all the king's men

I looked up and saw that however far I felt I had traveled, I was only on page 3.

This was just the kind of reading my brother loves - and the kind of poetry he puts out. Thick and swift. Words that work and row and sing and dance together in rich, heavy gowns of purple syllables. You lick your lips and purse them together for the sweetness and the density of the way the words feel on your eyes and reading them makes you sort of quiver at how they shake out into pretty patterns. I felt like I was digging in deep clay soil, wet and oily and intoxicating, with bare hands. I got to page 3 and felt I had downed a pint's worth of literary sweetened condensed milk, but I had to keep reading - I had to, or I might not come back before my Sunday sleep overtook me. Reading through the cornfields and upholstery and the chestnut and crimson landscapes and creamy faces I made it to page 6 where the momentum of the molasses bath of words I had plummeted into began to whisk me along a sweet and bold narrative.

Dad had decided to get this book for me this year. It is part of a tradition we have. We call them 'Dad Gifts' and they are usually something kind of practical, yet still sentimental. A hat, a book, some music. He gives them out at the breakfast table on Christmas Day. After consulting my very well-read brother about blockbuster books, Dad selected All The King's Men. I started reading a bit of it and had to really peer my eyes into the first sentences. Though I am an English major, it had been a while since I'd read a sentence 12 lines long and pieced together with 8 commas and should have included probably 8 more comas to prevent so much run-on. "Run-on?!" my brother would exclaim, notably offended. I know, I know. I need to read more American lit.

npr nerd

So the other day in my final in my C.S. Lewis class, the teacher mentioned that he had been on the radio before with some Something Vaus guy who had written stuff obviously applicable to have his name appear on a C.S. Lewis term paper's works cited page. My teacher said that he was on it with "Doug Fabreeza" or something and though I think I was talking to someone else during this little anecdote, I was suddenly engaged in the discussion.

"Doug Fabrizio?" I said. "Radio West?"

"Yeah! That's it - Fabrizio!" and my teacher continued a little more and fizzled out after a few more sentences on it and asked for the next presenter to read her abstract.

Wow, am I a nerd or what. So, I listen to NPR. I listen to it when I'm driving mostly and I attempt to pick up the fragments of whatever is on - Morning Edition, Diane Rehm Show, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, and the getaway radio paradise during my summer job of four years ago - Radio West - during my lunch breaks at 11. If you tune in on Saturdays around 10 you might be lucky enough to hear Car Talk which is always worth it. My dad can't stand Doug, but I've kind of warmed up to the guy. I love the funny ways he tries to depart so much from Utah tradition and be a little 'edgy.' It makes me smile. I called my friend Steph and told her my nerd-moment. Steph appreciated it and also wondered, I'm sure, how no one else in my class had known that. Steph herself is an avid Diane fan and just you wait America - Steph's gonna be the next intern at Morning Edition. And I'll be listening. What can I say? I run with high rollers.

ice breaker

So, I think I'm back. Who here thinks I should dye my hair red? Several friends sitting around the table the other day said they thought it was a grand idea. Then, someone took a picture of me with my red-headed roommate standing over me so her hair would drape over mine just so we could get an idea. After that, no one thought I should dye my hair. But I feel somewhat inclined to do it. Dare me? Feel free to cast your vote next door.



My girlfriends from freshman year and I had lunch at the Nauvoo cafe today. So great to catch up with those gals.

I was, by the way, voted second to last to get married on seminary council my senior year, and the one voted to be the last to get married is now two years married and five months pregnant. I think I win.

i'm wearing brown, navy, and black all in a badly matched array today. sigh.

and it took me till now to realize it too. but why should i care? i'm at the library on a friday night. i have no one to impress. literally.

(if this is perplexing anyone that i'm writing something that has nothing to do with anything, then i will say that this is my way of talking about things that don't matter at all before i spill out a whole bunch of hulla-baloo of all the things that are going through my crazy senseless brain. i'm pondering a post on the topic of 'risk' right now and i have a bit already written in a draft. let me know if you'd like to add some thoughts. it is a lot easier to manage on a superficial level this friday night. any suggestions on my paper that i'm writing about how c.s. lewis was an environmentalist?)

To understand the meaning of death,
we must appreciate the purpose of life.
-Thomas S. Monson

I read this in the morning and I had to write it down somewhere so that I could remember to think about it.

so, i'm back from being off the face of the planet. long time, no type. but, i have stuff to say. i'm thinking. give me a minute. i did just get back after all. just wanted to put a shout out to ammon, though, for being such a cool brother and having such a cool blog. you're my inspiration.

and to all the rest of you, thanks for waiting.

i sha'n't be gone long.