musings.

I've just realized something incredible.  I cannot do any assignment for school until ABSOLUTELY the last possible minute.  I mean, it's 5:45 in the morning and I have a Marriage Prep project due at 10.  That's a fairly imminent deadline.  But instead of working on it, I spent the last hour stalking mission pictures of boys from my freshman ward on f-book (Michael Babcock put up some sweet Croatia photos), reading through the ridiculous quotes I've written down from my English professor this semester (favorite: "I've read many a book because of the cover. A sexy cover always gets me. And in this case, sexy doesn't necessarily mean heaving bosoms and cleavage."), and staring at the quote wall that's up in my apartment (Aleisha, myself, and our constituents have really said some inappropriate yet hilarious things).

I guess those 3 things have something in common: nostalgia.  So maybe I'm not being a lazy bum and avoiding work, but rather, I'm taking a time out to reminisce.  Which is an important thing to do, but I'm pretty sure I do it way too often.  My friend Ian wrote me a letter from Canada and said he didn't like my letters because they made him trunky.  But heck, I'm trunky, too.  For freshman year.  You don't have to be on a mission to get like that.

I think it's just the lack of closure that bothers me.  How all the guys who went on missions got yanked out of my life.  It's like social suicide or murder.  I don't care when relationships and friendships fade out in a natural death; for instance, losing people I know who are graduating or getting married and moving away don't bother me, because I know they're moving on to the next phases of their lives, and I don't want to try and tag along on those journeys.  But missions cut right into the college life cycle.  The boys disappear for two years and then come back different.  Always somehow different, and always unpredictably so.  It's like they're returning from war, almost: you have this image of them in your head of how you perceived them before, and you can't tell in what way that image should change until they step off the plane.    

I mean, missions are great.  In fact, I want to serve one.  But they are such a strange social phenomena, and a HUGE part of Mormon culture.  They've created so many stereotypes around the words "premie" and "RM."  I could really puzzle over it all forever.  Or at least for a couple more hours until I finally start my assignment.

ODE TO ONE SIR CHRISTOPHER WALKEN

he is the coolest

nobody else ever made crazy-weird look so good.

he kind of looks like a woman, especially in "hairspray."

plus, he's comfortable dancing with a man:

"i don't need to be made to look evil. i can do that on my own."

he doesn't care when his strange manner of speaking is imitated. he's proud of it.

http://www.hulu.com/watch/16389/saturday-night-live-meet-the-family

and he can shake it, unlike anything i've ever seen before.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sMZwZiU0kKs&feature=related

Ode to the Librizzle

Today I finally loved the HBLL fully. It is such a wonderful place.

Except for when I'm doing homework there.

But at all other times, it's magnificent. I see people I know, I chat on facebook, and sometimes I am blessed with the opportunity to witness strange social happenings. For example, today I sat down at a computer in the LRC. Two minutes later, a guy

walked in sporting the Fresh Prince of Bel-air hair.

He looked EXACTLY like him. And then a guy with a lumberjack shirt and a super-stringy, nasty blonde mustache sat down next to him. I sat back and marveled at their juxtaposition. It was the backwoods meeting the inner-city. It should have been photographed.

The library is also the best place to overhear strange bits of conversation. Or gawk at nasty couples who only came there to cuddle, not study; you know, when the girl is sitting in the guy's lap and stroking his hair while they stare into each other's eyes. It's also a good place to find people watching funny videos, like a few moments ago when I glanced at the girl's screen next to mine and saw she was watching a video that at one point flashed these words on the screen:

"...i know i'm a sex kitten in the morning."

Riiiiiiight. Still, what with that, the lumberjack, and

will smith, I almost exploded from pure randomness.

Ooooh! I almost forgot. Two more things:

1: My friend Rosanne worked there and made shirts that say "What in the HBLL are you doing?" Paha. Clever, veiled profanity.

2: When you say "No-Shhhhh Zone," it totally also sounds like cursing. Isn't this the biggest oversight at BYU? How did any prophet ever approve the naming of that? And what if a

general authority were to visit now, and for some reason they had a reception for him there, could they really announce "After the devotional, if you'd like to meet President Eyring, please meet in the NO-S*** ZONE?!?"

Someone's gotta tell somebody.

final p.s.

the library makes itself really hard to steal from

this is cool.

i bared my little old soul and applied to the illustration program.  and they don't notify those accepted until april.  

seriously?

it takes them 2 months to decide if they want to say

"you downright suck" 

or 

"we welcome you with open arms into all the glory of the visual arts program.  let us mold you" 

???

maybe if i get accepted and have a somewhat prestigious art career i can one day get hired at BYU, sit on my butt all day, and gain a reputation for judging people real fast-like.  kids can line up outside my door with art pieces in hand and high hopes, and i can make them or break them in 3.4 seconds.  "green hippo with a mustache?  intriguing.  you're in."

"still life of a potato?  boring.  denied."

"drawing of me that makes me appear more attractive than i really am?  come on in."

"bloody depiction of a puppy killing his 4-year-old owner?  we'd like to monitor your progress very closely and may commit you someday, but for now, you're hired."

yeah. i could do that.

anyway.  some people asked to see what i turned in.  so voila.

HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY,

MISS JUAREZ

[i hope my first tribute is up to your par]

oh. my. lanta.

every once in a while i see an oldies 

music video that makes me think 

"how on earth did they not realize how stupid this looks?!?"  

i'm used to it.  the bad clothes, the even worse hair, 

and the lead singer looking angry and 

stomping one foot in time with the music.  

but this one takes the fa-reaking cake.  

i guarantee you, if you watch it in its entirety,

it will blow your mind.  it has ninjas, swimmers, 

glowing eyes, doves, and schoolboys with wings.

and a backstory that i think has something to do with being a pedophile.

how can you resist??????

oooooooh how i love people.

i vaguely recall once promising meg this would never be on facebook.

so blogger's the next best thing.

meg. i miss you. you enrich my life. and you're the one who taught me how to give little tribute moments like this, so here's one for you.  i always feel like i'll remember how i feel about people and things that happen because they're so immediate, but i always lose them when i don't write them down in my journal or record them some other way.   but doing things like this help me slow down life and pinpoint things that i can look back at someday 

and say, hey, that really mattered. 

so here's your tribute moment, narfbag.  this video captures the best moment of the best night (so far) of our friendship.

T-SHIRTS I WOULD BUY IF I HAD MORE SUFFICIENT FUNDS

 

I Met A Genius

I met a genius on the train

today

about 6 years old,

he sat beside me

and as the train 

ran down along the coast

we came to the ocean

and then he looked at me

and said,

it's not pretty.

 

-Charles Bukowski

http://tu.tv/videos/how-to-kiss-bill-plympton

it's a bit out of order.  but this guy makes hilarious (albeit sometimes inappropre-prope) animation.  and we have the same last name.  

cyber-high-five, billy.

why don't you just shut your big YAPPER?

haven't you ever had those moments?

when you're in mixed company.

and someone starts talking.  

and you just stare at them and wonder.   

you watch their mouth talk.

and talk.

and talk.

you turn it over

and over in your head, searching for any possible explanation.  

but finally you give up.  

because you have no idea.

no idea how they don't realize how everything coming out of their mouth is probably the most awkward thing they could be saying at the given moment.  

and that their laugh is way too loud. 

and that they are making everyone in the room feel quite uncomfortable.  

and that they are full of complete crrrrrrrap.

(let the record show that "crap" is a strong 

word when describing people's thoughts.  

too strong, really.

but it fulfilled my requirement of mentioning 

crap in at least 68% of my posts)

i don't have these moments that often.

but somehow i always forget that people like this exist in between my run-ins with them.  

making it all that much more startling when i meet another one.

and watch them wreak social carnage.

but it's cool.

the world would be so boring without the strange ones.

and it's usually entertaining.

like two days later.

in retrospect.

besides...i'm sure i've been in groups where I'M that person.

everyone's been it at least once.

and the best part is, we probably not aware of it at the time!!!

how's that for some delicious paranoia?

you know when girls wear sleeveless 

shirts and they like put their hand 

on their hip and then you can see 

that gross wet crease in their armpit?

click here for gruesome example

what's that called?  

a pit wrinkle?  

a bunch of chunk?

anyway.  i detest that.

actually, armpits are all around pretty gross.  

what a weird place to shave hair from. 

then again, what a weird place to NOT shave hair from.

ridikalus

These are some of the stupidest music videos I've ever seen.

Therefore, they also have a high awesomeness factor.

Omarion-Ice Box

i've got snow falling inside my ribcage. 

i wear biker gloves while i dance.  

i'm bringing back that dance move where you put your hand in your shirt and pump it to look like your heart.  

i get real scurred when people blow cold air on me in the woods.  

i also have an alter ego that is a fat pimp.

Rick Astley-Never Gonna Give You Up

i have the voice of a 50-year-old but i look 17.

Fergie-Glamorous

apart from being totally plastic i also look like white trash dancing in my backyard.

i do a voice over for an innocent little girl i made portray my younger self.

i have a casablanca scene with ludacris where he uses his robot voice and then we shoot some po-po's.

this is not a music video.  but it is fetching hilarious.

My annual tribute

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

why i like the cousins' apartment far more than mine

I was at Debbie's the other night and my ADD led me to inspect the various smattering of cool things she has on her shelves.  Every object there is just like Debbie:  odd but cool, and a bit juvenile.  My freaking favorite was the toy penguin I thought was just stationary.  But she said "it dances to the beat in music."  

I thought she was full of crap, but it DOES AND IT IS AMAZING.  

We put it next to her ipod speakers and watched it flicker through its colorful roulette of belly lights until it synced and then bobbed from side to side whilst flapping its flippers.  I want one.  Albeit, I suppose its dancing is pretty boring and it never really busts any impressive moves, but then again consider that it is a mere piece of plastic.  That I have now identified with and become attached to. 

I pause to wonder if that is pathetic.  Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...whatev.

Anyway, it's called an I-CY.  And I've bought into the sleek, simple packaging as well as the "cutesy" factor.  Blech.  I always make fun of my roommates every time they squeal and coo at how cute the itty-bitty cartons of Ben&Jerry's ice cream are.  You know, the ones I could eat in less than 10 seconds but still costs you like $5.50.  

When they rave about how adorable it is, I realize that they'd probably not hesitate to buy cartons of poop if they were packaged this cutely.  

But the I-CY penguin doesn't have poop in it.  So it's okay.  And even if it is precious-looking, is it still that endearing if I make it dance to T.I.?  

also

Missy, with the help of the good people who make the Ensign, opened my eyes to the dangers of caffeine.  What follows is a sobering photo of how caffeine may affect my silk-producing glands and hinder my web-making abilities.  Alas!  I shall ne'er partake of Mountain Dew e'er again!

spider not ridin' dirty

caffeine-licious web

Shudder.  I'd be so embarrassed if my webs looked like that.

While searching for these photos I happened across this website that lets you feed a spider flies that are filled with different drugs and then watch it spin an according web.  Why. would. anyone. ever. come. up. with. this. The best part is how the spider hops around like it's high.  Looks kind of fun.  Maybe I'll try drugs.

http://www.badspiderbites.com/spiders-on-drugs/ 

a cold at coldplay

we were like kids

in the back of the class

thinking no one saw us

i was shaking my abs.

every beat in the music

set my hips in motion

i just couldn't stop

where the funk was flowin'

section EE, row 20

is where i got my start

moving and grooving

to the rhythm in the dark.

at first i felt lerpy,

but by song 3

I'd forgotten there was anyone

but coldplay and me

i knew that if i somehow

were standing next to chris

he'd yell to the crowd

"you all should dance like this!

girl, girl, you got it going on

i like the way you move it

when you listen to my songs.

you're smoking what i'm rolling

in my expressionistic joint.

now i'm gonna autograph your face

with my ballpoint."

epic.

hands down best night of my life. except for the fact that i was sick. but somehow i forgot that fact once the music started. maybe the blaring reverberations of the bass somehow knocked all the snot out of my head. or maybe it just made the mucus vibrate pleasantly enough that my sinuses were getting a little massage. anyway, here are my favorite parts of the evening, in no particular order:

meg's outfit. sweet pork in my caferio. driving past chuckarama. the metro husbands on the trax with matching pea coats and brown shoes. hunter. watching meg get embarrassed. the overweight man wearing a purple v-neck shirt with chest hair whom i tried to videotape discreetly. the lady whose hair looked like a haystack who told me not to slide down the banisters. accidentally waiting in line for beer. twenty-five cents a spoonful dippin dots. choosing to sit farther back so we could dance. the disturbing multimedia presentation of the keyboardist who obviously had been tripping on acid as shown by his depictions of tongues swallowing people in bed and zooming in repeatedly on a little girl's cornea. forgetting about p-town. forgetting about everything bad in life. my heart pounding when i realized only air would separate me and chris martin. anticipation. screaming. euphoria. utter forgetfulness of everything except for music. watching meg's body move like a cyclone. fix you fixing me. the two and a half minutes where my dancing might actually have been good enough for an indie dance party. knowing every song but one. lost? lost! lost? lost! lost? lost! lost? watching the old couple in front of us looking uncomfortable about our dancing, but trying to head bob a bit to look cool. sweating profusely. not caring. texting hilarity. hitting up wendy's. jamming to t.i. and rihanna in the parking lot. and my favorite, precious little narfbag.

here's a gazillion pictures.