My Last Will and Testament

Blogging is good. Blogging is great. Blogging is like the easy-bake cookies I'm glad that I ate. (Yes, we really do have roommate baking nights with easy-bake ovens. We know, we're pretty cool.)

Roommate Cook-Off... Easy-Bake Style

Really though, blogging actually is a good thing. It's a great way to throw ideas out there, relive interesting stories, and have a small say in the world. There's always those really obnoxious ladies (you know the Zumba-crazy-mom types) that have blogs where they discuss things that are super obnoxious-- like really obnoxious-- but when blogs are done right, they are great.

Having the experience to blog has been good for me. I always love telling stories, so that part of having a blog was completely in my comfort zone. The harder part definitely for me was discussing gospel topics. I love the gospel of course and I love talking about it with others, but by others I pretty much mean other members. I get STRESSED about sharing the gospel super openly with other people. Don't get me wrong, I'm good with talking about the gospel if I know someone is interested, but I have a hard time putting myself out there completely. (Obviously something I will have to work on.)

So thank goodness for some assignments that made me put myself out there! Blogging can be hard, but it's a good thing and a definite way to share the gospel and share personal stories. Yay for blogging!

My Life as a Vagabond: By Mickelle Stevens

Last night for FHE my ward rode the train up to Salt Lake to see the lights at temple square. My first time riding the Front Runner, I was pretty psyched. The train ride was so cool!.. for the first five minutes until we realized how slow it goes. And then it was just kinda cool.

We got to the temple and were told to meet back at 8:45 to catch the Trax back to the station. (Quick side-note: my uncle is the first counselor in the Bishopric of our student ward and he was the one who told us to meet at 8:45) The temple was great, as usual. I walked around with my sister and her roommate. Good times were had by all. Around 8:40 we came back to the meeting place only to find that nobody --- NOBODY --- was there. We soon found out we were too late and that we needed to run to the Trax. Soooo we ran. We got to the Trax right as they were pulling out at which point my sister's roommate ran across the tracks right in front of the train (not sure what she was thinking that would accomplish).

We started waiting for the next one but then decided we needed to use the bathroom. We searched forever for a bathroom. We found one, but we looked for so long that we missed the next trolley. So we waited for the next one. We got on and then realized we didn't know where to get off. We asked around and then found out we were on the wrong trolley so we got off and started waiting for another one. We waited and waited and found out the original trolley would have taken us to the right place as well.

We waited some more and then we finally caught the right one and made it to the train station. At the train station we had half an hour to wait for the next train to Provo. Basically, we got home two hours later than we were supposed to and I was about ready to just jump on the nearest train and ride away wherever it took me.

In essence, never travel with a Stevens because bad things will happen. But on the bright side, we made a lot of new friends. We met Bagpipe Bob, Homeless Michael, Creeped-out Don, Twin Josh and Twin Ben, Australian Jonathon, Layton (not from Layton), and Catch-Phrase Hillary.

From Brace Face to Mariachi

Playing the trumpet has been a long and at times frustrating process. I began as a fifth grader, just like anybody else. The difference is that I began playing trumpet in a band of about seven. There were six clarinets and me-- one fearless trumpet. Coming from the oldest still running elementary school in Montana, there were very few in my classes all throughout my years at the small country school. Band was not a big part of the learning experience in the same way other things were. Because of problems with music staff and the recent acquiring of braces (braces and trumpets blend in a painful way that should not be experienced), I went on to high school hardly being able to play ten notes on my good old trumpet.

I still had two years of braces to struggle through but my music teacher in high school was a different story to what I was used to. A little crazed at times, Mr. Ruff began pushing me harder than I had been pushed in a long time. He was the type that would throw markers across the room to get somebody's attention, and often he would threaten me with breaking my pinky finger if I did not play louder (he was kidding of course.. I think).

Festival came around and I got put into a small ensemble with the two other worst trumpets in the band. These two weren't bad from lack of talent or having braces, but because they were the biggest screw balls on earth. I lasted a day before I begged Mr. Ruff for a solo in the festival over a trio with those two.

Weeks later I found myself in front of a big group of friends and family and a judge-- all waiting to hear my lovely brace-mouth try to string a few notes together. To my surprise, my judge liked my work. He told me I showed talent and should be taking private lessons to reach my true potential... in hindsight, Mr. Ruff probably bribed him in order to get me to take it more seriously. Nevertheless I did start practicing more. I began taking lessons from Mr. Ruff once a week. Within a year I was first trumpet in Pep Band, Symphonic Band, and Jazz Band. I BEGAN TO LOVE THE TRUMPET. And Mr. Ruff quickly became my favorite teacher. Thank goodness for a little persistence!

When I go home for summers I play in a community band with Mr. Ruff now and while I'm at school during winter semesters I play in the university band. Trumpet is arguably the best ever.

"Just Another One of the Trumpet Chicks"

Peruvian Mishaps

A little over a year ago my familia went to Peru to pick up my now very Peruvian sister from her mission. We told her we would be coming down a couple days later than we actually did because we decided to surprise her at her ward's church down there on Father's Day. Surprising her and picking her up was so wonderful, but there were so many other experiences besides just that.

The trip was amazing. Hands down. The little touches of "typical family vacation" made it memorable....

My family all knows Spanish super well... except for me. Okay, well I know it, but I don't speak it well. At all. The first step into the international airport wing was culture shock. On the outside I was all smooth as butter, but on the inside I'm thinking, "AUUUUGggggghhh! Where are all these foreigners coming from!!!! (when in fact I
was the foreigner)" I had to carry the carry on bag with the food in it including an opened package of jerky. I walked along as calmly as I could while silently freaking out because of all the scary looking Peruvian airplane guards. As I walked I began to notice something following me from the corner of my eye. One of the guard dogs smelled my jerky and was following me around the airport, a guard following along with the leash. This is the point when I started freaking out... more. The guard was pretty suspicious and I had to pretty much empty my entire bag in front of him. My family who had not noticed walked on without me, leaving me to be lost in a Peruvian airport where I couldn't speak a word. Moral of the story.. never eat jerky.

In one of the towns we visited I got my first chance to see the ocean. Over-excited, I ran down to the shore to collect shells by the water. Not paying attention, I got quite a shock when a giant wave came up and smacked me, soaking any and every place imaginable. I got to walk in sopping wet clothes for the rest of the night while we visited my sister's old converts. Contrary to perhaps popular belief, Peru does have a winter, and its winter is CHILLY! But I wasn't the only uncomfortable one. While walking along, my padre got smacked with some bird poop right on his shoulder. He didn't notice it until my mom felt it.

The shells I had collected I put in the carry on bag I had been put in charge of. Little did I know that shells from the ocean are extremely stinky and do not do well in enclosed places, especially with food. My sister got quite the surprise when she bit into a granola bar that had been in the smelly fishy bag. Apparently fish granola bars aren't as delectable. Weirdly... she still ate it.

Of course I could go on and on about story after story on this Peruvian escapade, but that would take days. There's nothing like being the dork in a new country, and there's no greater experience.

All Full of Hot Air

When I am at home I have the interesting experience of working for a hot air balloon company. There are a lot of things that make this job interesting. First off, of course is the fact that it deals with hot air balloons. Big, beautiful balloons, floating through the air, all controlled by little pulleys and ropes and fueled by the hot, hot propane burners (I always like watching the spiders that crawl into the balloon scuttle away and then curl from the heat... even though that's super morbid.) Second, I'm generally the only girl ever working on the crew. Third, my two bosses are a little on the crazy side. I guess you would have to be to live off the kind of work they do (high stress and not a steady earner).

Work at this job means early mornings (waking up around 3:30-4:00 depending on sunrise and travel time to launch site) and lots of lifting, running, rolling under barbed wire fences, and being wind-born on a regular basis while attempting to yank the balloon into the right direction. Weather is of utmost importance and as the winds change and become warm with day, funnel currents called thermals pretty much mean the balloon could potentially crash and burn and die if the balloon is not brought down immediately (which would mean no paycheck and lots of screaming from the crazy bosses...). Other hazards with weather come when the wind blows the balloon in the wrong direction.

 One morning the winds changed while the balloon was in the air, making the balloon go toward the mountains (mountains = BAD). My boss started screaming over the intercom for us to come get him. For some reason I was the only one on the crew that wasn't a newbie that day... and the two big guys got stuck in the chase back in a different field. I ended up in the driver's seat with my boss screaming for me to "GUN IT!!!!" So... I did. We went bouncing along at full speed through hay fields, chasing toward the mountainside. We jerked to a stop and I began running to the balloon, dropping under barbed fences and rolling through dust. My other boss(the one piloting the balloon) threw down the leash to the balloon and I was supposed to try to stop the balloon, single-handedly, from going into the trees and mountainside. Needless to say, I went flying... and pretty much thought I was going to die right there, dangling from a hot air balloon.

And that's pretty much the ballooning experience in a nutshell. I also work for a chocolate factory back home and BYU Campus Floral here at school. But those don't entail the same kind of adventures... maybe that's a good thing?

Embarrassing Moments as Seen at BYU

BYU is a vast world of different backgrounds all mashed into one little bubble of people that generally think and act in about the same way.  People watching may not be the same experience it is in the hippie town of back home Missoula, Montana, but it nevertheless holds no disappointment.

In the midst of many interesting happenings, the most life changing to watch are the embarrassing ones, hands down. And well, let's just say I would be an impeccably good paparazzi. Just to give a taste of my abilities, I'll list a few gems:

• One morning walking to class I looked up in front of me to see a student dry heaving/puking right in the middle of my path. I walk by quickly only to realize it was somebody I knew... so naturally I walked more quickly. Not even three seconds later I glanced up again to watch(I'm not even kidding you I watched the entire tragedy) another boy walking in front of me wet his pants. Once the realization hit him, I watched as he ran full speed to the nearest bathroom.  

• Sitting in my math class, being my regular "extremely studious" self, the kid sitting by me started cursing under his breath and gasping and holding his nose. Thinking this was regular calculus behavior I ignored him until the grunting noises became impossible to ignore. He promptly became desperate and ran out of the room, his bloody nose dripping EVERYWHERE. PROBABLY ALL OVER MY BACKPACK... (still getting over this)

• The other night I was walking to the sculpture lab to work on one of my sculptures outside of class. I walked in to find a "figure sculpting" class going on. By "figure sculpting" I mean the type of class where a model stands in front of the class very scantily clad... Well anyway, I walk in only to get an eye-full and then awkwardly make eye contact with the male model who I suddenly realize I know!!!!! On the bright side, he was definitely the more embarrassed out of the both of us.

There's nothing but excitement here at BYU and there's nothing like getting the COMPLETE experience. 

Photoshopping Child Prodigy

You’d think being in a major like Electrical Engineering and having been through Computer Science courses (notice the plural use there) that I would be some technological genius, right? Wrong!

Let me tell you about the computer science classes I took. They were the most stressful things of my life. And with some of the most interesting people I will probably ever meet. I was one of the only girls in a sea of overly excited computer geeks. I’m not kidding, there’s a lot of excitement down in those labs. I would spend about fifteen hours a week down with the programmers. And it was oh so fun. As it turns out, it is a little harder than you would think to learn a coding language and write a computer program weekly without a single error using that coding language you do not really know.

From my numerous computer lab bonding time, I have discovered my secret skill.  I figured out that what I lacked in coding super-geniousness, I pretty much rock at in photoshopping. I took up the skill this summer and figure I probably have a really great career in it someday. I’d say I have some pretty good prospects, even if the whole coding thing doesn’t work out. Not gonna lie, I’m pretty much a Microsoft Paint whiz kid, but I don’t want to brag or anything…

Pictured Above: "How I Spent my Summer"

Pictured Above: "Viking Triple Date"

Chickens are Synonymous with the Word "Jerk"

Coming home this weekend I have had the opportunity to take care of the neighbor's chickens again like I used to all over the summer. Chickens are the root of all evil. EVIIIIIIL.

I'm not even kidding. The first time I started taking care of them months ago, I thought they were these silly little birds. A butterfly would float by and the chickens would all immediately run after it all in single file. I would think to myself, "Ah, look at the cute little chickens, they're so adorable!" WRONGGGGG! Those stinking little things are JERKS!

Turns out those first few days of taking care of them was the honeymoon. They soon decided they hated me and I got to endure their torture for the rest of the summer. Those little jerks peck and glare like nobody's business!

Now that I have had the chance to take care of them again this winter I have seen another side of them. Those stinking little things aren't as rude when they're cold. Now they stay in a corner and fluff their feathers to stay warm. They don't even cluck at me anymore! In conclusion, a cold chicken makes for a happier mickelle.

P.S. That brown chicken right there is always the leader in the little ring of jerk-ness.

Dancing Bachata in the Kitchen

The trek and time spent back home this weekend has been disappointing in no way whatsoever. Again I found myself in the backseat of the car, this time with Whitney in the back with me, Lindsey in the driver's seat, and Lindsey's boyfriend in the front seat (this is the first time Lindsey's boyfriend has experienced the family vacation experience).

The trip itself was surprisingly quite uneventful, except for a few bad roads and some slippery, sloppy snow. Ten hours and we came flying out of the car doors to the fresh, familiar scent of pine and crisp mountain air. Never was a girl more happy! Haha well anyway, there are a few notable experiences at home that I feel should be documented.

1. Whitney has a HUGE obsession with Latin dancing. Huge. She especially loves a dance called Bachata. She dances Bachata all the time, morning or night, no matter the music. The other afternoon I walked into the kitchen to find Whitney Bachata-ing with my daddio. That would only be the start...

2. My grandpa came up for the holiday as well, which means I have been on an air mattress with impeccable skills for losing air right next to the french doors in my parents' bedroom. Every night has been the world's stormiest/windiest night on all earth. Last night I woke up to a strange pounding outside the window (aka right next to my head). I realized the porch swing had been blown across the deck and was now wacking into the side of the house with every gust of wind. I began wondering if I would make it through the night or whether the swing would at some point crash through the window onto my head crushing and impaling me. Nothing like a deathbed repentance.

Home life has been the usual oh-so-wonderfulness and I cannot wait to come back!

Reflections on Turkeys Past

The year was 1893, the Stevens' newly settled homestead covered with a fresh blanket of snow, a puff of chimney smoke bubbling out of the chimney...

Oh wait just kidding, this story takes place like three years ago when we were all over at my grandparent's house. It was Thanksgiving week and my grandmother had just passed away. But that is a whole different story, and is better meant for a different day. The point is, all of my aunts uncles, cousins, grandpa, and immediate family had decided to have Thanksgiving dinner all together.

After hours of cooking over a hot stove, family member crowded against family member in the small crowded kitchen, we all set the table and sat down to get ready to eat. Whitney[my sister] and I were up and about, still collecting knives and forks for everyone sitting, when we were told to hurry and stand by the table for a prayer. After the prayer all the drinks were poured and then....

KABAMMMMMMMM!!!! The table collapsed all over everyone's legs and grape juice was spilling... Everywhere. At this point Whitney and I had to leave the room of all our poor struggling relatives because we were laughing so hard. Luckily, there were no lasting casualties and we will now forever remember that Thanksgiving as the Thanksgiving we all became very thankful for paper towels.

If You Can’t Stand the Heat, Get Out of the Backseat

     I am fifteen.  My eyes open as Mom walks into my room.  The sun is still making the voyage through my window, telling me it’s early. It’s much too early. Mom tells me it’s time to get ready for our vacation to Wyoming.  “Vacation. Hah!” I think as I roll over and shut my eyes for another hour and a half.  I wake up at last and pack a few socks and a tooth brush.  Water bottles filled, car packed, bathroom used, I now wait and wait and wait.  I clean my room, watch reruns of I Love Lucy, go out for a walk around the yard, pet my cat, get some lunch, and just sit down to play a few tunes on my trumpet when the sounds of Dad’s footsteps come up the stairs.  He wasn’t supposed to have to work today, but he always does.  The light is always on in his office, electrical drawings rustling.  Mom’s antsy and I’m agitated.  He announces he is done with work for the day.  Thirty minutes later, I’m in the backseat and the wheels crunch on the gravel as the sun falls further toward the Rocky Mountains.  I ask Dad how long of a drive he figures we have.  He sighs and responds, “five hours or so.” 

     The trip wears on and on.  Hours pass--more than five. It’s the middle of the night and still the car moves on.  The shadows sink in deep until all that is left is a blanket of shadow and still the night gets darker.  I lose track of time as I slip in and out of consciousness until the car comes to a slow stop.  I sit up and look around.  We’re at Walmart.  We’re one of those families that camps out in the parking lot of Walmart because they don’t want to pay for a hotel.  How embarrassing! But we only stay for one hour until Dad sighs and clicks the key in the ignition.

     We keep driving as the sun slowly wakes up, melting away the night sky.  We drive and drive. I know not to bring up that it’s been over ten hours of driving.  We keep driving.  Just when I give into the impending doom that I will never be leaving this backseat, we pull off on a dirt road in the middle of a dirt patch.  Looking out the window, a campground comes nearer and we stop.  The second we stop, great aunts, second cousins, and a million family members I don’t know run up to the car all wearing pioneer clothing and pulling hand carts. “Well look who finally showed up!” shouts an exasperated Grandpa from across the parking lot.  He walks toward us saying, “You look like the walking dead!”  We grimace in response.  We are about to go on a pioneer trek in hot Wyoming summer after one hour of sleep.  Kids are running in circles around the handcarts, their bonnets and straw hats hanging from their necks by the strings, while their parents hustle them onto the trail.  We have five minutes to prepare ourselves for the further ensuing torture. 

     Miraculously, the trek hike does not produce any casualties, but the hard times are far from being over. There is no running water in this campground.  There is one outhouse. It gets tundra cold at night and stifling hot during the day.  One night there is a storm. Hail, thunder, rain, and wind pound down and rock the trailer back and forth, adding to the dark circles under our eyes and the yawns in our throats. Whitney is sick.  She is so sick she has to stay in the trailer all day.  She feels sick, and I am sick of this vacation.  There is nothing here but the wind and the swaying grasses.  Even the wild animals are bored.  I wonder when this vacation will be over.

     I am seventeen.  Back I find myself in the family car.  Good old car, I must spend about a third of my life riding in this backseat, always on the passenger side.  Another late start for us today.  I have heard people refer to tardiness now as “pulling-a-Stevens.”  But there is nothing much to do about it, and getting upset doesn’t make for changing anything.  Into more mountain passes and long winding roads we go before opening onto wide, empty fields filled only with wind turbines.  The usual darkness fills the backseat and I sit, headphones in, a glazed expression over my eyes.  The wheels come to a stop and minutes later we crash into the hotel bedroom, forcing ourselves to brush our teeth and take off our shoes before face-planting onto our pillows. 

    My eyes barely shut when the alarm beep, beep, beeps its way into my dreams.  Now we are here, we relax.  Relaxing means we run around all day, driving from Latino store to Latino store looking for pan dulce.  We buy bags and bags of the sweet bread.  We are such an oddity that when we come, all the workers come up front to watch the silly gringos.  Mom and Dad have a small obsession for the Mexican bakeries and using their Spanish on the people.  Somehow we always find ourselves in the Latin communities in other states.  There are no Mexican shops in Montana.  After we spend the morning sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of Latinos, we drive from family member to family member.  We see Auntie and Uncle, Suzie and JimmyBob, Fido, Freckles, Daisy, Todo: everyone and their dog and their dog’s best friend.  There is no rest, there is no funny business. Enjoying a vacation is for the weak. 

     I am nineteen. I’m sitting in my apartment, crouching over calculus formulas, hand scribbling and erasing back and forth in the golden light of my lamp.  The clock ticks 8:00 and night falls faster and faster. I jump at the buzz of my phone.  Whitney’s out of her test and ready to go.  I grab my bags and run out the door, shoes pounding down the cement steps.  Whitney apologizes for how late it is, but that’s quickly shrugged off as we jump into the car and speed away.  We drive for hours, talking, laughing, and singing to the radio until it is deep into the morning. 

     The car eventually becomes quiet in thought, the beat of the music rushing into our heads and leaking out of our tapping fingers.  The darkness outside is plain and sleepy.  Something huge and furry creeps into our path.  It’s so big I think it must be a baby deer, until I smell the awful stench and register the fur is black and white. A sickening crunch, and I know the car will never smell the same again.  A moment of shocked silence and wide eyes, and then the laughter starts.  Shaking and gasping for breath (skunk breath that is), the silence is shattered and that’s the way we like it best.

     We stop to get gas at an abandoned gas station in a little podunk town in the middle of nowhere.  We get the gas and jump back into the car, eager to get the heat on high and the wheels back on the highway.  But we don’t get back on the highway.  The road curves up an abandoned hill and becomes creepy.  This winding road is not the “cute Charlie Brown Halloween” kind of creepy; it’s the “Frankenstein’s monster is going to come out of his hiding place and jump on your car and attack you and nobody will hear because you are in the middle of nowhere” kind of creepy.  Whitney looks over at me out of the corner of her eye and we are both thinking the same thing.  At the same split second, the skunky air inside of the car is filled with a sudden piercing, “Aaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!” as our voices blend into one.  The screaming doesn’t stop until we are back on the highway. 

     We’re both tired and ready to collapse but the smiles don’t leave our faces and every word is jumpy and giggly.  With every misfortune everything is more and more hilarious.  We fall into bed for a couple hours at a friend’s house en transit, but we’re up again with the first crack of daylight. When the sun begins its journey again, we begin ours.  We drive quickly and soon pull into wonderful Montana.  We run to Mom and Dad and Lindsey at the hotel and hugs go all around.  Here the real fun will begin.  We are the crazy Stevens, all ready for mayhem again.  

When Bathrooms Begin Smoking

     This weekend I went to a late showing at a movie theater in the Provo mall on a date. The movie was witty, silly, and just to the important life changing part, when sirens began squealing, lights blinking, and an automated voice saying, "Please exit the theater calmly."  There was a long awkward moment when everyone looked at each other, wondering if it was a joke, or maybe even part of the 3-D experience. Well.... turns out it wasn't a drill.
     We left the theater and went down through a tunnel leading to the underground parking lot and out into fresh air. The smell of smoke drifted through the air and ironically, that just brought everyone back up the hill into the main part of the theater again (I don't know why the doors weren't blocked from people going back in) to see what was going on.  The manager came out and we heard him say there was a fire in the bathrooms and a smell of gas.  He shooed us all out back down the hill again.  Down we went, until we saw the fire trucks coming, and then up the hill we went.... again.  The hill was super slick and steep so there were a lot of falls going up and down, but college students are apparently like cats and can't control their curiosity.
     In essence, it's a good thing it was not a bomb because we probably would have all died from our lack of being smart when we smelled smoke and getting far away. But we got some sick pictures with the firetrucks! And in the commotion, we got to keep the 3-D glasses-- what a steal!

I'm Bleedin' Blue at BYU

Oh BYU.  It is oh-so-wonderful. And getting better all the time. Life at this university definitely took an upswing my second semester when my sister decided to join me here in cougar territory. My first semester here I was homesick, wished I was still a kid, and was anxiously counting down the days until I could go back home. What a weirdo I was! I heard my sista wanted to transfer to BYU and at first I was not thrilled... We hadn't exactly gotten along as kids and I didn't know how I felt about losing my originality in the family from choosing to attend BYU. But what was I gonna do?
She came... and it was the best thing ever!!!! We are best friends. I guess it just takes a little growing up to realize what happiness really is. I stopped counting down the days and now I don't want them to end. Every week is the new best week, every day the new best day. My sister and I do everything together, and rarely are we seen without the other.  We are neighbors now, and we are crazy, and we love it. And we love BYU. I couldn't be more glad/thankful that my sister got the prompting to come down and join me in school.
Sometimes the things we are most apprehensive about turn out to be the greatest things for us. We help each other through the tough things, celebrate the good things, and we keep laughing all the way. Because of my sister, I learned how to love life in the moment, and the moment for me right now is college. Yay BYU!

The Vast Dangers of Provo, UT

The other day, I got quite the surprise running in the neighborhoods by Provo Canyon. After looking down at my music, I looked up in front of me to see a giant animal feet in front of me.  At first I was extremely confused, thinking maybe it was a giant dog or something. Once the confusion subsided, I realized it was a giant RAM, curly horns and all. Looking around, I noticed off in the distance a group of neighbors taking pictures on the other side of the ram.  I tried to inch to the other side of the road toward the other onlookers when the ram looked at me and began grunting and trotting toward me... and the people on the other side of the road weren't doing anything but taking pictures of my nearing immediate death...

Never having come into contact with a ram before, I assumed if I were to run away, it would probably become like a dog and start chasing me, in which case I would surely die. So... I began quickly but totally calmly scurrying back to where I was before. Luckily, the killing machine decided I did not look so tasty after all, and i am here to tell the tale. Provo, what you lack in black bears, you apparently have in rams. Touche.

Reminiscence of the Good Old Days

The first time I drove a car on the Freeway was on a trip down to see my grandparents. The day was growing gray and the freeway began turning through hilly Montana mountain passes. The season being dry and hot, meant there were also orange construction workers out finishing up for the day. Dad was in the passenger seat and Mom in the back, leaving me, tense and awkward, with my hands on the wheel. As night got closer, Mom and Dad began giving more advice. Dad gave advice in a matter-of-fact manner, and Mom in a nervous, untrusting way. "Turn your lights on." "Slow down." "Go into the other lane." Get around that car." "Watch for deer." Flustered, I began up a hill, and out of nowhere orange cones appeared on the middle line with no sign telling me where to go. I picked the right side, only to have Mom start worriedly gasping I was in the wrong lane. This of course, made me stress, but instead of slowing down and calmly going to the other lane, I began weaving in and out of cones while going 70 mph up a dark hill. Mom and Dad were silent now, probably reliving every moment of their lives one last time. Eventually, after a few more swerves between cones, I managed to get and stay in the left lane and after a few minutes of heavy breathing, Mom said "I think you have a career in NASCAR...." That was the last of my driving for that trip.

In Which I Become a Researching Fool

Researching was oh-so-fun.  I decided to research on the art of ventriloquism because I've always wanted to learn how to do the practice.  With the prospect of an upcoming research paper, I decided I might as well do it on something I could use in the future... because I will obviously be using ventriloquism in my life probably on a daily basis... Anywho, I had a spectacular topic, and plenty of research articles to go off of.  In fact, probably too much research for the amount of time the typical college student with a job has.

What research I had a chance to look for was great--- super interesting, and with all the research I could probably be a ventriloquism guru now. If only I could have done the research justice.  Anyway, since I didn't have about thirty hours to devote to learning the art, my paper really wasn't as in depth as I would have liked it, but I felt like I got the general idea of the topic in any case.

The other big part about the research paper that could have been a little better... was that I didn't personally really support my thesis. I just needed something to go off of so I decided to argue that ventriloquism wasn't actually talent but trickery from technology.  WRONG! It's totally an art! But alas, I had to have something somewhat logical sounding so the entire time I was writing to the paper I felt like a I was betraying the fine art I will someday learn. Whatever.

Other than not having enough time to do the research justice and not agreeing with my thesis... I felt the paper went marginally well. That is the actual paper--- not the writing process of it. And by writing process I mean sitting out in the half-lit living room of my apartment until the wee hours of the morning.. Well maybe not so wee, but I did manage to get to bed before my roommates got up for the day. So, in essence, I need to work on not procrastinating in the future. But that's life, and it's done! C'est la guerre, Napoleon.

October 2014 General Conference-o-rama

I LOVE general conference weekend. What could be better than sitting around in your pjs, eatin' some cereal, and listening to some of the best advice out there. Of course all the talks are thought provoking, but there was one in particular I really liked.

Dallin H. Oaks generally speaks with a very didactic, logos technique that generally speaking, goes right over my head. Maybe I was a little more alert this time.. or maybe his rhetorical approach was a little different, but I had no trouble relating to his talk, and I loved his subject: Love Thy Neighbor. Throughout his talk, he uses mainly ethos and logos to persuade.

He used an ethical appeal right from the beginning when he told us that to love thy neighbor, was something that Jesus Himself had commanded.  Elder Oaks talked about how Christ loved those around Him, even when he was so horribly treated by them.  Christ was the perfect example. He further uses ethos when he includes himself in as part of the audience.

Elder Oaks then used logos when he went on to talk about how this is perhaps one of the hardest things-- to love others, especially when they are our enemies. He related Christ's example with how we live today. Elder Oaks talked about the importance of being friends to those of different faith, background, etc.  He also talked about the difference between disagreeing and being disagreeable.

I loved Elder Oaks talk. I felt like it was a wonderful reminder that we need to be kind to all those around us, no matter the situation. It's so important to realize that in life we deal with others in everything we do everyday and it is so crucial to treat others the way we would want to be treated.

Ventriloquism (Thesis Creating)

I read a book about a family of ventriloquists a few years ago and with that, a new dream was born. I want to learn ventriloquism! How cool to just be able to throw your voice around and trip people up. But because I have only read the one book(fiction) on ventriloquism, there's a whole lot of research that needs to be done before I can be a ventriloquist whiz...

First of all, what is the history of ventriloquism? How does it work? Is it even really possible to do? If it is possible, is the voice the only tool needed? Once mastered, how would I be able to use it? How common is it for somebody to be a ventriloquist? How has the art of ventriloquism changed with the new innovations of technology(so much use of microphones now, etc.)?


Suggestion 1, by Ammon Boone
Can some people learn it and others can't? What is the difference? Do you fit one or the other?

Suggestion by Kyle Nielsen
How do you learn how to do it?  Are there schools that you can go to?  Is it something you learn from somebody who already knows how to do it?

Suggestion by Emily Woffinden
What are some of the reasons people put forth the effort to learn ventriloquism?  My favorite question you have come up with is "what is the history of ventriloquism?" That should be very interesting!




Thesis: Ventriloquism is not really an act of throwing the voice, but rather a trick of confusing the mind through visual effects both through distractions and through technologies.

A Reflection on Writing

Writer's block, woolly sock, wooden clock, big rock, Woodstock, writer's block. We all just loooove writing papers. Okay, well actually I do like writing papers. They give your mind a chance to throw-up all that info just building up, steaming, ready to gurgle out your ears. Not to mention, it's a break from the math; a chance for the mind to have a little creativity.

But the writing process... that's something to think about. Again, call me a weirdo, but I like it. I don't like all of it, but generally speaking, I actually do like it. For the last paper I wrote for instance, I was able to choose a topic of my choice. So naturally... I chose Frankenstein. What a story: suspense and something to think about(Frankenstein's monster was actually only a monster because everyone made him out to be that way; he really just wanted a friend).  I analyzed the part where the monster is pleading with his creator to make him a friend. Well the point is, I got to chose something fun to write about, so it made it a lot easier to write.

Usually the way I write something, which I find fairly successful, is to decide on a topic, and then write down everything--EVERYTHING-- I have ever known that can relate in any way possible. And once I have that, I can decide which parts are really kind of dumb and unrelated to the topic in question, and then organize the surviving info and create themes out of it. From there, I find quotes to support my arguments, write some support and transitions from one theme to the next, add a thesis and conclusion, read through it a couple times, and Voila! it is finite!

The part I'm really bad at is... well getting anybody to read over what I've written. It's like pulling teeth(mine and the potential reader's). Nobody wants to take the time to read something other than Harry Potter or the funnies in the daily newspaper, and I don't want to take the time to find somebody. And I'm so cheap I don't like paying people to read my papers.. But I will have to work on that!

Why is Family History even a Thing?

When I was in High School we had this class every single day called Advisory. While it was meant to be a time for us to discover our futures and realize our most intricate self ambitions, for me and my friends, it meant throwing paper wads at each other, nap time, study hall, and at times post breakfast/pre lunch snack time. Once a week we would have a club day and my friends and I thought a club called "Tree Me" would be some fun club for climbing trees or making origami trees. HA! We soon came to find out that meant we would be sitting for an hour at a desk, staring at a family history website. Uggggghhh(That's the collective thought that went through the room. Every. Week.)

Everyone's seen those websites. familyhistory.com... ancestory.com... Everyone's seen those tv shows where you find out who your famous ancestors are. And everyone knows those little old ladies that sit in a stuffy room for hours scrolling, scrolling, scrolling through names that may or may not have been their old relatives. Why? Why do people get excited? Why is family history even a thing?

WEeeeelllll as it turns out, besides all the churchy stuff, there are also other benefits! According to the article, "The Stories that Bind Us" when we know our family stories, we are much more likely to have more confidence, feel more like we have a successful family, and get through the hard times much easier. Studies were done on a lot of small kids(the human kind) that confirmed these claims. According to the article, "identity tends to get locked in during adolescence," so it's important to tell kids those stories beginning from a young age. Further found was that when extreme hardships hit, like 9/11 for example, it is much easier to cope, when we know that our family's have coped with similar hardships in the past. 

Who'da thought, right? So next time your Great Uncle Albert tries to tell you about when he had to walk both ways uphill to school, or when you find yourself at a ward activity doing family history stuff for the fourth activity in a month,.. turns out it's actually your lucky day! 

Over-using and Under-using the Internet

We all know those people that are on facebook twenty-four hours a day, eight days a week, posting videos of their kitten, letting the world know about every argument they've been in with their boyfriend, and always posting selfies, selfies, selfies... all with the same ducky kiss face. Don't we get tired of it? Darn tootin' we do! But why do they do it? Attention? Well yea. Looking for a way to avoid associating with anyone and their dog in person? They probably won't admit it, but yea.

On the other side of the spectrum.. we all know the other ones. The ones that we all figure live under rocks. Even though, in reality, they probably have more of a life than the aforementioned type. Unless of course they spend all the time they're not spending on facebook living in virtual worlds or playing video games.

Yea, there's a fine line that most people don't know how to hit. Including myself, of course(I'm one of the cat video watchers. ALL. THE. TIME. It's kinda bad..)

But what comes along with that fine line, is that the internet is wonderful for keeping us all connected and sharing all that we are and know and believe.

Elder Bednar talks about it perfectly in his addresses regarding those who completely forget about the real world, and those on the other spectrum who don't use their resources. It's so important to not get completely caught up in internet hype to the point where we completely forget what the point of living is. But it's also important to not live in the stone age. We live in this age of technology to use it and help others through it.

So yea, it's important to not be one of those technology weirdos, but it's also important to not live under a rock and use technology to both make life easier, as well as sharing things with others. Technology. Can't live with it, can't live without it.