Not All Annes Are Created Equal

Even chocolate doesn't seem to ease this pain.  Holidays, children, birth, death, school, summer, winter, fall, all of it comes and goes but something always stays the same - Writings of Lucy Maud.  I really don't know how to fully explain how I feel when I read it, but it's like coming home and finding that everything was more beautiful than you remembered it.  I don't know if it was because I read it as a child and that if I had discovered it as an adult I wouldn't have loved as much, but that doesn't really matter.  The point is that I love it dearly. All that is Maud (hardcore Maud, none of those dishy re-writes) is all that is good and holy in the world.  When I think of heaven usually it involves the smell of fresh violets, lakes with shining waters, kindred spirits and potentially common scandals inside a village of wholesome people wearing clothing from the turn of the century (I'm talking the 19th Century here), along with some talking animals via. Narnia.

I probably have an overdeveloped passion for Maudishness, something that limits me from trying to push it into the hands of any common reader.  Honestly, I am well aware that only a few people can appreciate the world that she created.  I don't expect everyone to absolutely adore Anne, Valency, and Emily nearly as much as I do.  I expect most people to view it as cheesy and sappy.  Despite my hardened heartless state, I don't think I can ever dismiss her love of nature and complete devotion to a beautiful island as sappy and too cheesy to love.  Instead, I think of it as warm and innocent and all things pure.  I can't explain why.  The people aren't perfect, they are stubborn and proud and petty and prudish, but I think I adore them for that. I think in another life I would desire nothing more than to sit on the banks of the Lake of Shining Waters or the harbor at Four Winds, starring out to sea.

I'll admit it's probably sacrilegious, but in some ways our religion is the thing we love the most.  In a way Maud is what I love the most.  A world where beauty is the highest form of pleasure and peace is the greatest thing of value.  Is it heaven, The White Way to Delight? The people she creates, you underestimate or misjudge, until they prove to you that they are more than you first thought.  Is sleeping in a wild cherry tree that has blossomed in the night one of those sweet experiences we no longer value?  Maybe we are a culture that underappreciates simple beauty and the desire to have family and friends around us, just to feel and to learn and to grow.  Our cell phones and movies and cars and clocks and offices and indoor plumbing are all about saving time, but saving it for what?  The simplicity that we have lost has to be re-found for us to enjoy life. The sound of the ocean in your ears, the feel of a misty night on your face and the touch of a living tree on your hand, all of those things are no longer a daily experience and because of that we are lacking-  lacking all the beauty that God granted us but we are too distracted to see.  In many ways I think He left a pathway back to Him, appreciating Him in all the small, yet perfect subtleties He left for us. Our Golden Road to walk on, watching excitedly for that "bend in the road" that we have lost our way to.  All of this is Maud to me, and it does hold a holy shrine in my heart.

And now, dear reader, I get to the point of my devotional.  Like a priestess who has found her shrine desecrated, so I find all the distasteful attempts at recreated all previous Maud (especially Anne) stories.  Very few have been true to what is Maudishness, and when some horrific reconstructions are created, I feel as though I am looking at a living projection of Frankenstein's monster.  How could any fan of Maud desecrate her life's work in such ghastly ways?  Why does something of such perfection, simplicity and joy have to be destroyed for the desire to bring her work to the big screen?  With the complete impalement of original storylines, removal of all the very basic beauties and with the original name pasted on it as though it is the stamp of approval from Maud herself, these terrifying movies are audaciously placed under the brilliance of her hand which never would have done anything as abhorrent as they openly regurgitate.

To throw child abuse, slavery, racism, environmentalism and Freudism in such stories is removing the very essence of goodness with how they were written.  Maud wrote of finding love between parents and children, aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, families.  She did not take up her pen as a complaint about these modern issues, instead she showed the heart of people and how they live.  It internally nauseates me when I watch renditions of her books so destroyed and entirely overwhelmed by these blasphemous statements that are vomited up over and over again to the tune of the 21st Century.  We adore Avonlea because it ISN'T who we are now, it is a time we miss.  How revolting the assumption that we must see these issues in all things that we watch, as though we haven't been subject to them enough.  Maud wrote about the issues she saw in the time that she lived.  How dare we dictate to her what those issues were when she was the one who lived them and saw them first hand!  How is it that writers of such movies are so dense that they completely miss what it is that we love so wholeheartedly from Maud?  Why we adore her so?  It isn't the warm gooey feeling that emerges because someone didn't die in the war or some unexpected character reappeared!  You brainless nitwits!  We adore Maud because her characters were strong, and noble, and REAL.  Not because their plots were titillating  in an overly-predictable soap-opera fashion.  That is why she is so utterly revered.  Her characters struck a chord in us reminding us of who we are and who we could be and that we can overcome any obstacle with the strength of character that was already within us. Why is it they cannot see what is so obvious to the rest of us?  Must the things we love be dragged through the modern slough of the 21st Century?  Have we not endured enough attempts between Little Women and Pride and Prejudice to have these things thrust upon us?  Must it be Anne as well? 

To hell with them I say.  Destruction of such beauty to me is an earmark of the destruction of our Society.  When we can no longer love Anne the way that Maud wrote her, we can no longer appreciate the simple beauty of life. 

P.S. As a note, being a very dedicated Anne Fan, I very much enjoyed the first two Sullivan Productions of Anne. Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea.  To follow in that line of thought, I very much enjoyed most of the Road to Avonlea series.  The issues I am seeing are in the more recent destructive endeavor, most notably, *disgusted* The absurdly horrible third installment after the first two Sullivan Anne Movies, which out of respect (or total nausea) I can't even bear to type the name in this blog.  Along with the detestable and ungodly newest arrival claiming to retell Anne's childhood wherein her parents were horrendous and she was an unscrupulous liar.  Grrr...I cannot bear to write more, my rage is too ignited. Understand that not all Annes are created equal.

Thoughtless Thoughts

  I can't help it. Sometimes I like to wear sunglasses while driving down the road at 70mph with a large cup of Chai Noggin' in one hand, texting people about their PE teachers in the other.  Add to that singing Because of You as loud as I can and thinking about how much it reminds me of my mom.  Screw you mom!  Gah!  No, I'm not a dangerous driver.  I don't have emotional issues.  I no longer honestly believe I'm going insane every day.  It's down to about twice a week.  You have no idea how sane I feel these days, comparatively.
   On a completely different topic, people in my acting class are terrible actors.  I inherently can't bear witnessing cheesy acting or melodrama, but in my acting class I'm surrounded.  The worst part, I'm one of the terrible actors.  Damn, I'm glad I don't watch myself act, it would be substantially embarrassing, especially considering I dislike it so much.  It's actually surprising how much harder acting is than it seems.  Although, for college students it seems to be the memorization. It reminds me of all the things I wanted to memorize but never did - Lucy Maud Montgomery's The Alpine Path, something cool by Shakespeare, The Builders by Longfellow, and that one poem I wrote ten years ago (just kidding, I actually do have that one memorized).  .
    Anyway, what I really wanted to talk about today was Liz Lemon.  Yes, she is a fictional character from 30 Rock on NBC, Thursday nights at 7 EST (sorry, wrong commercial), but she is totally awesome.  I love that she is that hard working female in her thirties that doesn't have it all, doesn't really have any of it actually.  The sad thing about Liz Lemon is she has put aside all of her life to work in a job that she would probably actually love not working at.  Love and Hate.  Isn't it funny how those things go together with so many things?  (Philisophical Tangent #1) Maybe it's because things we hate are actually good for us, or something we get used to and find are easier than risking things we love. Maybe it's fear or emotional issues or terror of what has happened when we tried last time.  Anyway, back to Liz Lemon.

     She isn't a feminist really, she's too sad about being alone, lacking husband and children and a life in general, but she still tries to move forward and get those things after multiple failures.  Her failure is encouraging actually.  Not all of us have to deal with black guys who don't realize they actually work for them or prima donnas that really suck.  No, we have things like making sure we have enough gas money to get to classes and while sitting in class instead of taking notes we start organizing how we are going to get the laundry and dishes done when we get home before our child arrives from school and demands that we help them with their homework.  We all have crazy days and lives and we all wonder what direction our life is going or if its taking us in a direction we never intended and what to do to stop it or if its worth stopping at this point. Questions we really don't know how to answer.  Not even Liz Lemon.
By the way there is this awesome new band called Norwegian Recycling.  Check it out. 
  Oh, and playdates are really strange.  Kinda like the day I was at the hospital and they gave me Jules, and I looked at her and wondered if I could really keep her.  Don't they have to test you to make sure you know what your doing before they hand over a living, breathing child? I don't know who would implement that, not the government certainly because it's none of their damn business, but really, I don't think you can hand over children to 18 -year-olds that you nearly finished off.
    Playdates are like that.  Don't you need to interview the parents before you leave your child with them? My child just expects me and her little friend's mom to have it all figured out and then go playing hand in hand in a matter of minutes.  Ho ho ho, things do not work like that.  I need references, job interviews and credit scores before I let her wander to some foreigner's house.  Then she gets all wound up because I'm not emotionally prepared for her to have a play date.  She doesn't understand the burden that accompanies the constant paranoia of a single mother! Besides she has blonde hair and blue eyes, and I know all the real pyschos target those types of children.
   So school is going super badly.  I don't want to go again. I really don't want to ever again.  I keep telling myself just two more weeks...but really REALLY its more like six more months.  SIX MONTHS!  Then I will be done with the first step of my adult education. I hate it.  I don't really care about Biology, Geology or Stats.  I even have doubts about Photography.  Luckily next semester my classes are in the afternoon and evening, but I don't know if that will actually even help.  Really what do I want to do in my life? *drifting daydream music*........................................................................................................................................

It's too bad in real life people can't see your day dreams like they can on TV.  It would make communication that much easier.  Plus you would know what that daydream music was really sounded like. 

BTW, why is it lukewarm and not someone else warm?  Naomiwarm just doesn't have the same ring to it. Maybe it's cause Luke wrote all that stuff in the Bible so he thought he would put his name in front of a word, redefining it's meaning entirely.  Some people and their Biblical views.   
  
 

Thoughts of a Strange Grandpa

It's funny when people die.  You always get told the old stand by "I don't know what to say, but I'm sorry." Even I don't exactly know what to say, I guess I'm sorry it happened too. I feel almost as speechless as everyone else.  I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be crying to myself or just remembering the good times. It always seems worse when young people die because they missed out on so many great experiences - having a family, backpacking through Europe, driving cars, dyeing their hair, eating sushi, seeing the next Harry Potter movie - things like that.  But when you are really really old, is it more of a relief to die?  I know my grandpa was somewhere in his 80's and he had done a lot of things in his life, lots of things I'm sure I have no idea about.  I really didn't know very much about him, which I think is sad, but also some what expected. He didn't live around here and most of my memories stem from when he and grandma would snowbird to Nevada because Washington got too cold.

It's not that I don't have a lot of memories of him, I do, but they are all very similar to each other.  We really didn't hang out and chat about each others lives. I remember grandpa was very consistent at waking up at five every morning and having his cup of coffee, and I always wondered how he pulled it off, because I knew coffee was bad, but grandpa wasn't. I never really thought of him as unpleasant, but he definitely had a gruff way about him.  He did laugh a lot, but I guess it was more like a cackle followed by coughing.  He had his funny moments too, though most of the jokes he told I never thought were funny, I'm sure I was too young to understand them, but he always seemed to be commenting about something and then cackling over it. I kinda thought of grandpa as my older brother Ryan, except a lot more sane and not such a bully.  They looked strangely alike.  It's funny that I knew him all my life but he had already lived sixty + years when we met.

I have one particular memory of him that still makes me smile, it was distinctly different.  Grandpa had taken my younger cousin and me to Smith's one morning, I think with my dad, and dad had gone inside to pick something up.  Laura (my cousin) and I were sitting in the car and rather unexpectedly Grandpa started humming...do dee dum de do...well not exactly humming, but almost singing some really old really slow song to himself. Laura and I looked at each other trying to surpress laughter. Somehow music of any kind and Grandpa didn't seem to go together.  The idea was almost unfathomable and comedic.  Grandpa was kinda old and irritable, where did he ever get a chance to listen to music least of all repeat it? Funny how we view our grandparents.  That was my ten-year-old reaction at least.  It didn't make sense that grandpa could have ever been anything or anyone than who he was now.

My grandparents always had a bit of a love hate relationship (to put it mildly). I thought hanging out with them was somewhat risky because sooner or later grandpa would yell at one of us for something "Don't drop that there! Pick that up!  What do you think you're doing!" or grandma would randomly start crying over who knows what (usually after reading some Louis L'Amour novel).  Spending time with them had it perks though. They both seemed to like having us around.  Grandma would cook something, usually cinnamon rolls or clover buns and distribute them in all their freshly-baked glory and Grandpa just seemed to wander around looking for something useful to do and yelling at my dad about getting things done lol.  But they were family.  It never occurred to me that they were strange or out of place because they were family and that's all that really mattered.

50 Things To Do While I'm Alive

You know, we all hear of someone doing something amazing and we say "Wow, that's so awesome, I wish I could do that!" Well, I'm sick of wishing.  I want to actually do those things I've always wished I could do. But first, I must know what they are, thus the list below. I'm not planning on dying and I don't have terminal cancer, but I think sometimes it's nice to have a direction in your life, so here are my

"50 Things To Do While I'm Alive"

#1. Publish a Novel -  Luckily, I already have one written, so that's not actually as crazy as it sounds.

#2. Learn French - Also luckily, at most colleges you can take French, so that's also not as crazy as it sounds.
#3. Live in France - Yes, this is about as crazy as it sounds :P
#4. Visit Europe - I know that France is in fact, in Europe, but I want to go other places (like England, and Germany and Italy)

#5. Go to a Pub - Don't ask me why, it must be my O'Keefe genes, but a pub sounds awesome.  Even if it's the same thing as a bar, just with Irish accents.  Irish accents make everything cooler (even digging up potatoes)

#6. See Stonehenge - Yes, since I'll be in Europe anyway, Stonehenge is a must.  I would have said "Dance around Stonehenge in the light of the full moon" but I actually think that's illegal.

#7. Visit Egypt - This is necessary because I want to translate some hieroglyphs while I'm there.

#8. Sleep in a Lighthouse - Ever since I was a wee lass this has been a dream of mine.  Preferably one on Prince Edward Island.

#9. Ride a bike on Prince Edward Island - this is of course necessary because I will be able to see much more of the shore while on a bike.
#10. Wade in the Atlantic Ocean - because I've only ever waded in the Pacific.
#11. Own all the books by Lucy Maud Montgomery (even the two I didn't like)- this has been an  ongoing endeavor to have all things Maud, and I'm very nearly done. I believe I'm only about 5-6 books shy. The woman was a genius, and deserves an entire shelf to herself. (he he, that rhymed!)

#12. Be Recognized As An Author by a Stranger - now, this isn't exactly in my hands, but it would be super cool.  Plus every would-be author dreams for that day when someone hears their name, turns to them and says "oh my gosh, your book __________ changed my life!  How did you ever think of that amazing scene where the baby ___________ and the old woman __________? That was incredible!" And you smile and realize all those late nights, crying over agents and publishing and editing and story plots and heroes and heroines was strangely worth it.
#13. Paint Something that Takes My Breath Away - because I am my own worst critic (except for my parents lol)

#14. Change a Tire On My Car By Myself - yes, I've never had to do this, so I thought in case I did, I ought to put in some practice when there's not a lot of pressure.

#15. Climb a Mountain - Preferably one with trees and water, and possibly elves and talking animals, but I won't be too demanding.

#16. Have a daughter named Nimue - yes, this is one of my life goals.  If I'm near death and have no more children, I'll see if Jules can just change her name for me. Maybe I should do it before she turns 18 so we won't fight about it. :P

#17. Own a Farm - not a stinky one, just a dog, five hens and a rooster, a horse and maybe a cow.  That's all, and kept a bit away from my house so I don't smell it all the time.  One with lots of room. It'd be fun to have a pony too, but I don't have to have one.

#18. Find the Perfect Necklace - You may be surprised, but this one has been impossible.  I keep finding necklaces that are nice and pretty and beautiful, but they aren't PERFECT.  They don't look at me and say "I'M YOURS, I WAS MADE FOR YOU!" which is what I'm waiting for.  This actually might be one of the most impossible of my goals. It have to have Braveheart and Egypt and books and writing and metal all meshed into one, yes impossible.

#19. Sing with a Band Once - come one, we have all wanted to jump up there and sing something. Anything, just to do it with the band.

#20. Try escargo - yes, I want snails damn it.

#21. Drink a Cappuccino Outside At A Cafe In France - just like in the movie "Sabrina" preferably while hearing a french song in the distance.

#22. Start A Group Of Cartwheelers On the Road - Yes, I have always dreamed of being on the road with a group of people who want to do a bunch of Cartwheels.  No explanation as to why.

#23. Tell A Boss Off At Work - Then probably quit.  I think secretly we all have wanted to do this.

#24. See O'Keefe Castle - Maybe I will be special lucky and it will be a pub. :P

#25. Look in the Mirror and Feel Perfect - This may sound weird to anyone who isn't a woman :P
#26. Go Hunting At Least Once Successfully - Call it the Katniss in me.
#27. Learn a Martial Art - This is the Ziyi Zhang in me. (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon reference)
#28. Sculpt Something Usable - pot, pan, ceramic container, anything that looks cool.
#29. Play Greensleeves on the Piano - The only reason I ever wanted to play the piano was for this song.

#30. Sing in Front of An Audience - I don't mean with a band.  This is just me singing, for real.

#31. Plan My Funeral - Morbid, but fun.  Morbidly fun.

#32. Read all the Charles Dickens books - I love the ones I have read, they were awesome.

#33. Read the Scriptures From All Major Religions - I think that truth can be found from anywhere.

#34. Visit a Temple from All Major Religions- Yes, I think this would be awesome.  Temples are the best kept buildings of any religion and I think they show a lot about the people who use them.

#35. Go On A Cruise - I've heard these are really cool and fairly inexpensive. Maybe to the Carribean. or Alaska.

#36. Visit Every Continent - Even Antartica - Penguins rock.

#37. Learn Latin - something I've always wanted to do, though it is much harder than it sounds.

#38. Go blonde - I don't mean mentally.  I just want to know what I would look like blonde.  It doesn't even have to be extreme. (yes, that's me, I am tall and beautiful)

#39. Design My Own Tattoo - You know how everyone is like "Man, if I got a tattoo, this is what it would look like" I totally want to be like "yes, this is my awesome Braveheart-ankh-Lucy-Maud-tattoo".
#40. Finish writing my trilogy -1 1/2 done, 1 1/2 to go...
#41. Get my Bachelor's degree - almost done with my Associates (as long as I don't fail Stats! lol)
#42. Make a quilt - like a really big one.
#43. Run a Marathon - like on Biggest Loser

#44. Go Waterskiing  - yes, I've never done this, but it looks cool.
#45. Go Snow Boarding - this also looks cool.
#46. Go to a Broadway Show in New York or London - This of course means I must get to New York or London.
#47. Learn some archery - Again, blame Katniss.

#48. Basket Weave Underwater - j/k, never really cared to do that. Actually this one is Make A Fully French Dinner - and feed it to the people I love ("but mom, I don't want to eat the froggy legs....")this would have to be after living in France.

#49. Visit Every State in the US - I think being a citizen, I really ought to do this.

#50 And finally, Write a Biography - Cause seriously, after all this other crap, don't you think I should at least record it somewhere? :P

PS. Please forgive my if you are OCD and noticed that some words I capitalized and others I didn't.  Yes, I just didn't care after a certain point.
PS2. Also, please don't think of me as shallow and narcissistic, I mean, I know I am, but just because my goals in life seem a little on the wading-end, know that there are deep things I want to accomplish but they aren't exactly things you can do as much as things that happen to you over life (aka become perfect and awesome all at once).  I'm not going to create a wish list for those things, I have to allow them to happen as they happen. :P  And if you have no idea what I'm talking about good for you, contentment is your lot in life.

Too Much To Blog!

   


I made a new friend, her name is Kaitlyn and she is awesome.  She also ended up staying at our house all night, watching Gladiator and 300 (yeah, we were in some sort of Roman mood, probably because I was reading Eat, Pray Love) anyway, my head hurts now cause I only slept about 20 minutes last night (during the end of Gladiator) and now my thoughts are all bunged together (is that word?  I know it's not a cliche') so I'm using my blog to organize my mind a little.


First off, for those in fear that I would fail my Stats test (mainly me!) I don't think I did (this is an attempt to reassure myself though), there were only a few questions on there I really didn't know, so hopefully I'll get a B or even a C.  Passing it would be cool.  I still have to do my two assignments due on Tuesday, and read the next chapter, but yeah, I remembered to take my test.
Geology is totally awesome, I went with my class on a hike to the S and won a cool tee shirt, (Snow college of course) and Juliah came along, learning about shale and chert (aka flint) and landslides and cool stuff like that.
My art class is awesome. I'm going to be painting a picture using soy sauce and a sea shell, seriously cool.  Maybe I'll throw in some mustard.
Acting, not really my cup of tea, but interesting to say the least.  I'm not big on centering myself in the middle of a room full of strangers, but it's certainly pushing me out of my comfort zone, and Dr. K is totally awesome.  Crazy, but awesome.

And now for France. Yes, I love France and I've always wanted to go, but for once I actually am serious about it. 75% serious about it (and this was before ever reading or seeing Eat, Pray, Love, which has only added to the enthusiasm. Probably pushed it up to at least 85%) I need to get out of Sanpete, I really hate this place.  I desperately want to go to Europe, so I'm trying to get a scholarship to study abroad, which hopefully won't be too hard because I'm a single mom. So yeah, France.  Nate and Kaitlyn both want to come so it looks like I'll have roommates. Yay!

Kaitlyn and I have also decided to start writing a bucket list.  I know my #1 is PUBLISH A NOVEL, and #2 is VISIT FRANCE. I know there are a lot of other little things, but those are the two capital ones :P

So, I'm super tired and now that a lot of my thoughts are out, I'm feeling my brain slow down and I may be lucky enough to even take a nap.

Also, after watching 300, it made me ask why we even have people who participate in wars?  I mean, I'm not questioning Braveheart or anything (sacrilege!) , but have you ever wondered why people are occasionally willing to throw their lives away?  I know freedom is all right and good, but what is freedom when your dead?  I'm not sure, not that I want to be a slave or anything, but sometimes I think those he-men-warriors out there are just waiting to throw themselves into a battle. Is it the testosterone? Is it they think everyone will be amazed over their sacrifice? Couldn't they just all talk about it over a nice cup of tea? :P Maybe it doesn't make sense cause my brain is tired, but really, why all the war and bloodshed and death, it seems like there are a lot better ways of doing things, especially if you are a one-life believer, how does that even work?  I hate being philisophical when I'm tired, it makes my head hurt. :S

A Charming conversation

              Eight in the morning is no longer early.  In fact, it's about the time I make it to my first class (which actually starts at 8:30). Yesterday, the art studio was locked and I found myself sitting on blue-carpeted floor of Snow, doing Geology homework.  The hallways were vacant, except for an elderly gentleman who was wearing a dark blue jumpsuit and I surmised was probably a janitor.  I didn't take much notice of him, as a rule, I'm not an initially friendly person at school, I don't say hi and wave first (unless and I know you and your name is Taleah), so I attempted no interaction with him except for the initial glance.  Unfortunately, he caught my eye, and no elder seems to resist a conversation with a willing (or unwilling) victim who looks them straight in the eye.
           "Are you a student here?" he asked me, he had to be in his 70's at least, and I do not sanction manner-less action towards the ancient, so I nodded.
            "Are you a student here?"  I asked with caution, hoping he wasn't a crazed lunatic looking for the old folk's home.
             "Yes, I am, and they told me the classroom would be opened early, but apparently they didn't mean very early."  He said.
           I smiled at him, wondering how long he had been wandering the halls hoping to catch a teacher or at least an open door somewhere.
          "Yeah, college kids get up around 10, so I'm sure your early wasn't quite what they were expecting." I said
          "I think you're right.  I get up at 4:00, and I thought I would wait around til 8:00 to come in.  I was hoping the doors would be open by now."
          "What room were you trying to get into?"  I asked.
           "Sculpture."
           I must have looked surprised, though that did explain the blue jumpsuit.
          "Have you ever seen the movie How to Steal A Million?" He asked as though it explained everything. I shook my head. "It had Audrey Hepburn and that guy from Lawerance of Arabia..."
         Here my ears pricked up, I love Audrey Hepburn and old movies.  I hoped I wouldn't seem like one of those newfangled kids who can't even appreciate a great movie but have to see something blow up every two seconds. I did know my Lawerance of Arabia (survived all four hours of it and loved it).
          "Peter O'Toole." I offered.  Obviously the sculpturing elderly was impressed.  He nodded and smiled.   What Audrey Hepburn and Peter O'Toole had to do with early mornings and sculpturing doors being locked, I could not fathom, but attempted to connect the dots as he spoke.  Explanations are especially entertaining from people whom you aren't certain even have a point. I kept nodding my head and smiling, encouraging him to use more words, more quickly, so that I could put the pieces together, but he obviously had his own timing. He reminded me of Jimmy Stewart, pausing statements to verify if I was still listening.
          More or less the plot Audrey Hepburn's father is a talented artist, specializing in forgeries.  A famous statue has been faked, and before it can be examined for insurance claims, they have to steal it back so that no one realizes it was a fake.  I determined I would have to look it up on Netflix.
          After explaining, he could tell that I was still trying to figure out what Audrey and Peter had to do with him wandering Snow College in search of a professor with a key to the sculpting room.  Was he trying to forge a sculpture and then steal it from a museum? Did he too, have hopes of wooing Audrey from her 60's days, and hadn't realized she had been dead for nearly 20 years?  Was he senile enough that I would have to guide him back home in a The Holiday-like fashion? Luckily, I didn't need to.
         "So, you're probably wondering what that movie had to do with my sculpting?"  He smiled, his eyes actually twinkling. (I swear they were) I must have nodded and smiled, looking like a kid talking to santa.
          "Well, you see, I've always wanted to learn how to sculpt, and I have in the past but this time, I wanted to make a statue of my wife." Aw...how sweet...and very Pygmalion! Please tell me she isn't dead? I'm not ready to weep on the floor of a college while waiting for the door to unlock.
             "I've always wanted to do a sculpture of her like Venus de Milo, even if after ten kids she doesn't exactly have the figure for it anymore." He chuckled
              I had to laugh, and almost cry.  Seriously, I couldn't think of a sweeter thing he could have said.  I've realized my dream is to have a husband who in his 70's and after ten kids together can still sculpture a statue of me being Venus de Milo. What a keeper! (I think I fell in love a little bit).  Soon after a teacher walked in, found keys to my Art room and his sculpture room and we separated, but it made me smile for the rest of the day.


          
       

Satsifaction

What do you get when you stop putting out? Emo boys who need to grow up because they realize they can't push you around anymore.  Oh, and mild stalkers apparently:

"Can I come over?"

"Feel free."

"Um, you wanna do something?"

"Not, really, why are you over here hovering anyway? Don't you have a life somewhere else?" 

"Apparently not."

"I guess I should go home."

"Ya think?"

He he he he...yeah, I've kinda gotten my revenge the last few days and man, it was very sweet *evil laughter*

On a different brighter note, I fell in love...again.  With a fictional character...again.  Curse you Le le and your adorable Angel.  Tidus, is seriously the funnest, sweetest, most amazing angel ever.  I *may* have liked him more than Rafe, but that's cause Rafe wasn't as funny (I still love Rafe *sniffle*) Plus he is all dark and melancholy at first.  Yeah, I love him.  Let the pining for non-existent characters begin! I LOVE YOU TIDUS! :P

Annabeth and Percy

So, it's taken me quite some time to read through the Percy Jackson books (I'm halfway through #4 now) and it has been an awesome adventure.  I pretty much love Percy.  Yeah, totally, his character is hilarious, modest, heroic and still a bit bad ass.  I love it, cause he's also so sweet.  And apparently Annabeth kinda likes him too. *spoiler alert*
When I first read the Harry Potter books I was convinced that Hermione and Harry were totally going to end up together, and then as things progressed I realized that that was not the case.  I was kinda sad, cause they seemed like such a perfect couple (although I'm glad Ron and Hermione got together instead, now). With Percy Jackson there seemed to be some Percy / Annabeth hints, but I wanted to ignore them in case I fell for another couple that wouldn't make it. So I was pretty thrilled with Annabeth finally kissed him. It was so unexpected that I think I reacted a little like Percy, I blinked at the page and had to re-read it three times.  What a shocker.  Who knew Annabeth was such a minx! I certainly never expected anything, although Percy's feelings for her have definitely become more evident recently. 
Anyway, so yeah.  I love Percy, he's awesome.  As is Annabeth.  I want them to live happily ever after.  Only one and a half more books to go and I have the whole day off, and it's raining so I won't feel guilty if I just lay in bed and read all day long :P

Joy of Loud Music

I don't know why, but there is something extremely satisfying about playing loud music that I love. I'm not sure if it's a desire to share an elated emotion with the rest of the world, but part of me loves to roll down my windows and "turn up the beat boys". Why does this desire seem so inherent? Being brought up without any rock and roll for the first 12 years of my life (approximately) I've often wondered if I ruined myself by bringing in all the sounds. I don't have to have music playing all the time(in fact right now all I have is the cooler and the sound of my typing) but there is still a great deal of fulfillment that comes to listening to a song I love. Early in live my dad talked to us about the Book of Adam and Eve where some guy went off and made music, convincing the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve to leave their high places and go dance with the children of Cain (or something to that affect) and since then I've wondered, if I feel a beat and want to move with it, does that mean I've succumb to the call of the devil? :P I don't really know. I love music though, and it makes me want to dance and sing and smile and run and be free all at once. Is it something we aren't meant to have because it's so awesome, or something we shouldn't have because it's so bad? Maybe I will never know. I must be a rebel, because part of me thinks I will always love it no matter how bad it is ;)

Lack of Bloggation

Been a while. Hope everyone is doing well. I'm still a little insane. Sometimes I could hit myself with how stupid I am :P Anyway, getting ready for school and still trying faithfully to get my novel accepted by some genius Agent who will just love it. In between times I find I'm a lot less depressed then I have been, probably why I haven't been blogging as much. Writing always makes me feel better. I'm feeling pushed to write more, so after my dry spell I think I'll start writing a bit, maybe even on here. I have an idea for a really great short story, at least I think it's cool, so maybe I'll put the chapters on here. Kudos to Le Le for her short story, I'm really enjoying it, I vote you submit it to our writing club next. Oh, which reminds me I need to send out that email. Oh, and I hate Facebook. It makes me more depressed than almost anything else. All those moms with their cute newborns/6 months old. Yeah I kinda hate them. I need to not spend that monthly hour on facebook crying to myself about how much I want a life and family. It only pisses me off. No one try to cheer me up btw, I'm wallowing for a few minutes thanks! :P I love you guys, have a great insane week!

The Pain of Hell

Pain is a funny thing. It can cloud your mind or clear it.
Laying on my back, I was tied to the table underneath me. It was cold and I was shaking. My body was going through shock and I could see faces above me – different people hovered over me, some I recognized some I didn’t. They weren’t ugly, they weren’t beautiful, they were average. People I couldn’t understand, people I could understand. They were all there, leaning over me. A scalpel here, a knife there. They all used different instruments, but all were used on me. Some were exact cuts, easy to recover from. Others were more vicious as though they whacked at me in anger. I cringed at first, but after so many cuts and so many wounds I became numb. There was only pressure left – the pressure left by pain. The blood eased out of me, but I couldn’t feel it. I just felt weak.
At first I had been anxious, aware, active. I had looked for Him, but He was in the background, watching, but doing nothing. It’s amazing how far away someone seems when they do nothing but watch. Do they care? Are they shocked? Are they happy? What are they feeling? I could still see Him, but it didn’t matter, He wasn’t doing anything, so why was He even there? Why didn't He leave? He had no business here. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t see Him anymore, the pain had flooded my mind like the blood had flooded over my body. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered.
After they were gone, I knew I wasn’t alone. He was still there, watching me, but in silence. I didn’t need to say anything and neither did He. Did I deserve this? Maybe. Probably. Maybe not. That wasn’t the point, we both knew that. Some wounds seemed to be closing up, but others were bleeding profusely. Even though they were gone, their actions remained. The blood still lingered. The pain still hurt. My mind still thought. Everything was the same, and nothing was the same. It all hurt, but I couldn’t feel anything. It throbbed, it was numb, it was there, it was gone. Nothing mattered, everything mattered and He was still there.
His arms were folded and He leaned against the door post. Was He going to leave me? Was He going to stand there all day? I couldn’t see the details of Him, just an aura of what he looked like – lean and tall, dark hair, dark suit, his stance was stiff. Was it in pain? Was it in justice? Was he happy with what had happened to me? Was He pleased or did He hurt? I didn’t know, it didn’t matter. It did matter, it mattered to me, but I couldn’t see. It was fate, it was destiny. It was a ruined life, it was out of control. Everything was destroyed, everything was renewed. There was nothing left, there was everything left. I was ruined, I was whole.
I hurt, the blood was on my hands, the wounds were all over me but the tears were too deep to come. To survive I ignored them, I hated me, I hated them. I fought through it all to live through it all. Did it matter? Did it not matter?
He walked around the room and I knew He was there. I knew He wouldn’t leave until I did. Where could I go? I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t feel. Where would I go? Was He crazy to think I could go somewhere else? Is that what He expected? What the hell? I hated Him, but I knew he didn’t hate me, his aloofness was almost worst. Why couldn’t He hate me for what I had done? Why couldn’t He choose sides? Why couldn’t I?
What the hell.
I was in hell.
My own hell.
But He was still there. Waiting to follow me out.

A Ribeye's Fate

Creeping quietly through the back door of the restaurant I work at last Saturday afternoon, I did not anticipate the excitement I would have over cooking a ribeye - I thought it was just another ordinary day. That was until the waitresses with hushed voices gathered, whispering intently over something. That was the first hint that things were different. I could only guess at the meaning, catching a few words here and there such as "Lopez" and "here".  As an individual that attempts to retain the guise that I do not eavesdrop, I ignored the distant chatter and maintained an outward aloofness that seemed to be somewhat convincing. 

Outward aloofness maintained, I found myself face to face with my boss, Chris, who generally updates me on particular details for my shift.  I could tell that he too, was acting aloof. 

"The Lopez's are staying here tonight." He said distinctly.  I'm sure there were any number of Lopezs in the world, so I gave him a questioning glace as if to say "And? what of?" 

"The George Lopezs" he clarified. 

Jaw drop. 

"Yes, that one." He said almost triumphantly, all aloofness gone. He continued with various details, leaving me somewhat awestruck.  He warned that they probably wouldn't order, but if they did they were to have a room that they wouldn't be gawked at.  Images of shocked red-necks and cowboys gulping and saying "Howdy" flooded my mind.  Yes, we certainly didn't want them gawked at, and Sanpete was one of the few places that wouldn't be able to avoid doing so. 

Following through with our daily preparation was an unusual thrill of excitement, especially after the ten seconds it took for the entire staff to inform each other when they returned. That was when my preparations took me to the back room (I believe due to frozen chicken retrieval) and upon my return to my generally steaming, cooking, and bubbling kitchen, I walked into a hush of silence. The only one moving was my boss, who was cutting a lime with precision, observed by non other than the celebrity in question! 

  

Yes, there was George Lopez, who seemed to be taller than I expected (but then who isn't?) and in good shape, patiently awaiting his lime slice. Could I help it that I found myself secretly smiling as I absently stirred my pot of creamy potato soup? Definitely not. There was George Lopez in my kitchen, not five feet away. He was standing in my kitchen, surrounded by things I see nearly every day, taking part in a very normal activity; yet somehow the snapshot seemed inconceivable (I do not think that means what you think it means!).  I mean, how is it that George Lopez, the George Lopez of comic and TV fame could be standing in my kitchen surrounded by sinks and dirty dishes and steaming food? I have no answer to you, but I do know that as soon as Chris was done, the George Lopez walked out, taking his lime slice with him.  

That was when Chris and I stared at each other, (and mind you, we don't exactly see eye to eye all the time) both of us grinning like children who have just been promised a holiday from school.  Thinking back to it now, it almost ridiculous the way that our smiles appeared simultaneously in an almost grinch-like movement. I keep wondering if I fabricated such a particular moment, but it did indeed happen.  Chris and I starred at each other, grinning from ear to ear, not even having to comment on the moment of George and the Lime, for we both understood the depth of unbelievability and giddiness that moment brought involuntarily. 

The Lopez family did decide to have dinner a few hours later, and I was required to actually cook the meal, which despite Chris' warning that I better do good, he showed enough confidence by allowing me to take grill and tongs in hand and properly cook that tender piece of meat. 

For those who have ever wondered if someone likes your cooking, something the restaurant has taught me is that you can never judge by someone's first bite, instead you judge by how their plate looks like after the meal is over.  This was why I was almost shaking with emotion (alas, I'm not an active enough emotional person to be fun to write about, because I wasn't really shaking) when the plates were returning - most of which the prime rib* was left uneaten. Oh burn.  Such an insult, because our prime rib really is pretty tasty (especially with horseradish and anjou sauce). Two plates, then three, then four (their party had six people) and finally...an empty rib eye plate. Deep breath.  The plate was returned and George had properly devoured the much thought over piece of cow. 

That was my brush with fame. Truly, parts of it are nearly unbelievable, but the excitement still lingers. Days pass and as I use my cooking utensils once again and I find myself thinking back to that day and the fate of that small, yet juicy, ribeye.

*To those of you confused about prime ribe verses rib eye, these are separate things, two members of the party ordered prime rib, and because their plates came in first I was worried that no one had liked their food, but George ordered rib eye, so I had to wait until his plate came in to see if he ate it all, which of course he did! :P

Lost and Found

Lost.  The end. The beginning. The experience.

Yes, we did have a Lost party.  Yes, we did watch the two hour review just prior to Lost that helped build up the Lost excitement. We also watched the hour after Lost where they interview the Cast, but most importantly we watched the two and a half hours of the episode where all was not revealed - or was it?

After being enthralled with direct Lost quotations for over five hours straight, it's no surprised that after I went home and attempted to sleep my dreams were vividly controlled by Lostmania. As I lay in bed, after consuming way too much junk food and a Monster Java, my brain refused to turn off and I found pieces of the Lost puzzle floating around in my mind. The answers all seemed there if only I was conscious enough to put them together. 

Something was telling me how important Lost was.  How important was it?  No idea, but in my dream Lost was the asnwer to everything, the ending was the key to all the questions of humanity. In a Matrix-esque ending I was left to ponder on the meaning of life, death and the world in between.

What has Lost left us with? (*spoiler alert* I think) The idea that all of us could die and continue living and experiencing things such as vivid as pain, love and heartbreak can be both intimidating and relieving.  I like to think that all emotion doesn't end when we die.  Death for me has been a mixture of a friend and foe, something I've longed and dreaded when things have become extremely difficult.  Lost seemed to open the possibilities that there is something there and it might be something we have never realized but might actually have to work for and come to love.  All of the couples at the end were happy with the person they found, (after?) they died. It was as though in life they couldn't discover them in the way they were meant to and so in death they were led to them, someone they could be happy with and learn to truly love.  I guess it gives me hope in some strange silly way that the fear of death isn't necessary  if it's just another kind of life.

I wasn't happy with the ending at first, it left so many questions - Michael and Walt? What was up with them?  Why were the others after the children all the time?  What was up with the golden showers (he he)?  Why the Jacob vs. Smoke Monster story?  Was it all just a spiritual manipulation created to force people like Jack and Locke to believe in something greater than themselves?  Was it all just a tool to test the existence of faith in each person? To see at what point they would believe or give up?

And then, the question is, did they leave all the questions unanswered so that we could interpret everything in our own way?  Are we meant to apply the island to ourselves personally...to examine what impossible feats seem required for us to accomplish? To believe in? Are we are very own smoke monsters? Our own Jacobs?  And do we fight amongst ourselves, trying to release or contain the bad?  I'd like to think we are.  The idea of placing ourselves in a situation that will test us in ways we never see coming is the very essence of Lost, and it makes us think outside the box in a new way for every new episode.

I hate to claim such a blasphemy, but in many ways it seems that God has done the same to us.  We all are on our little island, fighting the "others" that we see, trying to determine who we can trust and who is looking to betray us. What we determine is ultimate evil (smoke monster) we discover may have a story of their own, and our reactions to it could be good or bad.  Yes, we all believe that Jack was good throughout, but he seemed to make stupid decisions sometimes.  He was too faithful at points (the bomb - "none of us can die") and not faithful enough at times ("the island has chosen you"). Aren't we all that way?  Do we learn to over-apply faith sometimes and under-apply it other times? I know sometimes I do.  Sometimes there is that constant reassurance "everything will be okay, that doesn't matter" that makes me placated, and I have to force myself to fight for something instead of become dormant. Other times I'm so full of doubt that I just want to roll up into a ball and forget that I'm even alive.

In the background there is always the belief that I'm special, but someone seems to be arguing with me in my head.  My smoke monster says "no, no one is special, that's just a cheat to make you believe in something" and my Jacob "No, you were meant to be here, you are a candidate, you are special"...

They are Always fighting.

I am Always Lost,

Just waiting to be Found.

Maybe it's just about finding myself...