Monday, November 29, 2010

A Feast of Becca Proportions

I've had sundry ideas about posts over the last few weeks; I've just been too lazy to actually write them. You know what that means? A single post dedicated to more topics than anyone should be able to digest in one sitting! Please, consider this my Thanksgiving gift to you. A tasty array of subjects that you'll visit, fill your plate, stuff yourself senseless, and repeat!

1) I'm wearing a BYU-Idaho hoodie. Despite the fact that I attend the southern Brigham Young University (and it being 27 balmy degrees Fahrenheit), today my outerwear consists only of a navy blue hoodie sporting the logo of my older siblings' school. Here's my reasoning: A hoodie made for students attending Frozen Wasteland University must be a thousand times warmer and more effective than any other coat, hoodie, or parka (excepting coats and parkas made for BYU-I students, of course). Is it working? Pretty much, yeah.

2) The Turn of the Century. I was at work (BYU Broadcasting, "monitoring" TV), vaguely watching some sort of Education Week discourse about health and nutrition when the woman said something that caught my attention.

"The Atkins Diet became very popular at the turn of the century..."

My first thought was: "Wait, what? No it wasn't. It was popular late 90's, early 2000's. I was alive for that one. Turn of the century? What is she on about?"

And then I realized that "Turn of the Century" can be applied to the early 21st century. To be honest, I got a little depressed that the phrase won't be associated with bustles and spats anymore.

3) Rice. I'm a rice fiend. I probably should have been born an Asian, cos I could eat rice all the live long day, every live long day.

Have you ever looked at a rice field? Not very appetizing. Especially when the workers don't wear shoes. Then it's gross. But somehow I can't equate the solid deliciousness of rice with the ickyness of the fields. Oh well.

4) Third World Countries. I'm taking an anthropology class this semester, and then whole time I've wondered about anthropological studies. Think about it. We leave our own "advanced" culture to study people we think are less developed. What if the people in third world countries did the same?

[The following is an excerpt from the anthropological journal of Gai, a Bushman studying the Utah Mormons]

Today I participated in a cultural ritual that involved singing, very little eating, and crying women. They called it "Sacrament Meeting." The men wore silly things around their necks which had no purpose whatsoever. When asked, they seemed bewildered that anyone would question the authority of the "tie." The men and women were separated for different meetings. The children were left to the less fortunate men and women to be taught the traditions of their people, some of which involving "popcorn trees" and "snowmen." (I am trying my best to understand these people, but really? Snowmen?)

I'm pretty sure there are tons of books circulating third world countries filled with amused studies of us first world snobs.

5) The Croatian waterfalls of the Plitvice Lakes. I was at work, watching "Rick Steves' Europe" when I saw the most beautiful national park! It's called the Plitvice Lakes National Park and it is gorgeous. Behold!

I've been to my fair share of national parks, but that is something else! Croatia is now on my list of places to go before I die.

6) My Grandma Dottie. My Grandma Dottie is totally my best friend. My family spent Thanksgiving at my maternal parents' house, and I was once again reminded of her awesomeness. She was cracking jokes the whole time, poking fun at my mom, telling hilarious stories about my grandpa, the whole nine yards. She and I are two peas in a pod; we both love making pies, and we both love making jokes.

When we were in Idaho a few months ago for my nephew's blessing, she and I were sitting together on the couch while my sister-in-law's family were singing for us (at my dad's request). And we laughed the whole time. I can't even remember what was so funny, but she was giggling and I was snorting and everyone was looking at us like we were on crack. My little brother Seth finally had to sit between us to get us to knock it off. It was only partially effective.

Well, that's it. Aren't you in a coma yet? No? Have some pie.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Hi, my name is Becca, and I'm a nerd.

So there was this one time when I was eight years old.

Crazy, right?

Anyway, I was in second grade and there was this craze going around. (No, I'm not talking about Pokémon, although it did emerge in the same period now that you mention it.) There was some stupid book that everyone was reading! Good gravy, it drove me to distraction.

And because I am a non-conformist, I hated it purely on the principle that everyone seemed to be raving about it.

In my rebellion I spitefully called it "Harry Snotter."

Then one day I was bothering my older brother Brandon who was reading the first one. He was ignoring me, so I read over his shoulder to irritate him more.

"How did you get here?"

"Flew," grunted Hagrid.

"Hey," I said, "what's going on? Who flew? Flew how? Who's this guy? His best friend?"

I don't remember what happened next, but Brandon probably told me to scramoose and my curiosity gnawed at me the rest of the day. Somehow I got my hands on a copy of "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" and promptly devoured it.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand thus began my eight year love affair with Harry Potter.

For said next nine years it was exceedingly easy to shop for me; if it had "Harry Potter" on the label, I was likely to scream in excitement.

This wasn't the legit WB merchandise either; this was the early stuff. Troll booger glue. Terrible day-by-day calendars with awful illustrations. Sticker books of said awful illustrations. Goofy-looking wand keychains. Puzzles of said awful illustrations. Snow globes. Bertie Botts. Weird figurines.

Then in the fourth grade, the first movie came out. This started the merchandise as we know it; robes, stuffed owls, action figures, posters of Dan, Emma, and the ginger. As the years and movies progressed, the paraphernalia got steadily cooler. Cooler robes. Cooler action figures. Cooler wands. Cooler posters.

(When I go home, I'll take pictures of my stuff and post them.)

I grew up with Harry Potter. I grew up with the characters, and I especially grew up with the actors. Emma Watson's only a year and a half older than I am (despite being three hundred times more talented, gorgeous, and amazing). I lived, slept, and breathed Harry Potter.

And then the seventh book came out, and I was furious with JK Rowling for pairing Harry and Ginny and the other ginger and Hermione. Hermione is far too good for that one ginger kid, and the same with Harry and Ginny. Good grief, where was Ginny in the seventh book? NOT THERE, that's where. Pulling silly pranks on Snape at Hogwarts. Harry and Hermione have one of the best relationships in literary history, and there is no closure.

I was mad.

So I bid the Harry Potter franchise goodbye. I took down my posters, mostly covered my Gryffindor fireplace painted on my wall, and packed everything up to put it in my closet.

How is it that then even after three years famine I can still tell you trivial facts from the books? How is it that even now none of my family members wants to challenge me to Harry Potter games? How is it that I still bought tickets to the midnight showing of Deathly Hallows Part I? How is it that I'm still dressing up?

Hi, my name is Becca, and I'm a Harry Potter nerd through and through.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Take THAT, Social Norm!

At the beginning of the semester my friend Cami told me about a psychology class that was assigned to go into the Wilk and break social norms and observe peoples' reactions. One girl took a fry out of a guy's hand, ate it in front of him, then walked off. My reaction was somewhere along the lines of:

"MAN! I am SO in the wrong classes!" followed by me assuring Cami that if I had the opportunity, I wouldn't be uncomfortable in the slightest breaking social norms. In fact, I would relish it.

Today was the Day of Reckoning.

We were talking about social norms in my anthropology lab and twenty minutes before the end of class, our TA took us outside and said, "Have at it. Go break some rules."

There was a lot of hesitating. No one wanted to go by themselves or they couldn't think of anything.

I totally wanted to rip a guy's earphones out, but I chickened out because I would feel bad. The same with my idea of taking someone's phone, saying, "Halla!" into it, then handing it back without a word.

Instead, this girl in my class and I settled for knocking all the bikes in the rack over. We got several dirty looks from passerbys, but no one actually said anything. The whole time I kinda wanted to go back and fix it.

Darn social training.

So I'm not as bold as I previously supposed. Which is a bummer cos I always saw myself as a non-conformist type. Yeah. Not so much.

After class, I had an empty milk jug (chocolate milk for the class; deeeelish), so I decided then and there to hand it to some passerby without saying anything and then walk off.

So there I was, walking towards the SWKT with a milk jug in hand when a poor unsuspecting young man happened to walk past me. I held out the milk jug to him silently.

He kept his hands firmly glued in his pockets and said, "Uh, what's this?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. You just look like you needed an empty milk jug in your life."

This seemed to satisfy him and he took it. I walked off. He stood there looking bewildered for a while, then went on his way.

Worth it? Oh yesh.

However, I'm still not as hardcore as I would like to believe. That whole time I had people from my anthro class watching my back. This will have to change.

Or not, and I can continue talking big without anything whatsoever to prove my hardcoreness.

Either/or.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Adventures in Science

So my roommate Kerri is a genius. She's a PDBio major and is ridiculously good at science and math.

Today she had to drop something off to her food science professor, and I went with her because I had nothing better to do. (And she had to use my ID card to print said paper.)

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"The Eyring Science Center," she replied.

I've been on campus for two months now, and I don't think I've even come close to going into every single building. However, there are some buildings that I hoped never to have to enter. Ever. These are the science and math buildings.

Kerri walked in with great ease, but I immediately tensed up. I don't belong in left-brain settings. It's like putting a lump of tofu in the middle of a bunch of hungry vegans: bad news bears.

To try to make me more comfortable, Kerri led me around to some cool displays they had, kind of like a parent leading their child gently into shark-infested waters. There was one where you could feel the weight difference between lead and nylon. You couldn't even lift the neuron star one cos it was glued down. I was bitter. She pointed out that it was funny because neuron stars are uber dense.

I hate science jokes.

And then she had me stand on two little yellow feet painted on the floor in front of a display. Everything about it screamed "SCIENCE TRAP!"

[Science trap (n)- an exhibit in a scientific setting that is designed to expressly make the everyday person look like a total goob.]

There was a pedestal in front of me that appeared to have a dollar bill behind a lightbulb. Trap. There was also a huge concave mirror not three feet away from that. Trap. Kerri told me to walk forward and try to grab the dollar. TRAP.

I didn't fall for it.

But it got me thinking; if sciency and mathy people really wanted to embarrass all their mentally inferior peers into never coming into a building again, why not screen IQs at the door?

[Begin scene: KERRI and BECCA are again walking into the ESC:
there is a contraption that looks vaguely like a metal detector flanking the door]

KERRI: (walks through the door)
MACHINE: Ding!
KERRI: Come on, Becca.
BECCA: (hesitating) I dunno, K-sho. This looks spurious at best.
KERRI: (rolls eyes)
BECCA: All right.... (walks through door)
MACHINE: BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! Security breach! Someone with an IQ less than 100 has entered the building! Security! Security!
BECCA: (sulking) I told you so.

[Scene closes on BECCA being escorted out of the building by a robocop.]

Although the robocop part is pretty cool, I'd better make sure this idea never falls into the hands of any Brains. They can keep inventing ways to make gas cheaper.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Irony Never Faileth

I went to the dentist last Thursday. I was really excited, too, because they usually tell me what a dismal flosser I am, and since my last visit I've flossed EVERY DAY to show them who's boss. Also, to cut down on my cavities. My dad makes me pay the co-pay for getting my cavities done and last time I had three. Yikes. I was determined not to let that happen again. (Not to mention I hate that terrible shot they stick clear down into your jawbone to numb you.)

The hygienist asked me how my flossing had been; I told her I never miss a day. I am a religious flosser. I brush morning and night. I've been cutting down my soda intake.

She could tell I wasn't lying because my teeth looked so good; she even said how I'd made her job easier by keeping my teeth in such good shape.

Then the dentist came in to look at my X-rays.

I held my breath and crossed every appendage in the hopes that, finally, I'd conquered the Great Satan (my cavities).

Five.

I had FIVE CAVITIES.

That's worse than when I wasn't flossing! I felt cheated! I felt indignant! I felt furious! It's enough to make me sell my teeth and live on liquefied food the rest of my life! (Not really; that's gross.)

But really? There is no way anyone can tell me that all teeth are created equal.

Mine are out to get me. Haters.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Don't Do It!

Today I saw a girl decked out in running gear standing at the bottom of the stairs of a ridiculously steep hill. Her hands were on her hips and one could almost hear her thoughts,

"Should I run the stairs? No one would care if I did. It's unseasonably hot, and I'm half dehydrated anyway. I think I will..."

Her body automatically shifted into a ready-to-run position.

At this point I wanted to shout,

"No! Your life is still worth living! Don't run! I'll call the campus police and counselling center and we'll help you through this. Stay there! Just. Don't. Run."

It was much like watching someone poised at the top of the Chrysler Tower, ready to jump-- it could only end in tears and great bodily harm.

...

I'm not much of a runner.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Bums

There's one sight that's more common than almost any other on campus, and, surprisingly, it's not nasty hair. No, what I see more often than not is people passed out on sundry objects, such as the floor, couches, benches, chairs, the lawn, etc.

Walking through campus is kind of like this:





Hey, who needs to go to a big city like New York or LA when you can see sad sights like this in your own backcampus?

I admit, though, that I have on occasion succumbed to slumber on campus. Most notably the benches in the JSB. One day I woke up to a text from my bestie, Kaitlynn, asking what I was doing.

Me: Uh, just woke up from a nap.

Kaitlynn: In your apartment? Don't you have class soon?

Me: Uh....on a bench.

Kaitlynn: What the heck? They let you do that?

Me: I guess so. There are people sleeping all over campus.

Kaitlynn: Man, BYU is like the home of the legalized bums.



After seeing these pictures I stole from Seen @BYU on Facebook, I'm sure you'll be compelled to agree.










I know sleep is supposedly hard to come by as a college student, but some of these are just ridiculous. I just might have to start carrying Police Crime Scene tape around.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

The "M" Word

Last Sunday Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles held a fireside for the 18-30 demographic of church members. I was privileged to be one of the (relative) few who were in the Marriott Center where it was being filmed and broadcasted.

I love Elder Scott! I know we're not supposed to have favorites coz, hello, they're all prophets of God, but he is definitely up there on my personal list.

So to say I hated the talk would be misleading. It was more...heavy-handed. When asked about said talk, a BYU coed put it this way:

"We all have to get married. Tonight."

Marriage is a wonderful, beautiful, hard thing. I definitely plan on getting married............just not right now. When I'm nineteen. Just graduated from high school.

I mean, I can barely take care of myself! How on earth am I supposed to be able to take care of a husband?

[Open scene: BECCA approaches door of quaint apartment, dressed in classy 50's housewife attire. She fishes the key from her attractive clutch and opens the door.]

BECCA: Hullo, darling! I'm home!

[Her hand gropes for a light switch; however the light only reveals a horrifying sight.]

BECCA: Darling?

[HUSBAND FIGURE is lying belly-up on the living room floor, reminiscent of a dead goldfish (you know the look)]

BECCA: Oh....fuffernoggin! I forgot to feed him! Poor, poor darling. Well, I suppose I'll just have to flush him and find a new one.

[Cut scene]

Pretty grim, eh? Nevertheless, despite it being a prominent topic at church, firesides, and devotionals, I just want everyone to know it's not all we talk about at BYU. Sometimes we talk about the Gospel, too; just not as often.






(Dear Mother, this is for you. Stop misquoting Queen Gertrude from Hamlet! I know you're doing it, so knock it off.)

Monday, September 13, 2010

Things I've Learned Living on My Own

This is totally NOT a soul-searching, deep, meaningful post. Here is an example of what I will not be posting---

In the past two weeks I've learned who I am; a strong, resilient, adaptable young woman who is a pillar of integrity among young women.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING. Y'all are not reading this for that kinda jank. So here we go; more valuable, more hilarious things I've learned while living on my own.

1) Produce actually goes bad. I know, you're wondering what kind of weird family I come from. (My mom is probably shaking her head right now.) But in my family when we get produce, like apples and carrots and stuff, it is gone by the following week at the latest.

So before I moved in my mom took me shopping, and I totally loaded up on produce. It was wonderful. And then all of a sudden my blueberries were growing stuff on them. What the heck? Produce goes rotten? What's up with that?

2) Three girls shedding > five dogs shedding. Seriously? Our bathroom floor looks like a hair salon. We could keep all the the loose hairs and make several wigs.

3) Biking is a great way to quell speeding. I have the need for speed. If it's fast and kinda dangerous, I'm all over it. Driving a car is hard for me because I always want to go at least ten over the speed limit. Which has landed me two tickets ($300 in all) and a near suspension of my license.

Biking is the cure! If you want to go fast, you have to work for it. And you definitely can not get ticketed for speeding on a bike. As far as I know. Also, going downhill is the bomb. I love that rush.

Also, no chance of Freshman Fifteen for me! Yes!

4) Cooking for less than nine people is hard. I'm still having a hard time adjusting servings and portions. I'm used to doubling, if not tripling, the recipe; what is this halving the recipe?

5) And yet three girls eat a LOT. No bull. I made an apple pie last night and it was gone when I got home at five today. What. The. Heck. A 9" apple pie! And today Kerri and I ate chicken cordon bleus and an entire acorn squash for dinner. We almost exploded.

6) One bathroom is NOT enough. I know, I know. Typical girl complaint. But really, on Sunday mornings it's killer when you have to go to the bathroom and someone's in the bathroom showering or doing their hair AND THE DOOR IS LOCKED. I almost punched a hole through the wall on one occasion.

7) Not having friends is okay. I have the most chill roommates in the history of the universe. So we mostly just end up sitting in our apartment doing homework and randomly talking to each other. The running gag between Kerri and me right now is how we don't have any friends and how we don't really need to keep our apartment neat because no one ever comes to visit us.

8) Singles wards are boring. I miss my Sunbeams and Nursery kids. What is Sacrament Meeting without that one kid who won't stop screaming? Good heavens.

9) I'm still a dork. I found the Liberty's Kids TV show on Netflix and geeked out like a moron. I love kids' shows and I especially love historic kids' shows. DORK.

That's all. I'm not going to post a #10. So hah. If I think of anything else funny/insightful, I'll blog it. Until then, I remain,

Modern Jo

PS- Angela Lansbury is amazing. She's terrifying in The Manchurian Candidate.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Mullets 'n' Mustaches

My topic this week is hair; specifically mustaches and mullets. At BYU men are only allowed to have well-trimmed mustaches and hair to their collars. Which, of course, causes some young men to push the limits.

I've only been at BYU for a week, and I've seen at least five nasty mustaches (for future reference, there is no other kind) and more than a few mini-mullets.

This is not a tragedy unique to BYU alone; no, this follicle faux-paus is spreading far and wide, much like alcohol at a frat party. Who knows where it started? Who knows where it's going? Who knows what will stop the madness?

I'd like to talk to the person who thought it'd be a good idea to try to bring mullets and mustaches back to decent society. They've always thrived in such rural and somewhat primitive places as Preston, Idaho and Lakeland, Tennessee. Mullets and upper lip hair in those areas are natural wildlife; somewhere along the line of evolution they attached themselves to human heads to feed on braincells.

Those of us in metropolitan areas, however, have been fighting the creatures since the mirror was invented. No one looks good with either hair option. Sometimes we are able to hold them off for decades at a time, but they always inevitably edge their way back into polite society.

Today is one of those times. This blog post is about raising awareness about disgusting hair habits.

"Just what is it about mullets and mustaches that's so offensive?" you may ask.

In response I ask, "What's so offensive about spiders and snakes?"

You say, "I don't mind spiders and snakes."

To which I reply, "Would you like them in close contact? Would you like them on the head of someone you love? Would you like to see them in every family picture from here to 2055?"

"When you put it that way..." you say.

"Exactly." I say (without gloating coz you're already feeling pretty dumb at this point).

Mullets and mustaches destroy one's credibility. When was the last time you took a mulletman seriously? Or been able to do more than cringe or laugh at a man with a ridiculous mustache (again, there is no other kind)? If someone wears a mullet or mustache in a comedic sketch, it's usually to make fun of someone.

There is NO ONE IN THE WORLD WHO CAN PULL OFF EITHER A MUSTACHE OR MULLET. There are precious few men who can almost pull it off, but chances are YOU (yeah, YOU) are not one unless you are John Stamos.



I'm not going to lie; John Stamos is one very very attractive man. Unfortunately he got trapped in the eighties and early nineties. We can forgive him for that, right? For the first three seasons you know you watched Full House and laughed at Uncle Jesse's mullet, all the while admitting how very very attractive he was. Blessed was the day when Stephanie accidentally cut it off and he had to go to this:


He still has somewhat of a mullet, but I have never any other mullet look this good. Ever.

So there's the only exception. I will now take questions from the audience.

You, sir, with the grody bristles erupting between your lip and nose? You clearly haven't been listening; there is NEVER an exception to the "mustaches are gross from eternity to eternity" rule.

I ought to cite you for public indecency.

You, sir, with the faux-hawk and hair creeping down into your collar? Aren't you an exception?

Are you John Stamos?

No?

SHAVE IT OFF!

This is all. If you or someone you love currently has a hairy parasite in the head and/or face region, please don't hesitate to act in their best interest and take whatever measures are necessary to remove it.

Shave a mullet, save a life. Shave a mustache, earn a medal of honor.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Lost Tooth

My littlest brother Micah lost his first tooth two weeks ago and it recalled some quite vivid images from my own childhood.

The very first tooth I lost was taken out in quite a violent episode. Okay, not that violent, but my parents had left the house one Sunday afternoon for whatever reason and we were wrestling. I think it might've been just me, Matt, and Brandon. Anyway, being considerably smaller than both of my older brothers, I had to use secret weapons. Like biting. And....yeah, mostly just biting.

So there we were, destroying the TV room for the zillionth time when I launched my prize-winning attack on Matt; I bit his shoulder. I can't remember what his reaction was, but all of a sudden I had the sensation of something small and hard rolling around in my mouth.

I spit it out and VOILA! My first baby tooth had left my mouth in a blaze of glory. Matt's Sunday shirt was stained a teensy tiny bit on the shoulder for a while.

When my parents came home I showed them my tooth and they asked how I lost it. I told them. I can't remember much past this point, but I'm sure their reaction encompassed rolled eyes and raised brows.

My other teeth came out without a fuss. I just pulled 'em. Except for one of my front teeth. It was close to Easter, and I was eating caramel at my grandparents' house. I bit into it and had a weird sensation again. I pulled the caramel back out and there was my big ol' front tooth sticking out of it. It unsettled me, so I threw it away. To this day, that kind of caramel still kind of grosses me out.

Anyway, I'm biding my time till school starts on Monday. I might do some more blogging between now and then. We'll just see.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Don't even ask...

Lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala.

Aw, nerds. I was going to post something and now I can't remember what it was.

And it's SO helpful that Jonathan is sitting at my shoulder like a parrot, reading and watching EVERYTHING I TYPE.

Jonathan: Hey! I find that very offensive! I really do! And why are you posting what I'm saying? I'm gonna punch you in the face if you don't stop!

Me: *calmly keeps typing*

Jonathan: *giggling uncontrollably*

Micah: *joins the fray* DON'T! DO THAT! *whispers* (Write it down.)

They think they're so funny.

Jonathan: Have you thought what you're gonna write about? How I'm so awesome? *realizes I'm transcribing again* I hate you so much! I really do!

I'm editing this at my discretion. There's a lot of unintelligible stuff coming out of their mouths. Maybe I'll interview Micah.

Micah: Don't you dare!

Becca: Why not?

Micah: *growls*

Me: No, no tiger language. There aren't any tigers reading my blog.

Micah: I hate you! I hate you SO MUCH! I hate you than everything!

Me:...whatever that's supposed to mean...

Jonathan: HEY! I find your typing VERY offensive!

Hmm, maybe not. Little brothers, it appears, are very unwilling interviewees. It's funny how whenever I want them to do something for me, they disappear off the face of the earth; and yet, when I want them to scramoose, they cling to me like cheese to a steak. (as per my new job)

Micah: I hate you more than the universe. *whispers* (put that on.)

So, somebody help a sister out--- does that mean he hates me more than the universe hates me or that he hates me more than he hates the universe?

Jonathan: *unhelpful commentary*

Anyway, so as I was saying, what was I going to post about? I swear, I'm getting older by the minute. And since I never know who's reading this, I had to strike a sentence. But don't worry; it was really really really really really funny. Okay, not so much.

Jonathan: *reading out loud*

Me: *PUNCH*

Jonathan: *giggles* This is so much fun! Punch me again!

Me: Aww, it's no fun when you WANT me to punch you. Get outta here.

I didn't really punch him. I'd feel bad. It's like clubbing a baby seal.

Here, Micah wants to tell a story.

Micah: One day I went to Seven Peaks.

Me: How enthralling.

Micah: Super fun. Asking questions? ARE YOU?

Me: Yeah, I guess. What made it so fun?

Micah: I got a tube!

Me: Of toothpaste?

Micah: Nooooo. No, at Seven Peaks, the tubes are like as big as regular tubes. If you exchange two tubes then you get a double tube. If you exchange three regular tube or one double tube and one regular tube, then you get...

Me: Owned with a p?

Dad: Micah, if you don't come eat your cake soon, I'm going to feed it to the Matt!

Micah: Ahhhhhh! *runs off* I'll finish it later!

Jonathan: All right, I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaack.

Me: Huzzah.

Micah: All right, back to the story....

Jonathan: No way!

Jonathan and Micah: *get into a loud, raucous fight*

Me: Is it bedtime yet? They haven't been this giggly since that one time we were studying scriptures and someone cut the Gouda.
*to the boys* You guys have been very helpful. Now please, go away. Or I'll sit on your heads.

Jonathan: Of course! And let me go get you ten dollars too for being my favorite sister!

Micah: No way! I wanted to give her ten dollars!

Me: Calm down, boys, you can both give me ten dollars. I take cash, credit, and check.

Jonathan: *is incensed by what I just wrote*

Micah: *actually goes and gets Jonathan's ten dollar bill and gives it to me*

Jonathan: HEY!

Micah: All right, back to the story. All right, let's pick up where we left off. If you exchange...

Me: *gives Micah a Look; this story is super boring*

Micah: All right, then you get a triple tube. And I hate that fly so much. *jerks thumb at a big ol' dumb housefly stuck in the window*
*starts giggling uncontrollably* I went to the wave pool. It's actually pretty fun. There're actually WaAaAaVeS!

And now Matt wants in on the being in the blog post action.

Matt: Hey, I want to get in there.

Me: Done.

Micah: All right. Aaaaaaaaaaaand that's all I want to say.

Me: Thank you, Micah, it's been an honor.

Micah: Now I'll beat Jonathan up.

Jonathan: No you won't.

Jonathan and Micah: *get locked in a death struggle*

Me: No blood on the carpet, please. And please don't break the baby grand.

Wow. I don't even know what just happened. I'm going to go eat some of my blueberry cake now. And then finish "Hogfather" by Terry Pratchett. And I'm pretty sure I'll be locking the door to the basement to DISCOURAGE ANY LITTLE BROTHERS WHO MIGHT STILL BE READING OVER MY SHOULDER AND GETTING ANY IDEAS.

Ha. That got rid of them. Although I think they're locking themselves in the basement. I'ma sit on their heads. Anyone want to buy a six year old red head and a crazy eleven year old? Also known as, I'll pay you?

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Quickie



So I'm at the local library (literacy plug, literacy plug, literacy plug) right now after a most adventurous bike ride.

But first, I need to explain why I ride my bike to work. Here's the deal; I'm not a crazed health nut like some people (*coughsDADcoughs*), but I decided this summer that since my jobs aren't too far from my house, I might as well save gas money and burn calories by using the ol' wheel-machine-that-isn't-a-car.


Usually, it works out pretty good. I get all sweaty and gross, then I go chill at the library until I'm sufficiently cooleed down to be presented in public (no more red face, sweatvalanches, etc).


This morning, however, my bike had other plans.


My bike: SKREEEEEEEEECH!


Me: Uh, what just happened?


My bike: Mwahaha! I just snagged the hem of your jeans in my chain and RIPPED THEM ALL THE WAY TO MID-THIGH!

Me: Uh, was that really necessary?


My bike: No, probably not.


Me: Um, so, can you un-rip 'em?


My bike: Nope.

Me: Uh....that's not cool.


I was faced with an important decision then; turn around and get a new pair of jeans from home and get to work all sweaty and gross, or go to work with ripped pants (and by "ripped" I mean "not even pants anymore.")


My bike: [conversationally] You know, you do keep a spare pair of black jeans at Red Hanger.

Me: True. I'll just ride there and change. Thanks, evil bike!


My bike: Mwahaha! Oh, I mean, you're welcome.

And now my favorite pair of jeans is no more. RIP, Super-Comfortable-Jeans. I guess I'll be needing to go to Old Navy one of these days and get some more...


Yep. Mangled.


This is the final resting place- the dumpster behind Red Hanger.

Yeah, welcome to, I have skirts less open than that.

The hunter proudly poses with its kill.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Restless

I am so very restless. And not like the Restless Leg Syndrome. I think I could handle that. They've got drugs for it, therapy and all that.

No, your modern Jo March has Wanderlust Syndrome.

I was born and raised in the same house, on the same street, in the same city, in the same state for EIGHTEEN YEARS. I'm ready to move out and be done and see different things.

Good thing I'm going to college, huh? Get out and experience some new stuff. Yeah. In Provo. Hoo hoo. Living large.

Hold on; let me make myself very clear. I do not regret my decision (for my decision it was indeed) to attend Brigham Young University. I know there's a reason for me to be there. And yes, I do get bitter and slightly resentful at times, but I know I'm supposed to be there.

It's just that we live on such a big earth with such rich history and such beautiful landscapes. And the cultures! Why on earth would someone want stay in one place for a long period of time?

Yes, I understand that money is an issue. Money is always an issue. Money will always be an issue. But I didn't wonder why people don't. I wonder why they don't even want to.

It's a good thing I've been biking to work(s) lately, or else I'd go mad with all this pent-up energy. Even now at 11:3o at night, I feel like pacing back and forth in the backyard. (That's not a bad idea, actually.)

I want to go. I want to experience. I want to explore. I want to meet people. I want to taste different food. I want to handle foreign money. I want to wake up everyday and face the day filled with spontaneity and adventure.

Reading can only get you so far. I've read at least four books since school got out and I'm sick to the teeth of reading. Dickens only made me hungrier for foreign climes, London in particular.

I know I'll probably be teased mercilessly for posting these thoughts, my siblings always do, but whatever. I needed an outlet and this sort-of-not-really helped.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

The Summer "Pal" was BANNED

Welcome to summer 2010. Yeah, I'm a couple weeks behind the times. But at least I'm not years behind, right?

If I was, the word "pal" would still be banned in my home.

A few years ago (gosh, probably five or so), my sister Brooke came home from college for the summer with the word "pal" littering her sentences. It was "pal" this and "pal" that. She'd be watching a TV show and if someone was doing something she didn't agree with she'd say, "Pal, we need to talk." Enter Brooke into a room: "Hey, pal, whacha doin?" Brooke on the phone: "Pal! We need to hang out!"

After a day or so of being exposed to this poisonous influence, all the younger kids picked up on it. It was like the Black Plague, only instead of having our limbs swell up and explode, we just said "pal" a whole lot.

It wasn't a big deal. Or so we thought. Apparently, it drove my dad insane. During one dinner, he finally put his foot down.

"No one is allowed to say 'pal' anymore!" he thundered.

I'm not entirely sure what the punishment was, but apparently we took the threat to heart. The word "pal" became a swearword.

Which made it extra funny the next Sunday when all the Primary kids sang "My Daddy is my Favorite Pal" in front of the congregation for Father's Day.

Random anecdote? Check.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Full House

After clicking on some random links, I ended up watching some "best of Full House" clips on YouTube a month or two ago, and it was a really weird experience. I was about four or five when the show ended (not including reruns), but seeing Danny, Jesse, and Joey was like watching an old home video.

Like, really. I distinctly remember thinking that Danny was my dad and Jesse and Joey were my uncles.

And the weirdest part is I don't remember the girls at all. I sort of remembered DJ and I sort of remembered Michelle and then after I started Season One Stephanie started seeming more familiar, but if someone had asked me in January to tell them about the characters on Full House, I couldn't've said more than that I felt a strange connection to Jesse, Joey, and Danny.

Has anyone else had this experience with a TV show?

Monday, April 12, 2010

Writing

On occasion, I find something that really inspires me to write. Or at least kind of makes me want to write.

Let me back up. Remember how I've been a ravenous book devourer since I was knee high to a pig's eye (which is possibly the most disgusting idiom ever)? Well, the last little while I haven't wanted to read anything.

And by "anything" I mean "anything substantial."

I've been gnawing on Stephen Hawking and all sorts of taoist/physics books for the longest time. These sorts of books are great and mind-expanding, but I got to the point where all I could think was, "If I have to read anything profound ever again...I'm gonna puke."

So I gave up reading entirely, which is a shame because the written word and I are really quite good friends. But like all good friends, we needed a break or someone's jugular would be ripped out.

Pretty soon, though, I got around to missing my wordy friends. So I wanted to read something without actually reading anything. Here's how it went:

[Enter BECCA, lovely and brilliant, crosses to the BOOKSHELF]

Becca: Hullo, darlings. How've you been?

Books: *mumble*

Becca: Well, Jane Austen, how about we start with you?

Jane Austen: You could, if you so desired, although I'm not entirely sure that I recommend it.

[BECCA suddenly finds Ms. Austen's sentence constructs too convoluted for her shrunken brain]

Becca: Nope, none of that. Agatha Christie?

Agatha Christie: *is silent*

Becca: This is alarming. Anyone? Anyone?

Books: *silence*

Twilight: *from the depths of hell in Becca's mind* Beeeeeecca....I'm heeeere.... Read me, Seymour! You want something easy....brainless.....sickly sweet.....

Becca: Never! I'll never give into your evil powers!

[Cut scene because I'm bored with the scriptyness]

Yeah, I never actually considered Twilight as a legit choice of reading material. So I read some Shannon Hale instead. And The Hunger Games.

Oh my fantastic. That cured my reading lethargy for G-E-W-D, gewd.

And now I'm all itchy inside. The premise of The Hunger Games was similar to an imagining I had floating in my head way back in fifth or sixth grade. I have so many ideas floating around in my head---

if

only

I

could

get

them

out

and

make

them

STAY!

If only I had some semblance of self control or discipline. I'm awful at making myself stick with something. The only time I get essays done is when I have a strict deadline that means life or death. Making myself write a story is another kettle of ponies entirely.

I enjoy writing; really I do. I love my characters: Alpha and Hazel and Emily; Nissy and Mairi and Aleksander; Ingrid and Ivory.... I love their situations and who each of them are.

I'll write a short story. Something small, with a beginning, middle, and end. Or maybe just one chapter. Just one....

But one that means something.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

The Book Signing

Two posts in one day? Super gasp, right? Well, whatever. I'm in the mood to write.

Last night I went to a book signing for the new Fablehaven book with my younger brother Jonathan. My parents would've taken him, only they were at a caucus (darn voters), so I left the house at about 6 and headed to Cottonwood High School.

I've never read Fablehaven. I've been up to my very attractive nostrils with all sorts of reading; The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Island of Dr. Moreau, Walden, Dancing Wu Li Masters, and The Tao of Physics. Not to mention the fact that it wasn't exactly at the top of my "To Read" list. So I was more than a little bewildered at all the inside jokes the Fablehaveners made during the night. The faeries were selling milk; the author was hidden by Shannon Hale (whose books I have read and enjoyed thoroughly) in knapsack; and there were all sorts of sphinxes and stuff all over the stage.

My expression most of the night was like: Whaaaa?

But Jonathan was really excited. He's been reading the series for a while now and all he could talk about was meeting Brandon Mull (the author) live and in person. I was glad I could help him with his wish; my all-time favorite authors are dead.

So after Mull got released from the knapsack (uhhhh...I still don't know what that was all about), he emerged in a flash of pyrotechnics and fake fog with heroic music playing in the background.

All I could imagine was Louisa May Alcott or Jane Austen getting the same reception. And I laughed.

Anyway, I was just about to start thinking that this guy was a total Stephanie Meyer-style poser when he started talking about one of his fans with cystic fibrosis. Not only did he tell him what would happen in the last book a few months ago, he gave him an advanced copy. The kid was doing so well that he flew out from Texas to the launch and Mull called him up to the stage to make him an honorary Knight of the Dawn.

Yeah, I pretty much started crying. (I also cried the whole time while watching Up.) It was a beautiful moment.

And then the program ended and people could get their books signed. They gave people letters from A to Z with about 100 people to a letter. The signing started at 8; by 9 they were only at H.

Jonathan and I had U.

I wanted to die.

Jonathan was happy because he had the new book to read; I finished The Island of Dr. Moreau at about 8:30 and my phone died so I couldn't text anyone.

Luckily, a few kids who go to Paradigm were there and they let us get in their O group. Jonathan was excited to have people to talk about the book with, and I was happy because I wouldn't be bored out of my skull til midnight.

It was about 10:25 by the time we got to see Brandon Mull and, unfortunately, there wasn't enough time allotted to get his signature personalized. But he still smiled at Jonathan, gave him a high five (Jonathan has since refused to wash his right hand), and was an all around good-natured guy.

So while meeting Victor Hugo or H.G. Wells is kind of out of the question for me, my little brother got to meet his favorite author live and in person.

Worth four hours of my life?

Yeah. Yeah it was.

Crossovers

I love period pieces, especially ones based on my favorite books, I was watching the new 2009 BBC version of Emma last weekend (the one with Romola Garai and Johnny Lee Miller) and was reminded again why I love the British acting pool.

First, I absolutely love the Jane Austen-Agatha Christie crossovers. In the '96 version of Emma, Mrs. Elton-one of the most obnoxious, detestable characters in all of literary history- is played by Juliet Stevenson. Later in '07 she plays Gwenda in Christie's Ordeal by Innocence. She did such a good job as the nasty, moronic Mrs. Elton that my reaction when she was stabbed in the base of the skull was as follows:

Mrs.Elton/Gwenda: *is stabbed by the murderer*
Me: Woo hoo! I've been wanting to do that for five years! Oh, wait. She's the good guy this time...shoot. I still don't mind.

I'm fairly certain that my reaction would've been different had Juliet not played Mrs. Elton.

Funnily enough, the other JA-AC crossover on my mind also involves Mrs. E. In the '04 version of Murder at the Vicarage (with Geraldine McEwan) Christina Cole plays the snobby, precocious Lettice Protheroe and completely rocks the 40s look. She was brilliant as Mrs. Elton-she grates on my more when she's closer to my age-but didn't do the Regency look nearly as well.

Regency: meh. 40s: yes.

(Speaking of looking good, someone really should bring back the 40s. So classy! Check this out. Rachael Stirling:
Okay-looking. But now let's see Rachael Stirling in 40s style:



The coloring is better, the clothes are better, and the hair is better. Class! And the same goes for Christina Cole:

Again, okay-looking. Good features but...so...classless. Christina Cole in 40s style:

Much, much better.)

Ahem. Sorry about that tangent. Moving on, and then there are the Harry Potter-Jane Austen crossovers. Michael Gambon plays both the wise (if eccentric) Albus Dumbledore (RIP, Alby, RIP *sniff*) as well as the worry-prone, invalid Mr. Woodhouse. (Both parts were played extremely well.) Emma Thompson plays the slightly crazy Professor Trelawney and the responsible Eleanore (Sense and Sensibility). And who can forget Alan Rickman as the snarky Severus Snape and the reserved, gallant Colonel Brandon (S&S). With all due respect to his talent, he still grosses me out in that role.

I've always loved Emma; I connect with Miss Woodhouse more than any other Jane Austen heroine (yes, even more than Lizzie Bennett). We're both clever, meddlesome, well intentioned, and incurably vain. I loved Gwyneth Paltrow's portrayal of Emma for the longest time. Then my neighbor let me borrow the new BBC version with Romola Garai and Johnny Lee Miller.


Gwyneth got pushed to second chair. The new version is gorgeously done, and the characters look closer to the ages of the characters in the novel.

And Romola Garai!!! She was so real, so quick witted, so Emma! You know how Kiera Knightley never closes her mouth? (google it; I defy you to find one where it's completely closed) Romola has this characteristic little smirk that was absolutely perfect for the role.

(Okay, I lied. This is from Amazing Grace, but she uses it in Emma too.)
Her interactions with the other characters were positively believable. Her love for Miss Taylor/Mrs. Weston, her attachment to her father, her chemistry with Frank Churchill (who is played by Rupert Evans this time around rather than the nasty-haired Ewan McGregor. Compare and contrast:

Nasty haired Frank. Good-looking Frank.

As for Mr. Elton, he was still inane and obnoxious, but he was good looking enough to make Harriet's crush on him and his eventual marriage to the wealthy Mrs. Elton make sense. He had no money; why would she marry him if he looked like this?



Of course, Mrs. Elton was no beauty herself in that version. Blech. But contrast him to the new Mr. Elton.


Better looking. Not great, but better.

Anyway, the contrasts and similarities amused me. You don't have to read this; it's mostly for my own enjoyment. Another post is coming soon. About a book signing I attended last night.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Freedom to Fail

Yeah yeah yeah. It's been a while since I blogged. Half a year or whatever. I haven't been in the writing groove for that long. I'm still not in the writing groove, but Brandon got on my case earlier today about "my fans" missing my writing.

So I'm writing.

I'm all getting ready to graduate and I'm sick of people telling me what to do. Why is it that grown ups are all two-faced? They're always saying "Reach for your dreams!" "You can be anything!" and "Go for it!" but then they turn around and kick you in the teeth with "You want to be an actress? Do something practical!"

Practical? What the heck does that mean? Is ANYTHING practical? If I have drive, shouldn't I be able to make anything work?

I'm not one of those "stick it to the man" sort of people who does things just to spite "the man." I don't rage against the machine. I'm not a non-conformist.

I'm just different.

I understand that being an actress isn't for everyone, but being a desk jockey isn't for me. I want to live a fulfilling life! Two things make me feel full to the brim with meaning and they're teaching little kids and acting. But of the two, I feel most accomplished before, during, and after a performance. I feel so alive!

Not many people get to feel that. It makes me sad to think so many people go through their lives without that wonderful emotion.

I'M NOT GOING TO BE ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE.

I'm not going to let other people tell me what to do. I respect your opinion, but let me fail. Freedom isn't just about the freedom to succeed. It's about the freedom to fail, too.