A few days ago while I was writing in my journal I had to wonder if my posterity are even going to be able to understand some of the things I write. I was listening to music and kept getting distracted, and when I got distracted I would start to revert to the shorthand I use to take notes when I'm interviewing someone at work. I can't write longhand as fast as people speak so over the years I've learned to write in abbreviations, so if someone says "The planning department will hold a community meeting next week" in my notes it goes down as "PD hold comm mtg nxt wk." That, combined with the fact that becoming a reporter has completely ruined my penmanship, means that if anyone ever subpoenas my notes they aren't going to be much help.
Even if my hypothetical children and grandchildren can't read my handwriting (who knows, maybe they won't even know what handwriting is in the future) they will still know about my college years, because during those years instead of writing in a journal I wrote emails home about three times a week, detailing what was going on in my life. My mom would print them out all year and when I got home I would re-read them as I hole-punched each page and put them in a two-inch binder (I was rather prolific). For some people this wouldn't work because they write deeply personal things in their journal, but really if it's something I wouldn't tell my family it's probably something I wouldn't write down where someone might find it and read it anyway.
Last week I finally got around to hole punching my emails from my senior year, which, for various reasons, have been sitting in a pile next to my bed for the past two years. It was pretty interesting reading back through them now that I have some perspective, and I drew the following conclusions:
1) I should never bet on anything, ever, because I am terrible at predicting the future. Really. Every time I said I thought I was going to do well on a test I bombed it and every time I said I was really worried about it I would get an A. There were so many things that I was really worried about that turned out fine and things that I said I thought would be no big deal that turned out to be life-changing disasters.
2) When you can see the future, irony is everywhere. When I was reading the emails I spent a lot of time shaking my head and thinking "Oh honey, if only you knew ..."
3) College students are so passionate. And angry. I forgot how much I walked around in college thinking the world (or the BYU administration or certain people in certain callings at church or professors or society or people sending me hate mail) was against me. Actually, I'm pretty sure the hate mail senders, at least, really were against me. But honestly, did I need to write an entire paragraph about what an idiot some guy is just because he said I was arrogant and smarmy and an example of "everything wrong with modern journalism"?
4) You're not as mature as you think you are in college. Or as smart. And you don't live in the "real world" yet.
5) Graduating from college is incredibly stressful and scary, especially if you haven't found a job yet. One of my last emails home went something like this: "Ahhh-oh-my-gosh-what-the-heck-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-life-I-have-so-many-choices-to-make-and-I-don't-know-what-to-do-and-I-took-two-finals-on-three-hours-of-sleep-and-all-I've-known-is-school-my-whole-life-what-if-I'm-not-good-at-anything-else-no-one-is-going-to-want-to-hire-me-and-what-if-I-pick-the-wrong-job-and-my-personal-life-is-a-mess-and-I-have-no-idea-how-to-handle-it-and-no-one-understands-because-they're-all-staying-here-and-why-didn't-I-do-that-so-I-didn't-have-to-deal-with-this."
My whole life I knew what I wanted (scholarships, BYU acceptance, RA job, journalism program acceptance, Daily Universe job, New York internship, diploma) then made a plan and did what I needed to do to get it. Suddenly realizing that for the first time in my life I didn't know exactly what I wanted and I didn't have a clear plan to follow was the most unsettling thing I've ever experienced.
6) It's amazing how you can want something so badly, and then later be so glad you didn't get it.
7) For someone who never got married in college, I sure spent a lot of time with guys. On the other hand, more than one of them came out of the closet after I graduated. So maybe that actually does make sense.
8) Speaking of marriage, people at BYU talk about it A LOT.
9) One day when I was venting about reader complaints about the paper I wrote "I am so sick of hearing 'At a real paper you would have been fired for that' or 'If the Daily Universe was a real paper it wouldn't do that.' Have they worked for a real paper? No. Have I? Yes, during my internships. So they should just shut up about it." And for the stuff I was talking about, I'm still right. But I do think that if I had been working for a "real" newspaper and I was as argumentative with my boss as I was that year, I might have really been fired. I must have really annoyed him.
10) I obviously didn't use spell check on my emails.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Nerds are awesome
The other night Cole and I stayed up late reading his ACT prep book. Not because he had to do some last-minute cramming and I was helping him out of the kindness of my heart, but because we were ... kind of having fun. Which is totally nerdy, I know, but it's the truth. Cole was fascinated by all the new grammar rules he didn't know existed and kept interrupting the novel I was reading to quiz me or say "Why didn't anyone ever tell me that it was 'all intents and purposes' instead of 'all intensive purposes'? That makes so much more sense!" And I was happy to explain why and give more examples because I adore words and the power they wield when you know how to use them to their full potential.
Despite our often normal appearance to outsiders, I live in a nerdy family. Mom and I love having literary discussions, Dad is fascinated by books and documentaries about natural disasters, Lance has a Star Wars spaceship collection and Cole builds robots and does Calculus problems when he's bored. Even Logan, the hipster, geeks out over jazz. We cut our pizza with a pizza cutter shaped like the Enterprise and have a copy of Excalibur hanging on our living room wall. Yup. We're those people.
But I'm fine with that. I'm glad, in fact. I once heard a definition of "nerd" that went something like this: a nerd is someone who gets more happiness out of life than is socially acceptable. And it's true. Why should someone be embarrassed because they actually enjoyed a math homework assignment or took great pleasure in debating the Hobbit movie versus the book? Why should they want to go through life rolling their eyes and sighing at how uncool everything around them is when they could go through life saying "This is awesome!" instead?
Of course, not all nerdiness is good. If you're a 23-year-old guy and haven't been within ten feet of a girl in years on account of being on the thirty sixth month of a video game marathon ... that's not good. You could stand to err on the "socially acceptable" side more often.
But generally being a nerd is a lot of fun. It's like being part of a secret society, where you can share a knowing smile with the stranger next to you when you see that they are wearing a red shirt with the word "expendable" printed on it. You can be in the fourth of the room that snickers over subtle jokes that leaves the rest of the room feeling slightly foolish that they have no idea what just happened. You can have way more fun at Christmas and birthdays, because while other people are getting a new sweater you're getting a Star Wars origami book. Your childhood memories include epic lightsaber battles in someone's back yard instead of hanging out in the field during Little League practice. You actually enjoy your Shakespeare GE in college and homework isn't a huge drag. Life is exciting.
I particularly enjoy being a female nerd, because being able to chime in to a discussion about the merits of Voyager versus Deep Space Nine or Green Arrow versus Aquaman will win you respect every time. That, combined with being able to talk sports, covers the spectrum and pretty much guarantees I'll always be at ease with any group of guys I find myself with rather than having everyone prattle on about the weather awkwardly.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a Christopher Paolini book to finish.
Despite our often normal appearance to outsiders, I live in a nerdy family. Mom and I love having literary discussions, Dad is fascinated by books and documentaries about natural disasters, Lance has a Star Wars spaceship collection and Cole builds robots and does Calculus problems when he's bored. Even Logan, the hipster, geeks out over jazz. We cut our pizza with a pizza cutter shaped like the Enterprise and have a copy of Excalibur hanging on our living room wall. Yup. We're those people.
But I'm fine with that. I'm glad, in fact. I once heard a definition of "nerd" that went something like this: a nerd is someone who gets more happiness out of life than is socially acceptable. And it's true. Why should someone be embarrassed because they actually enjoyed a math homework assignment or took great pleasure in debating the Hobbit movie versus the book? Why should they want to go through life rolling their eyes and sighing at how uncool everything around them is when they could go through life saying "This is awesome!" instead?
Of course, not all nerdiness is good. If you're a 23-year-old guy and haven't been within ten feet of a girl in years on account of being on the thirty sixth month of a video game marathon ... that's not good. You could stand to err on the "socially acceptable" side more often.
But generally being a nerd is a lot of fun. It's like being part of a secret society, where you can share a knowing smile with the stranger next to you when you see that they are wearing a red shirt with the word "expendable" printed on it. You can be in the fourth of the room that snickers over subtle jokes that leaves the rest of the room feeling slightly foolish that they have no idea what just happened. You can have way more fun at Christmas and birthdays, because while other people are getting a new sweater you're getting a Star Wars origami book. Your childhood memories include epic lightsaber battles in someone's back yard instead of hanging out in the field during Little League practice. You actually enjoy your Shakespeare GE in college and homework isn't a huge drag. Life is exciting.
I particularly enjoy being a female nerd, because being able to chime in to a discussion about the merits of Voyager versus Deep Space Nine or Green Arrow versus Aquaman will win you respect every time. That, combined with being able to talk sports, covers the spectrum and pretty much guarantees I'll always be at ease with any group of guys I find myself with rather than having everyone prattle on about the weather awkwardly.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a Christopher Paolini book to finish.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
A trip to Utah
This past weekend I took a trip down to BYU. I've travelled by myself before on the way to internships, etc. but it was weird just taking a vacation without my family in tow. There was no one to play the alphabet game with on the way to the airport. On the other hand, there was also no one to argue with over the proper internal temperature in the car or complain about my girly music.
Once my flight landed in Salt Lake, I had to rent a car. The self check-in machine's inability to read my new credit card confirmed that the bank did indeed make a mistake in printing the back of the card upsidedown. Once I successfully procured my rental and hit the windshield wipers when I meant to put it into reverse (who puts the gear shift on the floor?!) I remembered how fun it is driving a new car for the first time. Once I pulled onto the Interstate I also remembered how fun it is driving in a new city for the first time. Considering 99 percent of my freeway driving has been up and down the gorge, I was a little freaked out by the number of lanes on the road. Also the fact that the road was perfectly straight for miles. I didn't know that was allowed. Despite all of that, I made it to Provo safely and managed to find a parking spot that was a mere three blocks away.
The next morning I went to the French class Bethany teaches, despite not speaking a word of French, besides, for some reason, knowing that Je suis un ananas means "I am a pineapple." Unfortunately--this being a 100-level class-- fruit-related delusions were not on the list of topics for the day. Still, it was amusing to see how much of the class I could understand by comparing it to Spanish and obscure English words with similar roots. Later I went to visit the Universe's newsroom, had a reunion with an ex-roommate and had a long lunch with my brothers, where I made sure to gather some of the intell I knew my parents would grill me about when I got home. I also discovered that despite what the math says, if only one out of 30,000 people on campus is an ex-boyfriend he is guaranteed to be one of the people you run into.
That night I did dinner with the guy friends who always saved my sanity when I couldn't handle another second of being in an apartment/dorm of all girls. We played games afterwards (they cheated and brought out all games I didn't know how to play), debated some politics, reminisced, caught up on each others' lives and just generally had a good time. It made it seriously tempting to move back to Utah, despite the list of reasons I never wanted to practice journalism in Utah again.
Another temptation to move back to Utah was the above-mentioned Bethany, who I had a great time with. During freshman year, while the guys fulfilled my need to stay out until all hours of the night doing crazy immature things, Bethany fulfilled my need to spend quiet evenings at home talking about boys and books over ice cream. We did both of those things and also planned to take a cruise together when she's got her master's degree. Unfortunately we couldn't come up with a good way to become roommates while each fulfilling our desire to settle on our native coasts on opposite sides of the country.
The rest of the weekend included a Young Ambassadors concert, a basketball game (Go Cougars!), going to church in my old ward and catching up with old friends and roommates and cousins. While shopping at the mall I also fulfilled my prophecy of seeing at least one marriage proposal during the weekend.
Unfortunately on Monday I had to leave. On the flight home the lady next to me spent the last fifteen minutes throwing up into a variety of airsick bags. I couldn't decide if she was a worse seatmate than the toddler who dumped a full cup of yogurt on my lap on the way home from New York. When I landed I knew I was back to Oregon, owing to the appearance of the people at the baggage claim, who were long-haired tattooed plaid-wearing hipsters instead of cleancut guys and modestly dressed girls holding signs saying "Welcome home elder!"
The drive back to The Dalles was uneventful, minus the police cars parked across the street from my house when I got home around midnight. Apparently someone had set off a minor improvised explosive device made from a pop bottle covered in Nazi symbols. Who says The Dalles isn't exciting?
Once my flight landed in Salt Lake, I had to rent a car. The self check-in machine's inability to read my new credit card confirmed that the bank did indeed make a mistake in printing the back of the card upsidedown. Once I successfully procured my rental and hit the windshield wipers when I meant to put it into reverse (who puts the gear shift on the floor?!) I remembered how fun it is driving a new car for the first time. Once I pulled onto the Interstate I also remembered how fun it is driving in a new city for the first time. Considering 99 percent of my freeway driving has been up and down the gorge, I was a little freaked out by the number of lanes on the road. Also the fact that the road was perfectly straight for miles. I didn't know that was allowed. Despite all of that, I made it to Provo safely and managed to find a parking spot that was a mere three blocks away.
The next morning I went to the French class Bethany teaches, despite not speaking a word of French, besides, for some reason, knowing that Je suis un ananas means "I am a pineapple." Unfortunately--this being a 100-level class-- fruit-related delusions were not on the list of topics for the day. Still, it was amusing to see how much of the class I could understand by comparing it to Spanish and obscure English words with similar roots. Later I went to visit the Universe's newsroom, had a reunion with an ex-roommate and had a long lunch with my brothers, where I made sure to gather some of the intell I knew my parents would grill me about when I got home. I also discovered that despite what the math says, if only one out of 30,000 people on campus is an ex-boyfriend he is guaranteed to be one of the people you run into.
That night I did dinner with the guy friends who always saved my sanity when I couldn't handle another second of being in an apartment/dorm of all girls. We played games afterwards (they cheated and brought out all games I didn't know how to play), debated some politics, reminisced, caught up on each others' lives and just generally had a good time. It made it seriously tempting to move back to Utah, despite the list of reasons I never wanted to practice journalism in Utah again.
Another temptation to move back to Utah was the above-mentioned Bethany, who I had a great time with. During freshman year, while the guys fulfilled my need to stay out until all hours of the night doing crazy immature things, Bethany fulfilled my need to spend quiet evenings at home talking about boys and books over ice cream. We did both of those things and also planned to take a cruise together when she's got her master's degree. Unfortunately we couldn't come up with a good way to become roommates while each fulfilling our desire to settle on our native coasts on opposite sides of the country.
The rest of the weekend included a Young Ambassadors concert, a basketball game (Go Cougars!), going to church in my old ward and catching up with old friends and roommates and cousins. While shopping at the mall I also fulfilled my prophecy of seeing at least one marriage proposal during the weekend.
Unfortunately on Monday I had to leave. On the flight home the lady next to me spent the last fifteen minutes throwing up into a variety of airsick bags. I couldn't decide if she was a worse seatmate than the toddler who dumped a full cup of yogurt on my lap on the way home from New York. When I landed I knew I was back to Oregon, owing to the appearance of the people at the baggage claim, who were long-haired tattooed plaid-wearing hipsters instead of cleancut guys and modestly dressed girls holding signs saying "Welcome home elder!"
The drive back to The Dalles was uneventful, minus the police cars parked across the street from my house when I got home around midnight. Apparently someone had set off a minor improvised explosive device made from a pop bottle covered in Nazi symbols. Who says The Dalles isn't exciting?
Saturday, January 19, 2013
A little advice
Happy Gun Appreciation Day. In honor of the holiday, I thought I would give some sorely-needed advice to those celebrating the event with gusto.
To make my position clear on guns, I don't personally own any, I respect that people have a Constitutional right to own them, but I am also in favor of a few reasonable common-sense measures like limits on high-capacity magazines, waiting periods and universal background checks that will allow people to own as many guns as they want while still trying to prevent tragedy. I am not in favor of kicking in your door with Obama in the middle of the night and seizing all of your guns. Even though this seems to be the only definition of "gun control" that gun enthusiasts believe exist, I have never actually heard anyone I know advocate for that particular course.
Honestly, I don't think the fact that people own guns is the main problem here. I know plenty of totally responsible people who enjoy target shooting and hunting and I am very comfortable with them owning a gun. The real thing that concerns me, as it concerns many friends I've talked to, is the large segment of the population that are scarily obsessed with guns. The ones who are ranting and raving daily on Facebook about the 109 guns they own and how anyone who comes for them will have to pry every one of them from their cold, dead hands.
What those people don't realize is that those posts are actually making people want to take away their guns even more, before they decide that the Constitution is telling them to defend themselves from tyrannical government by shooting up the local courthouse. A word of advice to people who want to do their part in keeping strict gun control laws from being enacted: Don't act like one of the crazy people who you're insisting are the real problem.
Seriously. The gun lobby has really shot itself in the foot on this one (just like the people who are so obsessed with their guns they do stupid things like handle them when drunk or dance around nightclubs with a gun in their waistband without the safety on). Let's look at what the pro-gun movement has given us to consider while our nation weighs gun control:
There's the vice president of the NRA, who suggested in all seriousness that the best way to reduce the rate of shootings in elementary schools is to put a bunch of guns in elementary schools. If he wanted to convince the people whose motto is not "In guns we trust" to give him a seat at the table in these discussions, that was not the way to do it. Statistically speaking, if you own a pit bull you are more likely to be bitten by a pit bull. If you ride your bike to work you're more likely to be involved in a bike accident. And mathematical analysis has shown if there is a gun in your home you are significantly more likely to get shot. It would logically follow, then, that if there are armed teachers in your school or guns locked in boxes at strategic locations, you are also more likely to get shot.
There are the Sandy Hook truthers who are sending death threats to people in Newtown who they believe were paid off to participate in a government set-up to stir people to action on gun control (they also believe the Virginia Tech Massacre was perpetrated by a government black ops team and Aurora's shooter was brainwashed by the government). If you're sick enough to believe a bunch of people would be okay with mass slaughter to make political point, you're disturbed enough to go on a rampage yourself and stupid enough to shoot someone accidentally.
There is the guy who came up with the idea for Gun Appreciation Day. He told a black news anchor with a straight face that Martin Luther King Jr. (who, just as a reminder, is a famous non-violence advocate who was shot to death) would agree with having Gun Appreciation Day the same weekend as MLK day because if black people were given the right to own guns from day one in our country then we probably wouldn't have had slavery. If you can't see the numerous ways in which this was an incredibly dumb thing to say, explaining it probably won't do any good. But at least he seemed to think the end of slavery was a good thing-- two of the biggest sponsors of Gun Appreciation Day are white supremacy groups.
There is the gun shop owner who posted a rant on YouTube about how angry the gun control debate was making him, and if people tried to enact gun control laws he was going to start killing people. There are the people who have liked the video. There are the people who have posted similar things on Facebook and Twitter. There are the people who talk about a "second amendment remedy" to the election results they didn't like.
The people who are against any form of restrictions on gun buying whatsoever love to point to the mental health system as the place everyone should really be focusing. "Lock all the crazy people up," they say. And then you have people like the vice president of the NRA, who told NBC if his proposal to mandate guns in schools sounds crazy, "then call me crazy."
Be careful what you wish for, sir.
To make my position clear on guns, I don't personally own any, I respect that people have a Constitutional right to own them, but I am also in favor of a few reasonable common-sense measures like limits on high-capacity magazines, waiting periods and universal background checks that will allow people to own as many guns as they want while still trying to prevent tragedy. I am not in favor of kicking in your door with Obama in the middle of the night and seizing all of your guns. Even though this seems to be the only definition of "gun control" that gun enthusiasts believe exist, I have never actually heard anyone I know advocate for that particular course.
Honestly, I don't think the fact that people own guns is the main problem here. I know plenty of totally responsible people who enjoy target shooting and hunting and I am very comfortable with them owning a gun. The real thing that concerns me, as it concerns many friends I've talked to, is the large segment of the population that are scarily obsessed with guns. The ones who are ranting and raving daily on Facebook about the 109 guns they own and how anyone who comes for them will have to pry every one of them from their cold, dead hands.
What those people don't realize is that those posts are actually making people want to take away their guns even more, before they decide that the Constitution is telling them to defend themselves from tyrannical government by shooting up the local courthouse. A word of advice to people who want to do their part in keeping strict gun control laws from being enacted: Don't act like one of the crazy people who you're insisting are the real problem.
Seriously. The gun lobby has really shot itself in the foot on this one (just like the people who are so obsessed with their guns they do stupid things like handle them when drunk or dance around nightclubs with a gun in their waistband without the safety on). Let's look at what the pro-gun movement has given us to consider while our nation weighs gun control:
There's the vice president of the NRA, who suggested in all seriousness that the best way to reduce the rate of shootings in elementary schools is to put a bunch of guns in elementary schools. If he wanted to convince the people whose motto is not "In guns we trust" to give him a seat at the table in these discussions, that was not the way to do it. Statistically speaking, if you own a pit bull you are more likely to be bitten by a pit bull. If you ride your bike to work you're more likely to be involved in a bike accident. And mathematical analysis has shown if there is a gun in your home you are significantly more likely to get shot. It would logically follow, then, that if there are armed teachers in your school or guns locked in boxes at strategic locations, you are also more likely to get shot.
There are the Sandy Hook truthers who are sending death threats to people in Newtown who they believe were paid off to participate in a government set-up to stir people to action on gun control (they also believe the Virginia Tech Massacre was perpetrated by a government black ops team and Aurora's shooter was brainwashed by the government). If you're sick enough to believe a bunch of people would be okay with mass slaughter to make political point, you're disturbed enough to go on a rampage yourself and stupid enough to shoot someone accidentally.
There is the guy who came up with the idea for Gun Appreciation Day. He told a black news anchor with a straight face that Martin Luther King Jr. (who, just as a reminder, is a famous non-violence advocate who was shot to death) would agree with having Gun Appreciation Day the same weekend as MLK day because if black people were given the right to own guns from day one in our country then we probably wouldn't have had slavery. If you can't see the numerous ways in which this was an incredibly dumb thing to say, explaining it probably won't do any good. But at least he seemed to think the end of slavery was a good thing-- two of the biggest sponsors of Gun Appreciation Day are white supremacy groups.
There is the gun shop owner who posted a rant on YouTube about how angry the gun control debate was making him, and if people tried to enact gun control laws he was going to start killing people. There are the people who have liked the video. There are the people who have posted similar things on Facebook and Twitter. There are the people who talk about a "second amendment remedy" to the election results they didn't like.
The people who are against any form of restrictions on gun buying whatsoever love to point to the mental health system as the place everyone should really be focusing. "Lock all the crazy people up," they say. And then you have people like the vice president of the NRA, who told NBC if his proposal to mandate guns in schools sounds crazy, "then call me crazy."
Be careful what you wish for, sir.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Be My Guest
This week our town hosted the Utah Ballroom Dance Co. The ballroom dancers teamed up with local celebrities, practiced for a few days with them and then did a full-fledged Dancing with the Stars concert, complete with judges, videos of practices, and a giant mirror ball trophy, which our sheriff now displays proudly in his office after dancing the jive in a sailor suit. Small towns are awesome.
Anyways, we were asked to host a few of the dancers, and we're always up for hosting people who come to town for performances. When Mom mentioned it and asked if we should sign up for guys or girls, Cole said, "Ask for guys. They'll take way less time in the bathroom and maybe we'll find Jade a husband." So we ended up with four guys. I didn't find a husband, but it is true they didn't spend long in the bathroom.
We put the guys in the boys' room, which has two sets of bunk beds. It was a nice change because usually when we have company I get kicked out of my room, and then it's annoying when I want to get something out of there and people are in it. The one good thing that has come out of that is that I got a new mattress out of it once. I had been complaining for literally years that my ancient mattress was lumpy and dipped down in the middle and springs would poke out the sides and occasionally draw blood. They never listened until one night for some reason they let a guest stay in their bedroom and slept in mine instead. The next morning they didn't say, "Oh poor Jade having to sleep on that awful bed" it was "Oh my gosh, we let company sleep on that? We have to get a new one before the next time we have guests." So they bought a new bed ... and gave me the one they had been using. Still, it's much better than the one I had.
Cole was actually happy that people stayed in his room because Mom cleaned it for him while he was at school. He almost didn't recognize it when he got home because there was carpet on the floor instead of a layer of crumpled clothing and piles of torn-apart electronic devices he was scavenging parts from. When all three of the boys lived at home and my parents complained about their messy room, each of them always blamed one of the other brothers and then proclaimed with disgust that if they had their own room it would always be clean. Once people started moving in and out and each of them had their own room at some point this proved completely false. True, my own room is not perfect. But I keep the clothes on my floor in a pile next to the dresser instead of strewn across the whole floor, and they're all clean or only slightly worn. Nobody has ever walked into my room to talk to me and stepped on a pair of dirty underwear.
The rest of our house is generally fairly clean so it just took the regular cleaning the bathroom, vacuuming up the daily dose of dog hair, etc. to get it ready. Ironically if we hadn't cleaned at all it still would have probably appeared great because your average teenage/twentysomething guy isn't living in a white-glove-approved environment anyway (see above paragraph). Some of them might have actually felt more at home if we'd thrown a couple of pairs of boxer shorts on the bathroom floor.
The first night they got there, after the first of the two concerts they were doing (one was half Dancing with the Stars and half showcase and the second night was all them), we had fun talking, especially about the show and what went on backstage. Having performed numerous plays on that stage I laughed when they complained about our school's awful backstage setup (or lack thereof). I knew that the reason some of the guys didn't have their black bowties for one number was because it is extremely difficult to locate black costume pieces when you're doing quick changes in the dark, plus it's so cramped everyone else's clothes are landing on yours (one guy who was staying with us had a really hard time performing the quickstep because as soon as he rushed on stage he realized the shorts under his costume were his female partner's and not his, which is definitely a good way to severely cramp your range of motion). I also laughed when they said the stage door that lead outside kept coming open and making the side curtain go crazy until they tied it shut. Yep, done that too (sorry fire marshal).
I didn't see them the next morning because they were still asleep when I left for work, but that was fine with me because when I wake up in the mornings it's definitely not like in the movies where women pop out of bed with perfect hair and makeup each morning. I did, however, get some of the freshly baked pumpkin chocolate chip muffins my mother had prepared for them. After all, everyone knows that the whole point of having guests when you're living at home is so your mom will make extra good food.
Anyways, we were asked to host a few of the dancers, and we're always up for hosting people who come to town for performances. When Mom mentioned it and asked if we should sign up for guys or girls, Cole said, "Ask for guys. They'll take way less time in the bathroom and maybe we'll find Jade a husband." So we ended up with four guys. I didn't find a husband, but it is true they didn't spend long in the bathroom.
We put the guys in the boys' room, which has two sets of bunk beds. It was a nice change because usually when we have company I get kicked out of my room, and then it's annoying when I want to get something out of there and people are in it. The one good thing that has come out of that is that I got a new mattress out of it once. I had been complaining for literally years that my ancient mattress was lumpy and dipped down in the middle and springs would poke out the sides and occasionally draw blood. They never listened until one night for some reason they let a guest stay in their bedroom and slept in mine instead. The next morning they didn't say, "Oh poor Jade having to sleep on that awful bed" it was "Oh my gosh, we let company sleep on that? We have to get a new one before the next time we have guests." So they bought a new bed ... and gave me the one they had been using. Still, it's much better than the one I had.
Cole was actually happy that people stayed in his room because Mom cleaned it for him while he was at school. He almost didn't recognize it when he got home because there was carpet on the floor instead of a layer of crumpled clothing and piles of torn-apart electronic devices he was scavenging parts from. When all three of the boys lived at home and my parents complained about their messy room, each of them always blamed one of the other brothers and then proclaimed with disgust that if they had their own room it would always be clean. Once people started moving in and out and each of them had their own room at some point this proved completely false. True, my own room is not perfect. But I keep the clothes on my floor in a pile next to the dresser instead of strewn across the whole floor, and they're all clean or only slightly worn. Nobody has ever walked into my room to talk to me and stepped on a pair of dirty underwear.
The rest of our house is generally fairly clean so it just took the regular cleaning the bathroom, vacuuming up the daily dose of dog hair, etc. to get it ready. Ironically if we hadn't cleaned at all it still would have probably appeared great because your average teenage/twentysomething guy isn't living in a white-glove-approved environment anyway (see above paragraph). Some of them might have actually felt more at home if we'd thrown a couple of pairs of boxer shorts on the bathroom floor.
The first night they got there, after the first of the two concerts they were doing (one was half Dancing with the Stars and half showcase and the second night was all them), we had fun talking, especially about the show and what went on backstage. Having performed numerous plays on that stage I laughed when they complained about our school's awful backstage setup (or lack thereof). I knew that the reason some of the guys didn't have their black bowties for one number was because it is extremely difficult to locate black costume pieces when you're doing quick changes in the dark, plus it's so cramped everyone else's clothes are landing on yours (one guy who was staying with us had a really hard time performing the quickstep because as soon as he rushed on stage he realized the shorts under his costume were his female partner's and not his, which is definitely a good way to severely cramp your range of motion). I also laughed when they said the stage door that lead outside kept coming open and making the side curtain go crazy until they tied it shut. Yep, done that too (sorry fire marshal).
I didn't see them the next morning because they were still asleep when I left for work, but that was fine with me because when I wake up in the mornings it's definitely not like in the movies where women pop out of bed with perfect hair and makeup each morning. I did, however, get some of the freshly baked pumpkin chocolate chip muffins my mother had prepared for them. After all, everyone knows that the whole point of having guests when you're living at home is so your mom will make extra good food.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
But it's tradition...
Christmas was quite fun this year, with all six of us home for what will probably be the only year in the middle of six years' worth of missions.
Our family gets really into Christmas, with all sorts of traditions. Some of them are unintentional, like the yearly argument at the Christmas tree farm over which of the trees on the hill is actually the tallest, but most of them are on purpose. For example, when we decorate the Christmas tree we take a trip down memory lane with the brass ornaments. Everywhere we go we collect them as souvenirs. Most of them have certain people who have to put them up because of the story attached.
Logan has to put up the one for the Badlands because he became a Junior Ranger there after knocking over an entire Western-themed puppet show display while trying to use his puppet to bite the ear of a girl he thought was cute. He was five. He also has to put the Portland Zoo one up in memory of when a bird pooped on his head and then Mom tried to use hand sanitizer to get it out of his hair, which just made it way worse. Dad has to put the one from Vancouver up because he was climbing over a tree in the park and split his pants. Lance has to put the one from Seattle up because he came within two inches of being hit by a half a dead rat a hawk lost its grip on. And so on. For some reason all of our best family vacation memories seem to involve laughing hysterically at one family member's misfortune.
On Christmas Eve our family spends the day making and decorating sugar cookies to deliver to friends around town. Now that we are older Dad doesn't have to race to decorate as many cookies as he can before we get to them. Even Logan is good at decorating at them now. We used to give him the reindeer to decorate every year and then when all of the plates were delivered say "Ooops, how could we forget to put the reindeer in there again this year?"
After we are done delivering the cookies we go out to eat. When we lived in Iowa the only thing in town that was open on Christmas Eve was Burger King. When we moved here and had more options Cole insisted for years that we keep going to Burger King because it was tradition. We tried to tell him that eating at Burger King on Christmas Eve was a weird tradition and he finally believed us one year when the girl behind the counter was talking loudly on her cell phone and saying "Yeah, I wish I could go home but we have to wait for this family who is still eating here. What kind of people eat at Burger King for dinner on Christmas Eve?" Now we eat at Denny's and Cole is like "Why didn't we start doing this sooner?"
When we come home all of us kids sleep on the floor in the boys' room with the door shut while Santa comes. We have our yearly Christmas Eve confessional in which we tell each other all the things that happened this year that we don't want Mom and Dad to know about, that involve things like members of the opposite gender and law enforcement and stories with content not appropriate for sharing in front of one's mother. This year we talked about [censored because Mom and Dad read this blog]. We didn't go to sleep until midnight and then Lance, who got stuck sleeping on the end and with a crocheted afghan, woke me up at 4:30 a.m. to beg to share my blankets and inform me that whoever thought it would be a good idea to make blankets with holes in them should be shot.
When we opened Christmas presents (at 5:00 a.m. instead of a civilized adult time like 8:00) we did what we normally do, which is keep rotating youngest to oldest and when it is your turn you pick out a present to give to someone else and everyone watches them open it. I think the best reaction this year was when Cole opened his racket stringer, which he thought he wouldn't get because it's more than Santa normally spends on gifts. He was like a five year old on Christmas morning, albeit a five year old who can talk nonstop for fifteen minutes straight about the difference between synthetic gut and big banger strings and the benefits of hybrid rackets before we can get a word in edgewise to tell him it's his turn to pick out a gift.
Years ago our parents decided we were getting too greedy about Christmas and announced that the amount of money for Christmas presents was being cut way back and we had to make each person in the family a gift. Over the years the homemade presents have continued in addition to buying gifts, although now they are usually more humorous than useful. I think my favorite this year was when Logan opened a CD from Lance. When he put it in we discovered it was a recording of Ducksauce's "Barbara Streisand" except instead of Barbara Streisand the guy says "Logan's sexy." I'm pretty sure it's what he listens to every morning when he wakes up now.
On Christmas night we open our stockings, which have letters from each member of the family in them. We take bets on whose letter will make Mom cry first.
Somehow the other holidays just aren't as fun.
Our family gets really into Christmas, with all sorts of traditions. Some of them are unintentional, like the yearly argument at the Christmas tree farm over which of the trees on the hill is actually the tallest, but most of them are on purpose. For example, when we decorate the Christmas tree we take a trip down memory lane with the brass ornaments. Everywhere we go we collect them as souvenirs. Most of them have certain people who have to put them up because of the story attached.
Logan has to put up the one for the Badlands because he became a Junior Ranger there after knocking over an entire Western-themed puppet show display while trying to use his puppet to bite the ear of a girl he thought was cute. He was five. He also has to put the Portland Zoo one up in memory of when a bird pooped on his head and then Mom tried to use hand sanitizer to get it out of his hair, which just made it way worse. Dad has to put the one from Vancouver up because he was climbing over a tree in the park and split his pants. Lance has to put the one from Seattle up because he came within two inches of being hit by a half a dead rat a hawk lost its grip on. And so on. For some reason all of our best family vacation memories seem to involve laughing hysterically at one family member's misfortune.
On Christmas Eve our family spends the day making and decorating sugar cookies to deliver to friends around town. Now that we are older Dad doesn't have to race to decorate as many cookies as he can before we get to them. Even Logan is good at decorating at them now. We used to give him the reindeer to decorate every year and then when all of the plates were delivered say "Ooops, how could we forget to put the reindeer in there again this year?"
After we are done delivering the cookies we go out to eat. When we lived in Iowa the only thing in town that was open on Christmas Eve was Burger King. When we moved here and had more options Cole insisted for years that we keep going to Burger King because it was tradition. We tried to tell him that eating at Burger King on Christmas Eve was a weird tradition and he finally believed us one year when the girl behind the counter was talking loudly on her cell phone and saying "Yeah, I wish I could go home but we have to wait for this family who is still eating here. What kind of people eat at Burger King for dinner on Christmas Eve?" Now we eat at Denny's and Cole is like "Why didn't we start doing this sooner?"
When we come home all of us kids sleep on the floor in the boys' room with the door shut while Santa comes. We have our yearly Christmas Eve confessional in which we tell each other all the things that happened this year that we don't want Mom and Dad to know about, that involve things like members of the opposite gender and law enforcement and stories with content not appropriate for sharing in front of one's mother. This year we talked about [censored because Mom and Dad read this blog]. We didn't go to sleep until midnight and then Lance, who got stuck sleeping on the end and with a crocheted afghan, woke me up at 4:30 a.m. to beg to share my blankets and inform me that whoever thought it would be a good idea to make blankets with holes in them should be shot.
When we opened Christmas presents (at 5:00 a.m. instead of a civilized adult time like 8:00) we did what we normally do, which is keep rotating youngest to oldest and when it is your turn you pick out a present to give to someone else and everyone watches them open it. I think the best reaction this year was when Cole opened his racket stringer, which he thought he wouldn't get because it's more than Santa normally spends on gifts. He was like a five year old on Christmas morning, albeit a five year old who can talk nonstop for fifteen minutes straight about the difference between synthetic gut and big banger strings and the benefits of hybrid rackets before we can get a word in edgewise to tell him it's his turn to pick out a gift.
Years ago our parents decided we were getting too greedy about Christmas and announced that the amount of money for Christmas presents was being cut way back and we had to make each person in the family a gift. Over the years the homemade presents have continued in addition to buying gifts, although now they are usually more humorous than useful. I think my favorite this year was when Logan opened a CD from Lance. When he put it in we discovered it was a recording of Ducksauce's "Barbara Streisand" except instead of Barbara Streisand the guy says "Logan's sexy." I'm pretty sure it's what he listens to every morning when he wakes up now.
On Christmas night we open our stockings, which have letters from each member of the family in them. We take bets on whose letter will make Mom cry first.
Somehow the other holidays just aren't as fun.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
To the editor
I was looking through my old files on my laptop today and came across the following gem from when I was opinion editor in college. I think I was really bored with studying and was going to do it as a blog post and upon second thought decided not to, possibly because I didn't want to get myself into hot water for publicly mocking readers. But I don't work there anymore so here it is:
I leave in New Jersey. Am disturbed by the staff of the Daily Universe. The Daily Universe has gone astray! What a waste of ink and paper. On today's (Sept. 21st) issue of the Daily Universe there is a glaring error that would cost someone their job as an editor in the real world. I sincerely hope the editor didn't think that because both stories involved cars they should go next to each other. The author merely took her gut reaction and ran with it, which constitutes shoddy journalism at best. To write an article like this and not get the simple facts down is embarrassing to the "journalist". Learn from this mistake and just remember next time you do that, it could cost you your job. Just wanted to bring this to your attention, as others in my office were similarly offended. Thanks for devaluing my CV just a little bit more this week. I don't think I am asking too much for the Daily Universe to print an apology. Is BYU a real university? Just wandering.
Say a suspected terrorist doesn’t want to cooperate with the government, why don’t they just Jack Bauer him/her? You never hear about “massacres in the gun shop”. The Doctrine and Covenants justifies this people in "befriending" The Constitution (D&C 98:6), and you have all but declared it an enemy. Opinion: To his admirers, Glenn Beck has been a voice crying in the wilderness, a prophet who warns us that we have been wandering in darkness too long. Fact: bears eat beets. Failure to acknowledge the role this issue plays in American political policy is immensely coarse. I can't help but see the resemblance between the recent actions of Senator Harry Reid and the actions of Fredo in the film the Godfather.
Honesty is taking a punch to the stomach every time we enter the testing center. The incredible unethical power of “none of the above” has taken its toll. The bookstore offers a simple solution to the women who don’t meet their standards of perfection: buy our stuff, and quickly get the educational and spiritual understanding you lack. I saw a kid in a Boise State t-shirt today. I wanted to punch him in the gut and then barf on his face. When I see a kid in another college’s shirt it makes me want to go to McDonald’s, order everything on the menu, and try to eat it all in one sitting.
Cut it out with the Jimmer worship. Last time I checked, idol worship was very much frowned upon in the scriptures. Eventually I noted the futility of arguing with BYU fans so I decided to write The Daily Universe in the hope that someone there could stop the madness running rampant through our campus. Even though I do not partake of Jimmer worship, I will not stop anyone who chooses to serve Jimmer. Your comments were highly offensive to those of the Jimmer faith. Thank you for helping me see the error of my ways. My roommates and I have decided we will no longer pray toward Glens Falls.
I would like to take a moment to tell everyone about spinach smoothies. Who doesn’t need another pair of hot high heels, right? High heels never made anyone suicidal. Next time, I throw eggs. I think it's an important mating ritual for the LDS male, similar to a peacock's stunning display of plumage. At first I had the absurd notion that you were spreading cake batter all over your arms and hands, the smell reminding me of my favorite flavor at Cold Stone. Am I the only one that's really bothered by the posters exhorting us to celebrate our "culture of honor"? If we really wanted to get students more excited, we may want to permit alcohol inside the stadium and inside the students.
Happy Columbus Day! By the way, thanks for slaughtering my people. Everyone was enjoying a nice Columbus Day only to be confronted with implications of genocide (guised as “awareness”) directed towards them. Should the “white man” always hold the “red man” accountable for the genocide of the Nephites? Since BYU naturally attracts students of diverse nationalities, many foreign authors of letters published in the Readers’ Forum have perspectives on the United States that are informed extensively by their non-American cultures. America needs no criticism. The well-known businessman Michael Scott once said “if you are a racist, I will attack you with the North.” Today I say to the Brigham Young University student body, “if you are an underachiever, I will attack you with cougars.”
Do we really want our future leaders listening to Lady Gaga for advice? I, frankly, am surprised this discrepancy has been allowed to continue for so long and hope to hear of changes sooner rather than later. Harold B. Lee Library, I exhort you to purge yourself of the vile and nefarious literature that you harbor within your walls.
“God, if BYU wins the national championship,” she pleaded, “I will take it as a sign that it is Thy will that I attend that school for graduate studies.” That was the only year BYU has taken the title of national champion. I was shocked. In my dream world, the crowd would faithfully cheer-on the Cougars no matter how the game was going, and politely accept even the worst calls made by the referees, or the most blatant oversights made by the team.
The word is officially out: There are some hot girls that work at the testing center, goodness! Out of the 150 or so girls that came out, I counted only 7 that were wearing shorts, skirts or dresses of the appropriate length. Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll confirm that I’ve never ogled in my life. Ladies, it’s fine if you want to wear your gigantic moon boots and obnoxious head flowers, just remember that following the latest fashion trends isn’t worth sacrificing your integrity.
To all you doubters with legs on both sides of the fence, you better evaluate your testimony and make some necessary changes or you might just find yourself without enough oil in your lamp. I am sorry if you feel left out that noone texts you I would be happy to send you a text every now and then to make you feel good or you could text one of those ads that are on late at night. Please get a life or a girlfriend or both! Do you really think that Celine Dion transposed into a minor key and played uptempo is proving to the world that they are Mozart in an unappreciated form? Honestly, I think most of the opinions expressed in the opinion section are silly.
I would like to withdraw my article from the consideration
for
The following is a mashup of actual lines from letters to the editor
I’ve received this semester, printed with amusing typos included. These are
from legitimate letters to the editor by BYU students and faculty only, not the
really nutty ones I used to get from people like the guy from Salt Lake convinced the "Mormon CIA" kept deleting his blog. I also
excluded poetry and letters I felt were offensively sacrilegious. Enjoy, and don’t
judge all the normal people at BYU too harshly for it.
To all Lebron Haters:
I leave in New Jersey. Am disturbed by the staff of the Daily Universe. The Daily Universe has gone astray! What a waste of ink and paper. On today's (Sept. 21st) issue of the Daily Universe there is a glaring error that would cost someone their job as an editor in the real world. I sincerely hope the editor didn't think that because both stories involved cars they should go next to each other. The author merely took her gut reaction and ran with it, which constitutes shoddy journalism at best. To write an article like this and not get the simple facts down is embarrassing to the "journalist". Learn from this mistake and just remember next time you do that, it could cost you your job. Just wanted to bring this to your attention, as others in my office were similarly offended. Thanks for devaluing my CV just a little bit more this week. I don't think I am asking too much for the Daily Universe to print an apology. Is BYU a real university? Just wandering.
Say a suspected terrorist doesn’t want to cooperate with the government, why don’t they just Jack Bauer him/her? You never hear about “massacres in the gun shop”. The Doctrine and Covenants justifies this people in "befriending" The Constitution (D&C 98:6), and you have all but declared it an enemy. Opinion: To his admirers, Glenn Beck has been a voice crying in the wilderness, a prophet who warns us that we have been wandering in darkness too long. Fact: bears eat beets. Failure to acknowledge the role this issue plays in American political policy is immensely coarse. I can't help but see the resemblance between the recent actions of Senator Harry Reid and the actions of Fredo in the film the Godfather.
Honesty is taking a punch to the stomach every time we enter the testing center. The incredible unethical power of “none of the above” has taken its toll. The bookstore offers a simple solution to the women who don’t meet their standards of perfection: buy our stuff, and quickly get the educational and spiritual understanding you lack. I saw a kid in a Boise State t-shirt today. I wanted to punch him in the gut and then barf on his face. When I see a kid in another college’s shirt it makes me want to go to McDonald’s, order everything on the menu, and try to eat it all in one sitting.
I would like to take a moment to tell everyone about spinach smoothies. Who doesn’t need another pair of hot high heels, right? High heels never made anyone suicidal. Next time, I throw eggs. I think it's an important mating ritual for the LDS male, similar to a peacock's stunning display of plumage. At first I had the absurd notion that you were spreading cake batter all over your arms and hands, the smell reminding me of my favorite flavor at Cold Stone. Am I the only one that's really bothered by the posters exhorting us to celebrate our "culture of honor"? If we really wanted to get students more excited, we may want to permit alcohol inside the stadium and inside the students.
Happy Columbus Day! By the way, thanks for slaughtering my people. Everyone was enjoying a nice Columbus Day only to be confronted with implications of genocide (guised as “awareness”) directed towards them. Should the “white man” always hold the “red man” accountable for the genocide of the Nephites? Since BYU naturally attracts students of diverse nationalities, many foreign authors of letters published in the Readers’ Forum have perspectives on the United States that are informed extensively by their non-American cultures. America needs no criticism. The well-known businessman Michael Scott once said “if you are a racist, I will attack you with the North.” Today I say to the Brigham Young University student body, “if you are an underachiever, I will attack you with cougars.”
Do we really want our future leaders listening to Lady Gaga for advice? I, frankly, am surprised this discrepancy has been allowed to continue for so long and hope to hear of changes sooner rather than later. Harold B. Lee Library, I exhort you to purge yourself of the vile and nefarious literature that you harbor within your walls.
“God, if BYU wins the national championship,” she pleaded, “I will take it as a sign that it is Thy will that I attend that school for graduate studies.” That was the only year BYU has taken the title of national champion. I was shocked. In my dream world, the crowd would faithfully cheer-on the Cougars no matter how the game was going, and politely accept even the worst calls made by the referees, or the most blatant oversights made by the team.
The word is officially out: There are some hot girls that work at the testing center, goodness! Out of the 150 or so girls that came out, I counted only 7 that were wearing shorts, skirts or dresses of the appropriate length. Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll confirm that I’ve never ogled in my life. Ladies, it’s fine if you want to wear your gigantic moon boots and obnoxious head flowers, just remember that following the latest fashion trends isn’t worth sacrificing your integrity.
To all you doubters with legs on both sides of the fence, you better evaluate your testimony and make some necessary changes or you might just find yourself without enough oil in your lamp. I am sorry if you feel left out that noone texts you I would be happy to send you a text every now and then to make you feel good or you could text one of those ads that are on late at night. Please get a life or a girlfriend or both! Do you really think that Celine Dion transposed into a minor key and played uptempo is proving to the world that they are Mozart in an unappreciated form? Honestly, I think most of the opinions expressed in the opinion section are silly.
Signed,
Poker Face
Dear Letter to the Editor,
publication. I wrote
this at a time when I was upset and reading it
now shows me that it was a foolish thing to send in. I would
once
again ask that this letter not be printed ever. Thank you.
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