Dear world,
I love the snow. As I wandered out to my kitchen at 7:55 AM today, I glanced out the window. It's been so bitterly cold without any fun weather for much too long, so when I saw snow falling from the sky in a veritable snow shower, I was really excited. As in, I did a little dance of joy right there in my kitchen.
I am so excited.
-Yellow
My brother is, without question, the most amazingly cool kid on the face of the planet. He's currently serving a mission in southern Brazil and, like most missionary families, we receive e-mails from him more or less weekly. Usually they're quite focused on the missionary work, but this last week's e-mail also included a brief look into P-Day life. I quote:And now for a P-day report. Well, they dont have legos down here in Brazil so I am out of luck. At least I thought so. Then I found a flashlight that uses a solar panel to charge the battery and two broken cellphones in the office. I cut the phones up today and got the little vibrating motors out. Then I broke the flashlight in half to get the solar panel out. And after a couple of hours cutting up erasers for wheels and wiring everything together, I made a solar hotwheels car that really works. I put it out in the sun and the two wheels in the front just start to turn. When the sun goes behind a cloud and the car doesnt have power, I just pull out a mirror and shine more sun on it to go faster. Isnt that awesome. Its almost better than legos. And it doesnt use any batteries. Anyways, I thought that you guys might think that was pretty cool.
That is why my brother is awesome.
Are you ready for it? For the story? This isn't just any story you're about to hear. This story is a bit like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir weekly broadcast; it started a long, long time ago, and there is no end in sight. Or at least, there wasn't.
On the first day of 2nd grade, my teacher told us that 2nd grade was the year of "puppy love." She prophesied that each of us, at some time during the year, would find ourselves in this "puppy love." We all laughed, of course, at such a ridiculous proposition. She was right. Halfway through the year, I sat at a table with Amy.* Amy was an actress. A good one, at that. When combined with her natural smile, that was enough to hook me. I was, as predicted, in puppy love.
It didn't end in 2nd grade, though. In fact, it didn't end in 3rd grade either. Nor in 4th, 5th, or 6th. This may have been puppy love, but it sure was a persistent puppy love. And, while in 7th and 8th grade I also had a bit of a crush on Julie*, Amy was still high on the list.
Just as 8th grade was ending, my family moved away from that area, and Amy's father was called to be a mission president in Europe. It was pretty apparent that we wouldn't be seeing much of each other for the next few years. I'd liked her for quite a while, and though I don't know that I was ever her biggest crush, I'm pretty sure she'd at least somewhat liked me too. I was sad to see her go. Over time, though, I moved on. I met a couple girls at my new school that I really liked, and slowly stopped thinking much about Amy.
Or so I thought. Just when Amy was just about gone from my mind, I had a dream that I was at my brother's track meet (none of my brothers were in track at the time) in the bleachers. In my dream, I turned around and saw Amy there. I was excited to see her in my dream, and I went to talk to her for a few minutes. When I woke up, I was back in love (or something like it).
A few months passed, and had again basically moved on. I went to Seminary one day, where we were talking about the importance of prophets. The teacher showed a brief video, and one of the principal characters in the video was played by Amy. I walked out of class back in love.
Another time, the local newspaper ran an article in the Arts section featuring Amy. I was back in love. Another time I met someone who had met Amy while on his European mission. I was back in love. It just didn't stop. Every time I had just about forgotten all about her, something random would happen to remind me of her, and I was back in love (or something like it). When Amy's family returned home from Europe, I called her up and asked her on a date. We honestly had a wonderful time together; it was one of the most enjoyable dates of my life to that point. However, when we both came to BYU, she started dating another guy, and we had a slightly hurtful (to me) exchange, so I tried to move on. But it still didn't stop.
And let me be clear. It really didn't stop. I went on my mission, and one in one of the first Sunday School lessons I attended, the seminary video was shown. That threw me way out of whack. There's a full two-and-a-half pages in my journal about my feelings that day. It really affected me. But that wasn't the end. A few months later, I moved to a new area and lived with a missionary who had known Amy while living in Europe. A few months later, I moved to another new area and picked up a month-old copy of the Church News (which we received periodically). Inside was a story about a new play they were doing in Nauvoo for younger children. The star? Amy.
This last summer I lived in Albuquerque with my cousins. I hadn't thought of Amy in nearly 7 months, when I had a dream about her. In my dream, we crossed paths at a BYU event, I offered to walk her home, and somehow we ended up on a double date to a play at Abravanel Hall. And we were having a food fight. I woke up thoroughly in love. It. Just. Never. Stops. It's been so persistent that I've on occasion wondered if there were some divine purpose behind it. It's just uncanny. The Amy saga has been one of the defining plot lines of my life. Which is why what you're about to read is so momentous.
A few weeks back, I took one of the female writers out to Cafe Rio. This was our first date, and I was anxious for everything to go well, since I'd been interested in her for a number of months, and arranging a date with her had been a complex affair. We were standing in line, laughing and generally enjoying ourselves, when I turned to see Amy walk in with a date and get in line not far from us. I hadn't seen Amy in nearly four years, and our last actual exchange had been a bit unpleasant, to be honest. I had an idealized version of her living in my head, and I knew it. The meeting of the idealized and the real was about to take place, an event worthy of intense music and hushed silence, and I was on a date I'd been anticipating for weeks. Could things be any worse?
"Amy!" I said, as the line wrapped us around next to them.
"Yellow? How are you?"
"I'm doing well. How are you? I haven't seen you in forever!"
As we continued with the usual "hi, how are you" talk, I realized something. I was over her. It didn't affect me in the least to see her there. My date and I continued our way through line, have a great meal, and a wonderful evening. We've gone on other dates since then, and things seem to be going well.
Amy, I'm glad you're back. I hope to see you around. But, at last, I'm fallen out of love, or something like it.
* Names have been changed to protect privacy.
Over the summer I worked as an intern at an engineering firm. I had my own little cubicle with a phone, drawers, and a whiteboard. Unfortunately, I really had almost no use for any of the above, as I spent most of my time on the computer helping on others' projects. Deciding to break up the monotony, my fellow intern cube-neighbor and I decided to implement a Word of the Day, which was proudly displayed on both whiteboards for all to see. Now, you get to read them too.
Have you ever really hurt someone emotionally through carelessness, and then felt absolutely sick over it?
Have you ever worried you would lose a friend because of something you did, even though you still really treasure the friendship?
Have you ever wished you could go back and undo what you did?
I have.
Friday night, (well, it was Friday night when I started this post, so now that's about three weeks ago,) Laser Jock and I took dates to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir Christmas concert, featuring Norwegian singer Sissel. The music was absolutely incredible, and I highly recommend everyone find a copy of Sissel's "Like an Angel Passing Through My Room." It's breathtakingly beautiful. Really. Search for Sissel listen on Google, and click the first link. It's right there. Go. You won't regret it.
As we made our way toward the exits of the Conference Center after the concert, I looked outside and saw that it was snowing. I was happy. Very happy. Inordinately happy, in fact. You might not believe how excited I get about snow. Fortunately for you, I'm going to tell you all about it.
There’s something magical about looking out the window and seeing thousands of snowflakes falling from the sky. Looking outside and seeing the world transform right in front of your eyes is a bit like watching Tinkerbell sprinkle pixie dust over the ship and seeing it fly away. It’s the same old ship underneath, but suddenly it’s so much more.
When I was back in Elementary School, snow meant snowmen, snowball fights, and sledding in our own front yard. Just looking outside and seeing the world turn white gave me a thrill, and I still haven’t lost that feeling. There are things you just can’t do without snow, things that I love. Have you ever skied down a mountain covered in fresh powder and laughed for joy at the rush? Have you ever snowmobiled to the top of a peak and marveled at the view? Have you ever noticed how beautiful a girl can be when little snowflakes lie nestled in her hair? Have you ever made a snow angel just for the fun of it, even though it never ends up looking anything like an angel? Have you ever tried to catch snowflakes on your tongue, even though they’re so small that you usually can’t tell when you’ve caught one? There are so many simple pleasures of life in the winter to enjoy that I hardly know where to begin.
There’s a peaceful feeling that comes with a new snowfall. Suddenly, everything is calm and silent. The world is hushed, almost in reverence. The first lasting snowfall usually comes right around Christmas, and I find that taking a long walk in falling or freshly fallen snow draws my mind to pondering. I begin to marvel at the Creation brought about by our Father and his Son. The delicate snowflakes and exquisite crystalline icicles humble me. Here am I, a student at a well-respected school of higher learning, and I can’t even draw a decent snowflake, much less create one. The intricacies involved in the world around us fascinate me, and I feel greater love for my Father in Heaven.
Welcome to the Magical Kingdom. I hope you all enjoy it.
Get ready for a long one, folks.
There are some books, plays, and movies that, I might say, "redefine" my view of the world. When I first see / read them they don't seem to apply much to my life. They often are interesting or entertaining, but I just don't see much of myself in any of the characters. However, in the days afterwards, I begin to see things in a new light that I had never before considered.
I just added a play to this category today. Over Thanksgiving break I saw "The Man of La Mancha" at Hale Center Theater in West Valley City with my family. I enjoyed it, and especially liked the Spanish guitar that intermittently accompanied the actors. I didn't, however, really see how the ideals presented had application to my life. Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.
Don Quixote is the deranged but optimistic alter ego of Spanish gentleman Alonso Quijana, who has gone mad. Championing virtues of chivalry, courage, bravery, and honor, Quixote gallantly attacks giants, seeks proper knighting, and courts the high lady Dulcinea. (In reality, he charges against a windmill, is knighted by the local tavern keeper, and "courts" the local wench Audanza.) Near the end of the play, Quijana comes to his senses and forsakes the idealistic views of Don Quixote. We then see, however, that Quixote's idealistic views, (which have nothing to do with reality,) have actually inspired hope and happiness in the lives of those formerly hopeless.
The main anthem from the play is "The Impossible Dream." Many have heard the song, but few actually understand the phrase. Many use it to describe perfectly possible things, such as better technology or an underdog sports team hoping to take the championship. Dale Wasserman, the writer of the play, said the following:
When I see these references – and I see them every day – my impulse is to holler, “Pay attention, ...the operative word is not ‘dream,’ the operative word is ‘impossible!’”The impossible dream. The things we hope and strive and fight for, no matter how impossible they are. As I was watching the play, I couldn't identify any truly impossible dreams in my life. I have my pursuits, but they're usually quite achievable. So the play, I thought, was good but just didn't really speak to me.
Of course no one listens. But “impossible” is exactly what I meant: the dream, to be valid, must be impossible. Not just difficult. Impossible. Which implies an ideal never attainable but nevertheless stubbornly to be pursued. A striving for what cannot be achieved but still is worth the effort. As, for instance, peace on earth. Or a gentleness for all who breathe, and breathing, suffer. Or a hope that we may mitigate the horrors paraded for us on the news every hour of every day of every week. That we may reduce the tidal surge of wars, crimes, cruelties to humans and to animals, and the orgies of atrocities that sicken the earth.
These are impossible dreams. Still, quixotically, they must be dreamed.
The semester before my mission, I began to realize that I'm a bit of a human dictionary. I can't always define a word, but if I've ever heard a word chances are pretty good that I can spell it. It's not really a conscious thing, though. If I try to think about how a word is spelled, I'll have trouble with it. However, if I just turn off my brain and rattle off a series of letters, chances are very good that it will be correct.
A few weeks ago, I began seeing posters around campus for a BYU Spelling Bee. Having fond memories of elementary school spelling bees, I decided to sign up. In fact, I got really excited about it. All my co-workers and friends knew where I would be that night.
As the night of the Spelling Bee arrived, myself and ten other contestants showed up. After a few rounds spelling words such as "dog" and "kaleidescope", the contestants were narrowed down to two. I and one girl remained. We were very equally matched, sparring back and forth for a number of rounds.
The rules declared that in order be declared champion, the winner had to both win the final round and correctly spell one last championship word. Both of us had reached the championship word a few times, only to misspell by one letter. I was especially disappointed to misspell "ursprache", since I had run across it in my perusals of spelling bee lists just earlier that day. ("Ersprache" is not correct, in case you were wondering.)
Finally, the judges declared the elimination of the championship word in order to finish the spelling bee at a reasonable hour. My opponent, (whose name I would give if I could remember it,) managed to best me the next round, and was thus declared the winner.
This was actually okay, though. The first prize was a factory-sealed game of Scrabble. Second place received a can of alphabet soup. I already have Scrabble. I did not, however, have a single can of alphabet soup. So in the end, things all worked out for the best. Congratulations to whatever-her-name-is that won. You did great.
It must be time to find some new writers.
P.S. To the girl whose name I can't remember: Congratulations. You did great, and it was a lot of fun. I look forward to a rematch next year.
Santa Claus came to town last week. I hope none of you missed him.
I was over at Optimistic.'s apartment a couple weeks ago and started playing on his roommate's very nice electric piano. As a life-long pianist and near-miss Piano Performance major, I like to play the piano just about any chance I get. After playing some great William Joseph music that Optimistic.'s roommate had for a while, I was thoroughly in love with pianos again.
So I did what any self-respecting kid would do. I called up Santa Claus (aka Dad) in a nearby Utah town and asked if I could have the now-unused piano at their place moved down here for the year. I even offered to help pay for the moving. It was an offer that Santa simply couldn't refuse.
So now I have a piano in my apartment. A real, live*, Steinway and Sons upright piano. And I love it. Honestly, I've been bouncing around like a little kid on December 25th at about 6:58 AM. It's great. The first day I had it, Uffish Thought and Novel Concept came over to enjoy. I pulled out my Billy Joel piano book and started playing. Before long, we were all singing along, and Novel Concept was draped along the top of the piano like you'd expect to see in a Jazz bar.
Jingle Bells... Jingle Bells...
*Well, not really live...
Last night Brooklyn, Dimmi, and I went up to Park City to watch The Trials of Darryl Hunt, part of the Sundance Documentary series. Dimmi already wrote a great summary of the experience, so I won't bother reviewing that. Suffice it to say that we had a great time and that it was a very eye-opening experience to racism, unfairness, and prejudice in the US today, both in North Carolina (the locale of the film) and in our own lives. But that's not the point of this post.
On the way up, we were trying to contact someone that could give us exact directions to the Park City Library when Dimmi mentioned that you can send a text to GOOGL (46645) and get driving directions to any destination, along with lots of other information. We ended up getting hold of one of Brooklyn's friends, so we didn't have to use Google, but we were still impressed that it was possible.
After the show, Brooklyn saw a couple of her friends, so we met up with them. We eventually made our way outside and talked for a bit. Brooklyn remembered what Dimmi had showed us about Google and started telling her friends about it. We all ended up talking about the amazing things that Google does for about ten minutes. The producer of the movie walked past us on her way out and probably felt like she'd been a total failure; ten minutes after the show we're not even thinking about it.
Then it hit us. There we were, a group of five college students standing in the cold Park City air at 10:00 PM raving about Google for minutes on end.
What more could they ask for?
Dear Readers,
As recompense for your patience in waiting for an update, I have a marvelous story for you all. Seriously. It's wonderful. It might even make up for the delay.
A couple days before Halloween, I received a phone call from a couple girls in my FHE group last year. Instead of starting off with the usual "Hello, how are you," she sang the following รก la Chicago:
You're the meaning in my lifeI immediately broke out in laughter. There's a whole story behind that inside joke.
You're my intuation...
You're the meaning in my life,Me: Okay...
You're the inspiration.
You bring feeling to my life,
You're the inspiration.
You're the meaning in my life,Me: Intuation???
You're my intuation...
You're the meaning in my life,Me: You're my dispensation???
You're my intuation.
You're the meaning in my life,
You're my dispensation.
Occasionally on the Board we receive questions that basically come down to this one question: "How can I turn down a date without crushing his heart?" It's never a fun question to answer because the whole time I'm just imagining myself in the place of this poor, love-stricken guy. I don't like participating in his pain.
Ladies, I have the solution. I discovered this in a very recent (read: 5 minutes ago) experience. I happened to have an extra ticket for the Divine Comedy show tomorrow. I've been looking for a date. A couple weeks ago I took a girl to dinner and we had a pretty good time, so I just barely called her up. I explained that I had an extra ticket to the show and asked if she'd like to go.
Before I even finished the question, she cut in with "Actually, I've been wanting to set you up with my roommate for a while. Would you want to go with her?"
Wow. Incredible. It even took me a second to realize that I was pretty much being summarily and irrevocably rejected. Well done. Of course, now I have a blind date for tomorrow night. Hmm. I hope she's fun.
So I was over at Johanna Von Bigenstrien's place the other night playing games with a few of the neighbors. First we played Taboo. For those who haven't experienced it, Taboo is a game in which you have to get your team to guess a certain word by describing it. You are not allowed to use certain related words, and gestures are likewise forbidden. As there is also a time limit, the describer sometimes gets rather flustered, which results in hilarity. Everyone had all sorts of fun.
As the night progressed, a few of the neighbors had to leave. The group slowly shrank until just Johanna, A Charitable Ditz, Quandary, and myself were left. Realizing that we were all of the Board persuasion, we began entertaining ourselves as only Board Writers can. From holding hands to holding feet, from teaching Johanna about Rubik's Cubes to playing Little-Mermaid-splashes-on-the-big-rock with a finger puppet to knocking on hips, all craziness broke loose. At one point I mentioned that I was hoping to get a date for an upcoming event. This, of course, led to a discussion of those we know who are setting dates. (See posts from from August for more on that.) Then the following conversation ensued:
Yellow: Maybe I should just set a date.
Charitable Ditz: Maybe you should! Just, like, pick an arbitrary date!
Yellow: Okay. How's April 3, 2009? Charitable Ditz, will you marry me on April 3, 2009?
Charitable Ditz: Okay! Sure!
So there it is. I'm engaged. She later told me that my proposal was very romantic. And if April 3 falls through, we have contingency plans for Pi Day. That's 3/14/15, 9:26:53, nearest temple to 58° S 97° W. (That's Perth Australia. The Regina Saskatchewan and Edmonton Alberta temples in Canada were slightly closer to 58° N 97° E, but Australia's just so much more exotic.) At the wedding reception we'll have pie laid out in non-repeating sequences in place of cake, and since Pi day is of course non-repeating, every 22 of July (that would be 22/7, the smallest fraction close to pi,) we'll celebrate our pinniversary.
See guys? It's not so hard!
As the astute reader might note, this entry is all about things that make me happy. Learning to take pleasure in the simple joys of life is probably one of the most important things I've learned to do in my life.
However, before I get to that, I'd just like to mention a something that doesn't make me happy.
Earlier tonight, we Board Writers set into motion our secret plans to take over the world one apartment at a time. With an effective blitzkrieg, we completely overran all local defenses and established a beachhead from which to continue our forward march.
Okay, that wasn't actually true. But we did have a lot of fun tonight. Through a series of events, a certain writer had committed to deliver brownies to a reader's apartment, a reader whom she had never met in person.
Not given to doing things in a small way, this writer invited 10 other writers and a few friends to come along. We all crowded around the front door of the apartment and knocked on the door, muffling our giggles so as to not alert the tenants. They opened the door, (quite shocked to see 13 people standing outside the door at 11 PM), the writer in question introduced herself, and the collective Board invaded the apartment. We laughed about the wonder that is the Board and various Writers for about 30 minutes and then left. Mission accomplished. We did leave them brownies, though.
Watch out; your apartment could be next.
The other night my friend Lanora and I went over to Lavish's place to watch "Remember the Titans" with a group. I really think it's one of the best sports-centered movies ever made. It's exciting, touching, meaningful, funny, insightful, and powerful all at the same time without feeling forced. The experience, of course, was only made better by Lavish's excellent hosting skills.
Afterward, we pulled out Scattergories and began playing. Since there were 11 in attendance at that point, we played in teams of two. (Quandary played on his own.) You know how things get funnier in proportion to how tired you are? Well, Duchess and dimmi demonstrated this principle to great effect. Lanora and I spent most of the night laughing at their incessant giggles every time their turn to share came around.
For those who don't know, Scattergories is a game in which you are given a list of categories, an alphabet-die is rolled, and everyone competes to produce unique words matching each category beginning with the rolled letter. Hilarity ensues.
Excuses for being late: Hit by a car, Halitosis, and Hellfire (I'm sorry, teacher. I ran into some hellfire on the way to class.)
Round: Jewels and Jay Leno. (Poor guy. How would you like to get the first thing we think of when we hear "round"?)
Bodies of water: Jordanelle Reservoir, Jacuzzis. (Jacuzzis... they've got bodies and water!)
Bad Habits: Kicking cats and Killing your sister (Response by dimmi: "How many sisters do you have to kill to make it a habit?")
Weapons: Jackhammers. (NEVER get dimmi mad at you.)
Near the end of Winter Semester 2006 I met a very fun girl. We'll call her M because that's not her name. We dated for a while before the summer, but we're not together at the moment. Things have been a little tense between us, but I think they're getting better.
The other day I got off work and dropped by her work. She works in a fairly public place, so there was a line waiting for her attention. I was just going to stop by quickly and say hi, since she was busy. However, as I was walking by the front of the line, I heard someone calling my name. I turned to look and saw a Sister from my mission waiting in line, so I stopped to talk to her for a second. We'll call her B because that's not her real name either.
Keep in mind that I'm standing about 5 feet away from M at the moment. After the usual chit-chat, she asked:
B: "So, are you..." [leans over a little to look at my left hand]
Yellow: [laughs] "No, I'm not married yet."
B: "Oh. Are you dating anyone? What about that girl you were dating last year?" (Referring to M.)
Yellow: [laughs again, quite hard] "No, I'm not dating anyone at the moment either."
B, of course, had no idea why I was laughing so hard. She had no idea that M was standing within perfect hearing distance of the entire conversation, nor that this was the first time I had actually seen M in a number of months, so I was quite nervous about it. She just saw that I found a question about my current relationship status much more humorous than it deserved.
Oh, the irony of it all.
Over Labor Day weekend, my family went camping in the mountains of Central Utah. Every year, we go with a few neighbors to spend the weekend in the mountains, relax, and enjoy each other's company. The group grows every year as the young married couples bring new children, "significant others" are invited, and new families are invited. We had a great time.
Since we had a member of our Stake Presidency there, we were able to hold our own Sunday meetings up in the mountains. I was asked to give a brief talk, so about an hour before the meetings started, I wandered away from the rest of the camp to ponder what I should share.
We had a number of horses up at the camp, and I found myself near the horses. A few of the youngest children (ages 2-4) were nearby, trying to throw a frisbee to each other. As I was watching them, the cutest little two-year-old girl looked up at me and asked,
"Are you my friend?"
I just couldn't help smiling. I told her that Yes, I was her friend. For the rest of the weekend, she would run up to me and say "Friend, come play with us!" or "Friend, hold this."
It was the cutest thing ever.
Two stories.
Story #1: Before my mission, I worked in a BYU cafeteria. Once I got out of the dishroom, I was mostly responsible for restocking drinks and cleaning up spills. Certainly not the most glamorous of jobs, but my co-worked and I got along really well, so the time went pretty quick. He taught me the ropes of the job, and we quickly got a routine down so that most of our time was spent just standing around and talking. We laughed about all the funny things people wore, who sat with whom, and occasionally snuck drinks out of the almost-empty Chocolate milk bags. Mmmmm.
Story #2: I checked into my apartment today to drop off a few things before I move in for good. As I was picking up my key, one of my roommates was there. He said "Oh, you're [insert Yellow's name here]. You know our other roommate [insert roommate's name here] then." I wasn't aware of knowing any such roommate, so I was quite surprised. I got into my apartment, but nobody was there, so I didn't get to find out.
The point of all this: I did some further investigation. They're the same person. Walt Disney was right.
It's a Small World After All
