. It's of one of my favorite paintings; the original hangs in the BYU Museum of Art. Sometimes, when I had a moment between classes, I used to wander around the gallery there. I love this one by Daniel Ridgway Knight called "Le Premier Chagrin"--the colors are absolutely gorgeous. You can't tell much from the image here, but you get the general idea. This'll be hanging on my own wall pretty soon.

Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday.
Looking forward to a charming Double Oh Seven.

One thing's for sure

2006-12-02T15:47:00.000-08:00

I've finally got around to reading the Communist Manifesto. (It helps that I'm required to read it for my one of my classes) As I opened to the first page, I was reminded of a private joke I have with a good friend of mine. Her name is Amy.

One day Amy took me to meet some friends of hers at a party. While there, we were talking with a somewhat intoxicated young fellow. Suddenly, he decided to quote for us the opening line of Karl Marx's controversial work:

"A spectre is haunting Europe."

He then went on to reassure us, "That's just the first line. I don't have the whole Communist Manifesto memorized."

Amy and I found this terribly funny. As if we might have entertained the possibility that he had the entire book committed to memory based on his knowing first line. heh.
Thus, we occasionally amuse ourselves with variations on his theme:

Hey, Melissa.
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.
Oh, that's only the first line; I don't really have the whole A Tale of Two Cities memorized.

In the beginning.
Don't worry, Amy, that's just the first bit.
I don't know all of the Holy Bible by memory.

It's a fun game. I highly recommend it. Anyone out there have any favorite first lines (or books) memorized?

In which I lament the loss of Halloween nights when the pursuit of candy trumped the consumption and calories didn't count anyway

2006-10-30T17:18:00.000-08:00

My favorite Halloween costume is one I can't even remember. The old pictures show me wearing my pink coat backwards, the white fringe of the hood hanging under my chin. The story goes that when my parent's asked me what I wanted to be for Halloween, I replied, "A backwards banana." Wearing my coat (pink, mind you) in reverse, was apparently a satisfactory solution. Indeed, the girl in the photo looks quite pleased with her choice as she smiles next to two older brothers dressed as a tiger and a pirate.

I tried hard to keep up with those brothers trick-or-treating on Halloween nights. I still remember waiting for them in the street with my small hands between my father's as he blew to warm them with his breath. My brothers had promised to convince the neighbor inside to give something for their little sister out in the cold.

Soon, however, we led our own expeditions on Halloween. Like generals, we had mapped out our plan of attack, discussed the relative advantages of neighborhoods within our walking distance. We weighed the factors--houses spaced close together vs. larger homes with better candy. Always, that suburban legend surfaced of a house somewhere apart from our cluster of neighborhoods that gave out king size candy bars to every kid who made the trek down their lonely lane.

When the night finally arrived, we waited until the moment our parents fired the proverbial shot of the starting pistol. We strove for two things: speed and efficiency. Gradually, we fell into a rhythm. The first to arrive rang or knocked sharply as we arranged ourselves on the step. We started with Daniel, singing his low "trick-or-treat" and holding pitch. Jonathan added his line immediately after, and I chimed in with the highest bit. Together, we joined for one last barbershop "TRICK-OR-TREAT" in three part harmony and smiled our most charming smiles. I'm not sure whose epiphany this little performance had been, but it was invariably a success. More than once, a delighted benefactress would laugh and exclaim "That deserves a double treat!" as she brought The Bowl to our waiting, outstretched pillowcases. We just exchanged knowing looks as we said our "thank yous" and departed.

The "thank yous" were an ironclad rule. I mean what was Halloween after all? People giving free candy to anyone willing to show up in costume in their doorway? Thanks was the least we could offer to the pagan gods of a holiday already skewed so decidedly in our favor. We scorned the faceless children we heard about who neglected this ritual.

When we finally returned home, we shut ourselves away behind closed doors and emptied our sacks into our separate piles. Then we sorted. Smarties. Tootsie Rolls. Bit-O-Honeys. Mini Candy Bars. (Once, to our shame, our own mother had given out boxes of raisins) We half-heartedly checked for suspicious candy as warned by our local newscaster, maybe even threw away a few with torn wrappers. And finally, we commenced The Trade.

"Three taffys and two Pixie Sticks for your Milky Way."

We accepted, rejected, advised, and strategized, presenting our offers in deliberated bundles to the middle of the trading floor. We started price wars, speculated on the laws of supply and demand, sought third party representation. A scene straight from Wall Street--only smaller and more delicious.

You look like

2006-10-11T15:22:00.000-07:00

This week, I got a "You look like..." comment. You know what I'm talking about--somebody claims you're a dead ringer for so-and-so. I actually get this quite frequently. At one time or another, I have been compared to the following:

*My sister (This happens daily)
*The lady on a America First Bank billboard (Uncanny--and noted by various unrelated persons)
*A mission companion (I didn't really buy it)
*Random celebrities (Nice try)

This is problematic. Generally speaking, people like to see their face is their own. I guess it's flattering to be compared to a celebrity--as long as it's not, say, Rodney Dangerfield. Also, if you express disgust at a comparison to someone you know, you run the risk of disparaging your counterpart--not the friendliest gesture. However, I whole-heartedly welcome being compared with my sister. It makes sense; there's a decided family resemblence.

So, I was interested to see my friend Becca's post where a face recognition process matches your face to different celebrities. OK, so I spent way too much time on this when I should have been doing homework. Basically, I tried about 5 photos. I don't know if I'm a believer; I got such a wide variety of results. Even pictures of the same person can look radically different. Some of the comparisons seemed to rely on superficial connections. I got a lot more men when I tried a photo with my hair pulled back. Then again, most of them only claim to be a 60-70% match anyway. Humans do share 99.9% of the same genetic code so I guess you could claim that real differences are relatively minor. Besides, I did get a few celebrity repeats (but not in these 2 batches). All in all, it was an interesting exercise.

Please note that this week's "You look like..." appears above in the form of Ms. Tea Leoni.
Ah, David Duchovny, why won't you love me?

I love this appearance by William Moseley. I think he actually has some of the girls beat.

So, who do people say you look like?

Keep America Beautiful

2006-10-03T10:38:00.000-07:00

Today, I noticed a bag of trail mix lying on the campus sidewalk. Passing by, I remembered a guy I knew several years ago at school. One day, from out my window, I saw this fellow pick some trash off the grass in our complex and put it in a garbage sack he had in his backpack. Interesting, but not particular unusual. Later, I learned that he carried the sack for that purpose--to pick up trash on his way to school. I didn't know this guy particularly well or for very long, but his action impressed me. Sure, you could make picking up garbage a full-time job and never be done; and yeah, who knows where that pop can has been? Still, it made me wonder how things would be different if everyone had a similar attitude about social responsibility.

Some people throw trash. Some people look down on those who do. Some people pick up trash on their way home.

Thanks. I don't remember your name, but I went back for the bag.

Book worm

2006-08-25T13:31:00.000-07:00

A book meme: in honor of my inauspicious beginnings in grad school. Sometimes I wish I could spend more time reading interesting literature and less time reading about it.

1. One book that changed your life: Raggedy Anne and the Cookie Snatcher. It’s the first book I remember reading on my own. I think I probably had it memorized, but it was an empowering moment nonetheless.

2. One book that you have read more than once: Nicobobinus by Terry Jones. “The story of the most extraordinary child who ever stuck his tongue out at the Prime Minister.” I read this aloud to several classes of students. They loved it.

3. One book you would want on a desert island: I always cheat on this question by listing my Complete Works of William Shakespeare--though I'd be somewhat tempted by something along the lines of A Field Guide of Edible Plants.

4. One book that made you laugh out loud: The Know It All by A.J. Jacobs. "One man's quest to become the smartest person on Earth." Truly pathetic. Also, the story of my life.

5. One book that made you cry: Honestly, the only words to do this have been scripture.

6. One book you wish had been written: A wildly successful first novel by yours truly.

7. One book you wish had never been written: Mein Kampf by Adolph Hitler

8. One book you are currently reading: Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. In fact, I should really be doing that right this minute. Ah.

9. One book you have been meaning to read: Argh, I'll never get around to it now. That's right, Tolstoy's War and Peace. It’s been sitting on my shelf for almost a year--137 pages down, 1249 to go.

Your turn.

I knew what it was when I picked it up

2006-07-28T16:08:00.000-07:00

Last night, I watched one of the worst movies ever made.

I really knew better than to watch it. I really knew better when I picked it up at the library and saw that wild man on the cover. I really knew better when I popped it in the player and the opening scene involved men in monkey suits capering round the jungle. I really did know. And so I stopped watching.

"Wow, Mom, this is really going to be horrible. I just don't think I'm up to it right now."

But, apparently, I was up to it last night. Silly, silly girl. There's a Greek word that describes the human impulse to look at what pains us--like rubber necking after freeway accidents. I must've inherited that quality in spades. I convinced my innocent, unwitting sister and her friend to watch "Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes." That's right--this movie appears to have two subtitles (kind-of). But that's just the beginning.

I did warn them.

In my defense, I rented it because of a vague childhood memory (or story) my aunt tells about taking my brothers on an outing to this movie. I've heard the movie mentioned in this context, but I had no memory of the film. And, it is some slight consolation to say that I did, after all, pick it up free of charge at our beautiful public library. I was still cheated. Someone should have been paying me to watch that movie.

Some movies are bad in a way that's quite comic. Trust me, there was plenty to laugh at here--akward jungle nudity, a plethora of melodramatic death scenes, an old man plunging to his death by riding a serving tray down a flight of stairs--but the novelty soon wore off. It just became unwatchable. Yet, we continued watching. We resorted to fast-forwarding large sections. Even so, the film was interminably long. When it finally ended, the post-movie conversation revolved around two major points. 1-The stupidity of having actually watched this movie. 2-Where this movie ranked on our "Worst Movies Ever" list.

The verdict:
1- Gormenghast
I shudder to think of it.
2-Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes
3-Manos and the Hands of Fate
If I hadn't seen it with the entertaining Mystery Science commentary, I'm sure it
could've bucked all other competition.

That's as far as we got. The list is certainly subject to revision--as I'm sure we've probably suppressed painful memories of bad movies we've viewed in the distant past.

What's the worst movie you've ever seen?

From afar

2006-07-03T18:41:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I´m sitting in the heart of Cuzco, Peru on a narrow, cobblestone street named after Garcilasos de la Vega--the great Incan historian. I´m somewhat troubled that I am just learning his name. But then, travel has an amazing tendency to expose ignorance.

The Andes mountains are stunning in their sheer immensity. I´ve never seen peaks ascend so rapidly skyward. Anywhere you turn, you might see a young boy herding llamas back to his village, an old man bent under a load of wheat on his back, or a woman draped in a colorful shawl spinning wool on a spool by the side of the road.

We work with the villagers on community projects, and I can see how their lives are benefited by these improvements: a ventilated kitchen, working toilets, books for the school. The people are so grateful--the children showered our heads with flower petals this morning on our arrival. Still, I sometimes feel an intruder here. A stranger in a strange land.

Blackmail

2006-06-26T21:30:00.000-07:00

Dave, I thought I knew ye.

Greatest Show on Earth

2006-06-07T08:07:00.000-07:00

This Sunday marked the first annual (maybe even semi-annual) Family Talent Extravaganza. I'd say the show went off splendidly. In point of fact, a good time was had by all.

Bryce's Talent: Drooling

Dad expressed some reticence about participating but came through like a champ with a poetry recitation. That Pops, he's all right.

Michelle's going to rock her upcoming vocal recital with that totally kickin' French art song. Mais oui.

Melissa's Talent: Singing poorly on purpose
Also: Coming up with brilliant ideas—like putting on a Family Talent Extravaganza.

Annette's talents go beyond lending my bro some fashion sense.
She also plays a mean piano.

Jonny works the crowd with his rock star wiles.

On the Program: David demonstrates submission holds.
Unadvertised Bonus: More submission holds.

Colin's fearless, pitch-perfect rendition of “A Bicycle Built for Two”
proved the decided highlight of the evening.

In addition to singing and turning somersaults,
the kiddies also displayed their latest artwork in our professional gallery.

Daniel brought along some sweet photography.
He also stole my camera to take most of these pics
while I was gallivanting about. Thanks man.

Not pictured but infinitely worthwhile:
Mommy & Me-chelle harp duet
Jenni's folk trio and scrapbook display.

To all our participants: Bless your pointy little heads.

Now go get to work on your acts for the next big star-studded performance.

American Idol Announced Tonight

2006-05-24T08:31:00.000-07:00

And I'm feeling remarkably ambivalent. Yeah, I watched that lukewarm final last night. In fact, I've watched this ridiculous program all season (just like I do every year), although with considerably less gusto in recent weeks since they sent the most credible option packing. And once again, you can lump me in with all the other shlubs who'll be watching tonight even though I'm having a hard time getting excited about it.

However, I whole-heartedly approve of this little gem.

High Maintenance Part Deux

2006-05-19T10:19:00.000-07:00

Apparently, I should write somewhat more on the topic of beauty. My last post generated my best response to date. Sure, I successfully alienated any of the men who read my blog (so, just my brothers), but I guess that's the price of success these days, eh? At any rate, I thought today I'd give a little update concerning Project Presentable.

Many of you know that my family has been gifted with eyebrows. Particularly healthy eyebrows. In fact, before my brother married an HM girl himself, there were times when some of us feared his eyebrows might be an alien life-form threatening to take over his face. Yet even so, I can appreciate a good pair of brows. I usually do some general upkeep myself, but I was well-pleased with my first ever professional eyebrow wax/trim last summer. So clean and neat. This week, I decided to give it another go.

There's one huge problem with being a historically low-maintenance girl: I'm easily intimidated by the smart set. In fact, they should make a horror film starring a bright-eyed mall make-up artist who wears flashy eyeshadow and one of those impossibly white smocks. I tell you, I'd be cowering in my seat within minutes.

I walked into the beauty salon for my appointment with studied nonchalance. Oh, it's just that time again. Time to have my brows done. Just like I regularly do. The lovely women I saw last year was booked in advance for a month.

"Of course, I'll see that other fellow. Not a problem." Out he comes--confident, cucumber cool. He seats me in the chair. We establish the item of concern: oh yes, the brows. Looks like everyone's on the same page. He goes to work.

The thing about having your brows done is you have your eyes closed. You have no idea what's going on. For all you know, he could be hacking you a nice set of stripes. But I trust these people. I am but an unlessoned girl.

He begins by trimming. Trimming very thoroughly, by the feel of it. Next, he's putting on the wax. Quite a bit, I'm guessing. Quick pull (I'm good at this part; pain I can handle). Then he starts to pluck. And pluck. And pluck. And pluck.

And pluck.

Soon, I'm unsure what can possibly be left up there to remove.

But I sit there and take it. Like a woman. Because surely this man knows more about the business than I do. Because he must be giddy as a school boy at having been giving such abundant raw material--like a sculptor with a fresh marble slab. And because, fortunately, I know that if anyone's eyebrows can recover from such a beating, mine can. Finally, he hands me the mirror, I take a quick glance, but really I'm not about to fully survey the damage right now anyway. I flee the scene. What can I do--tell him to put them back where he found them? Yeah.

Today, my brows are a former shadow of themselves. My sister swore they looked fine. That's right: fine. Fine is like the fashion assessment equivalent of, "You might as well take a long walk off a short pier." But let's also recall that my sister is the one who's so frustrated with her own rebellious brows, she's considering hiring an agent to handle negotiations. I think she may have even secretly taken down the demon barber's name (don't do it, shweetums). I know it's just a matter of taste, really. These brows aren't bad. It's just that I'm partial to the natural look--and one that doesn't require (ahem) too much maintenance.

All in all, chalk this up to another HM failure. First off, I didn't plan ahead. Gosh, I really should have had this appointment on my calendar months ago. Secondly, a HM girl would have elaborately detailed what she wanted up front. (Last year's lady had thoughtfully talked it over with me). And an HMW would not have settled for anything less. She wouldn't be intimidated by those stylists. But the last and most telling point? She probably would have demanded exactly the fix I got.

Let's consider my face in the mirror: my brows are short, manicured, and very shaped. I can look archly at the young men of my acquaintance with very little effort. Huh, I'm wondering if I don't just look a bit more wide-eyed and sophisticated. And I'm also looking a bit startled at discovering that this new look is growing on me. Am I? No wait, I can't tell. These days, I'm looking perpetually surprised.

All right, so what's your last/worst/first beauty disaster?
Also, did you notice that our girl with the pearl has no eyebrows? Nor does Miss Mona Lisa in last week's post. See, all the fashionable ladies are doing it.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em

2006-05-15T09:00:00.000-07:00

This time last year, I decided to turn over a new leaf. I decided to do something I had never done before. Bite the bullet, suck it up, carpe the diem, throw caution to the wind and all that jazz. I decided to become high maintenance.

This was a big step for me. I’ve always kept myself clean (mostly) and somewhat presentable, but I’ve never been anything approaching fashion plate status. In fact, I've done some considerable looking down my Roman nose at high maintenance girls. I think it started in jr. high. I frowned on lace. I eschewed the ruffle. I mocked the silly friend who brought a butane curling iron to camp. I borrowed my brothers' t-shirts. I honed my grooming ritual to Superman-in-a-phone-booth speed.

As time passed, I began to catch an interesting glimmer from across the great divide, and I would inch a little closer across the gulf that separated me from the dark side. Still, I insisted on dragging my feet. In high school, I colored my hair, but only in just such a way that I could grow it in easily. In college, I searched faithfully for a purse to carry that could reasonably be called a bag, failed, and bought a purse anyway. As a missionary, I started to spend more time in front of the mirror because it was scheduled in for me; I had to get up at the same time as the other girls anyway. Oh, the flaxen cords of the evil one. So my disdain grew to tolerance, and tolerance to acceptance. I spent quite some time contentedly settled in an easy truce. And then—

Then last summer I decided to take the leap. To become high maintenance. To be stylish, feminine, and irresistible on a consistent basis. Because all I really got from my liberal arts degree was a propensity to challenge my preconceived notions. Because I don’t fancy the taste of sour grapes. Because, if I plan on letting myself go, I've got to establish some kind of platform to let myself go from.

Thus began my project to achieve high maintenance. I purchased a make-up case that could double as an ultra-sleek tackle box, started wearing earrings after a ten-year hiatus, painted my toe-nails, bought high-heels, wore pink.

Know what? I’m pretty horrible at being high maintenance. My ear piercing got infected; I couldn’t keep up the paint job on the feet; the stiletto heels turned out to be instruments of torture, and the pink got pushed to the back of the closet. Oh, but the tackle box did turn out nicely. Overall, it was a valiant effort, but ultimately—too much maintenance.

It makes for a good joke, though, because I know full well that none of this would even begin to qualify me as truly high maintenance. Everything I tried was basically in the realm of an ordinary beauty regimen. Using the term high maintenance is pretty much tongue-firmly-in-cheek. Still it's fun to talk shop with all my fashionable friends, or say to my sister, “Oh yeah. Try on that sweater. It’s so high maintenance.”

So, my plan failed. I hit a bit of a winter slump. But the weather’s turning warm again, and I’m thinking about giving it another go.

Any recommendations for taking my game to the next level? I'm anxious to get the look, so I can start working on the attitude.

A sign in town points the way to South Willow Canyon

2006-05-10T08:43:00.000-07:00

All week long, you think "Maybe I don't have time. I have errands to run. We don't even know where we're going yet. Maybe we should call the whole thing off."

But you put a few things in a bag, you head for the hills; and before you know it, you're watching the sun rise over the mountains.

Nothing could be simpler.

Recent things to smile about

2006-05-04T19:47:00.000-07:00

1. The feel of my new paperback with the sexy matte finish
2. Finishing a morning run just as it started to rain. On cue: the opening chords of "Unchained Melody"
3. Bought a charmingly stylish skirt that is blasted comfortable
4. The old, run-down mechanic shop I passed with a Walt Whitman quote on the marquee, "Give me the splendid silent sun, with all his beams full-dazzling!"
5. Bonafide sandal weather
6. Fondue
7. Little nephew hugs
8. Taking my down sleeping bag on its maiden backpacking voyage
9. Hearing from an old friend
10. Writing this post to keep me from making lists of all the things I can't smile about

Keeping a stiff upper lip

2006-04-26T09:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I decided I had time for a rare and beautiful thing: an afternoon nap. But before putting my head down, I picked up a book I'm reading to knock off a quick chapter. The book, Paul Eckman's Emotions Revealed, explores the catalysts for emotion and our physiological responses to these triggers. I had skipped ahead to read the part that had actually prompted me to request the book from the library--the part where Eckman describes how we can generate emotion by intentionally duplicating the facial expression that usually accompanies the emotion.

The reader is asked to call up a feeling of sadness--first, by reading about victims of genocide; secondly, by recalling a personal moment of grief, loss or pain; and thirdly, by reproducing expressions of grief on their own face. This involves pulling the corners of the lips back, raising the cheek muscles slightly, pulling the inner part of the eyebrows together while looking downward and letting the eyelids fall. Indeed, after trying all of this, I felt none too cheery; but I felt more scientific and analytical than anything else. I put my book down and went to sleep.

An hour later I awoke to my alarm but also to a feeling of confused despair. Of course, you could argue this is my general response to the ringing of my alarm, but it quite a bit more pronounced. As I reached for the snooze, I realized I had duped myself (a la Dr. Eckman) into an artificial sadness--internalizing the emotion without thinking. I had a surprisingly hard time shaking it. Since then, I've been wondering how much conscious control we might have over our own emotional states.

Also intriguing is the way that different cultures and different individuals express emotion with varying degrees of openness. And while open expression may generate emotion, apparently, the suppression of expression does not necessarily work in reverse. But I suppose we've known that all along.

What do you think? How much control do we have over our emotions--both the internal and physical manifestations? Can you make yourself feel sad by mimicking anguished facial expressions and looking at the forlorn little boy above? Have you ever woke up feeling inexplicably sad, angry, frightened, deliriously happy? Do you have something to say completely unrelated to this dreadfully serious post? Inquiring minds want to know.

If I could turn back time

2006-04-18T20:02:00.000-07:00

I've always had a particular peculiar gift for choosing my words. Choosing the wrong words, that is. For the most part, I can converse effectively, even cleverly at times, but sometimes—when my need is great—I find on my tongue a phrase so perfectly disastrous it seems impossibly scripted by the fates themselves.

The following was just such a time.

As the end of freshman English drew near, our teacher announced that our class final would take the form of a play--written, directed, and acted together in small groups. Five students would pitch their story ideas to the class, and we would vote for the one we would most like to participate in.

I had one class buddy, Mikki, who fit all my necessary requirements for easy bonding: she sat in the back, she was female, and she had a sense for the sarcastic. We voted together for the most likeable fellow. His plot seemed the most doable for college freshmen--a regular Joe breaking into the wonderful world of professional wrestling. No other girls (strange) voted for this scheme.

When our group met the next week to write the script, we drafted a rough, somewhat comic sketch and assigned parts. We chose a charismatic, funny chap as our leading man. Mikki and a few other fellows filled out the professional wrestling caricatures. I was given the role of our hero's domineering girlfriend, mostly because Mikki flatly refused.

The last role, a drunken homeless man, went to a strapping young lad who closely resembled a Greek god—in ego as well as physique. This Adonis had used his first-day-of-class introduction to wax eloquent concerning his job as an Art Dept. figure model. Naturally, Mikki and I had mocked him discreetly from across the room.

During a dress rehearsal at a theater on campus, our Adonis decided to put in a memorable performance. All but a few actors were watching from the gallery. Adonis lay on the stage with his back to us. I guess he figured this was an opportune moment to moon the audience. Because that’s what he did. A few of the guys laughed and looked over to see how the girls would react. Mikki and I offered appropriately disdainful looks and continued to eat our pretzels. We finished the rehearsal. And then we went home.

The day of the performance, I traded my jeans and T-shirt for a dress and heels and practiced my lines, fleshing them out a bit. Being somewhat shy, I hadn’t really thrown myself into character for our previous rehearsal; but I was ready to rise to the occasion for the big show.

Our moment arrived. We crammed into a small room to the side of the stage, leaving one by one to make our entrances as the play unfolded. Everything was running smoothly. The wrestler had talked with the drunk on the street, endured a Rocky-style training sequence, adopted a swanky costume, and was heading home to his girl before the big fight. This was my cue. I strode onstage and launched into an impassioned tirade. The proverbial sparks flew. I left the scene loudly, slamming the door to the small room behind me.

I turned around to find Adonis staring at me with an unusual look on his face. We were alone. We were alone in a small space. And he was looking at me as though we’d just been introduced. He’d never spoken to me before, but he did so now. I’m sure he was just being pleasant. I’m sure that’s why he was so enthusiastic in his appraisal of my performance.

He gushed considerably, ending with something like, “Wow, that was a great scene.”

Still caught in the emotion of my dramatic outburst, I was quite simply stunned and confused by this sudden praise. If my recent transformation had been surprising, then his was absolutely shocking. I just stared. And then I saw that he was waiting. It was my turn to speak.

My mind reached in every direction for something to say--anything--however mundane. I might have said “Thanks,” “You’re very kind,” or “Yeah, isn’t this fun?” Instead, it occurred to me that it might be appropriate to return the favor, to comment on his own performance as the intoxicated transient.

So, I took a breath.

And these words left my lips:

“Uh, that was a nice bum.”

For half a second, I trusted that would serve—until my thoughts traveled back in time to dress rehearsal the night before. And from his eyes, I could see him arriving at the same place.

The silence that followed was truly legendary. It might be a bit of an understatement to mention that I blushed. Zero to sixty shades in just under a second. Neither of us said a word.

Somehow, I’m sure someone must have broken the silence. Perhaps he finally spoke; perhaps I did; perhaps someone entered the room. I don’t remember. In my memory, the scene freezes there in that awkward silence—my mind still stretched out to call back those words.

So, when have you wanted to sing along with Cher? Have you ever said something you instantly regretted, something that turned out to have hilarious double meaning, something you comically mispoke? Let's hear from those who actually made it to the end of this lengthy post. Hey, let's hear from those who went and read something pithy, inspirational, or at least dazzlingly informative instead. Or, we could all stay silent and pretend that this never actually happened.

I knew it

2006-04-07T08:40:00.000-07:00

Your Inner Viking name is:

Bella the Sailor Woman

What's Your Inner Viking Name?

I don't know why I get such a kick out of messing with Blog Things. I suppose I enjoy mocking their miserably inadequate attempts to pigeon-hole personality types. As for the sailor woman, I'm aware that the name Bella isn't very Viking-esque, but I make it a rule never to argue with my alter-ego. According to this, my real Inner Viking is Melkorka Shieldcrusher. Hey, what's your inner viking name?

Postscript: Remembah, this is my weak arm.

Now You See It

2006-03-31T11:55:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading Blink, a science-packaged-for-the-masses book about rapid cognition. I've no idea if the theories presented are actually air-tight, but they are blasted interesting. And when it comes to validating scientific research, let's face it, I'm a sucker for slick prose and lively anecdotes.

The book is good news for those of us who are frequently mocked for a tendancy toward indecision (ahem). Gladwell claims our brains are hard-wired to sift rapidly through mountains of data in order to arrive at correct conclusions rather quickly. Thing is: we often don't recognize our own genius and burden ourselves with lengthy deliberations over relevant but ultimately distracting details. That's why you should never disregard a crucial first impression. (Curse those multiple choice exams)

I've been pondering some personal applications:

Does this explain why my ex-coach grandpa is dead-last in our family tournament brackets? After all, he follows college basketball more than any of us, so perhaps his is a case of information overload. Meanwhile my new sister-in-law (who picked Florida because her sister lives there) looks poised to sweep the competition under the rug.

And, speaking of basketball, the theory actually seems a better fit for explaining why it was apparent that the girl who volunteered to play on our church team last week was going to be "a real baller" before she ever put cowhide to the floor. She just moved the right way.

In fact, I still remember vividly the day one of my best friends transferred into our middle school in eighth grade. She walked in halfway through Mr. Crump's Biology class, and I liked her by the time she reached her chair. Was it just self-fulfilling prophecy?

And did I really know it all along when I saw another friend meet her future husband for the first time at a social function?

Hindsight being what it is, perhaps I'm a little too confident in my own remembered brilliance. Or maybe I'm simply forgetting all the times my quick flashes of intuition amounted to nothing or--worse yet--turned out to be dead wrong.

So, I'm curious. How many of your snap judgments have been real gems? How many have been duds?

There and back again

2006-03-24T09:12:00.000-08:00

All right, I've been had. Melissamerica, the smug cynic, fell for an old urban legend.

Ever since high school, I've heard talk of "Hobbiton," a mysterious community in downtown Salt Lake that was home to little people. I'd even talked to people who had been there. They claimed the houses were somewhat strange looking, but they'd got out in time or been chased out or something to that effect. Somebody's friend had their car beaten with a baseball bat, and someone else's friend had rocks thrown at them. Apparently, the little people didn't like trespassers.

I thought the whole thing sounded pretty insensitive. I mean, if there was a group of people in town who wanted to live away from prying eyes, shouldn't others respect their privacy? Why would self-respecting individuals disrupt another person's peace for the sake of a cheap thrill. I launched into this particular impassioned tirade when someone suggested a trip to Hobbiton right after we visited a weird ruin surrounded by sarcophagi. Don't get me started.

The whole episode got me thinking today about Hobbiton, so I did a little research. Come to find out: I don't need to get all worked up anymore. Hobbiton (formerly known in our parent's generation as Hippieville) is merely a patch of private property owned by a family whose penchant for privacy stems from an eye toward "preserving the area and repopulating endangered species." Think artists and environmentalists not hobbits.

So much for the fiction and the folklore. But if there are a community of little people living together somewhere out there, don't worry: you've got a friend in me.

Let's Dance

2006-03-21T18:00:00.000-08:00

As I rule, I was never terribly fond of school dances-- the egos, the worry of not getting asked, the heated rivalries, the crowded gym, all that sweaty shuffling about. Nevertheless, I couldn't have been more ecstatic when a friend invited me to The Big Dance last week. It was a thing of beauty.

I don't follow college basketball much. Not until March, that is. Give me the NCAA tournament over professional sports anyday.

I guess you could say I was born to madness. I arrived in Salt Lake just a week after that historic championship showdown between the legendary Bird and Johnson. The magic, so to speak, was still in the air.

Now, if we could talk some sense into those numbskulls who run the BCS.

Thursday's games we attended:
Boston College--Pacific
Nevada--Montana
Gonzago--Xavier
Indiana-San Diego State

Overheard on the homefront

2006-03-15T09:59:00.000-08:00

On Slobodan Milosevic's death before conviction:

"Look, if you ever find yourself on trial for genocide, you're guilty."

On Dave's phone conversation with a firearms supplier:

"Hello. I was just wondering if you have any nuclear warheads in stock that could be bent toward destructive purposes."

On a family friend with a newly returned missionary son:

"Yeah. She's the one who went to pick off her son at the airport."

Is anyone else sensing a disturbing theme?

Bringing Home the Bacon

2006-03-13T20:56:00.000-08:00

This week's stunning revelation: I'm a playah in the KGB--the Kevin Bacon Game, that is.

My brother and I decided that, based on our thirty second appearance in the smash hit church production Together Forever back in 1987, we could definitely make it to the big time with Mr. Bacon. It took a little research, especially considering that church films of the era don't list cast members, but it's now official. I've got Kevin Bacon Game status. Let me break it down for you.

Melissamerica was in Together Forever with Richard Dutcher.

Richard Dutcher played Charles Pickney to Derryl Yeager's Alexander Hamilton in A More Perfect Union: America Becomes a Nation.

Derryl Yeager danced his heart out in Girls Just Want to Have Fun with a young Sarah Jessica Parker.

And speaking of dancing, Sarah Jessica Parker also got her groove on in Footloose with an upstart new actor named--that's right--Kevin Bacon.

Actually, according to The Oracle of Kevin Bacon, the fastest route goes through Richard Dutcher(Brigham City) to Wilford Brimley(End of the Line) to The Big KB. Technically speaking, I have a Bacon number of 3--just three steps away. That's closer than the President of the United States, who has a Bacon number of 4. Zowie, now that I've reached this dizzying pinnacle of success, I don't see how life can get much better.

All this is great news for friends and family. You see, I'm more than willing to share my newly acquired glory. C'mon over. We'll get the cameras rolling.