i drive a van

everything is going great. i like him, he likes me. he asks me "when can i see you again?" i adore his smile. he is the perfect boy. we're getting to know each other, spending time together, the whole lot. but, i can't quite get rid of this one nagging thought: when should i tell him? i know it's going to come out someday. someday i'll have to 'fess up. i can't keep this a secret forever. someday i'll have to tell him:

"i drive a van."

i'm not sure how he's going to take it. i'm sure i can justify my way out of it, like:

"it's a cool van. it's an astro, so it's built on a very sturdy truck frame and holds not 7, but 8 people! you can off-road that baby and it is great for moving a drum set, skis, bikes, etc. it is also great for service projects and super fun activities with a lot of people. oh, and did i mention road trips?

"i know it's a lot to handle, but come on, don't you like my personality? i mean, i can compensate for this. vans aren't all that bad, really. some people even like me for my van.

"um....*what else, what else?* well, you know, i am just rip-roarin' ready for a family with lots of kids too! yeah, like, i can't wait to have a family and be with children and drive them around, vroom vroom - hahaha..ha... ha.

"well, now you know. i'm sorry i kept it from you so long. i understand if you don't want to go out anymore. no, it's okay, i can't expect you to sacrifice your image for my sake. i understand. i'm just glad we can be honest about this.

"what's that? your sister is moving next week? needs to borrow a van? oh, yeah, sure... no prob. yeah, yeah, i'll just leave the keys under the door mat. no, that's cool. yeah, anytime. okay, well, see ya.... and don't forget to buckle up!"

(maybe i'll get service points for this. i've gotta start a facebook club for van-drivers and find some of my own kind. this is getting ridiculous.)

so, can i just clarify? law school is eating my lunch. someday in a couple of years i may be able to say that i am dominating law school, but that is simply not the case now.

but i love law school. law school makes coffee nervous.

i am the one who doesn't get it, can't speak on her feet, realizes that she's never been good at finishing things, remembers and is reminded that she always wait to the last minute, has a short attention span, regrets her past study habits, realizes that it takes several steps to do anything and she usually only get as far as the first two. oh dear.

but, funny, would you know it, i absolutely love my experience. i don't wish to be anywhere else. i adore law school. the law compels me. the people inspire me. the teachers amaze me. the Lord helps me.

i wish that reading case law was like running. you know, like all that labor of reading five pages would actually amount to something and you didn't have to think about every single thing, you just had to cover ground. in running, you don't have to back-track your path to "make sure you got it"; you just keep going on to one destination. i just read a page and a half and all i thought about was the company at tonight's dinner. sigh. i'm struggling with the focus thing tonight.

but, in case you think case law is always boring, i'll tell you that i just read a case that used the words "Not!" and "party on" in the opinion. it was awesome. another recent case of note by a very put-off judge read the following: "Plaintiff's counsel, apparently laboring under the impression that I am not dealing with a full deck and that my knowledge of diversity requirements is about equal to that of a low-grade moron, chose to disregard the directional signals posted in my memorandum." he goes on to say how counsel "brazenly, discourteously, definantly, arrongantly, insultingly and...rather obtusely threw back into my face the...allegations..." well, anyway, you get the point. and he wanted to make sure that plaintiff's counsel got the point v-e-r-y c-l-e-a-r-l-y.

and they say that legal writing isn't creative.

i learned to understand Cezanne much better and to see truly how he made landscapes when i was hungry

i ate a bagel instead of going out that night. i didn't want to be wasteful and i had already bought a ticket for the show. any monetary sacrifice would have been well-spent in order to see the dancers that night. it was better to watch when i was hungry anyway.

"all the paintings were shapened and clearer and more beautiful if you were belly-empty, hollow-hungry" -- Hemingway

i hadn't realized how hungry i was inside - hungry for beauty, hungry for perspective. even in my average student-dom, i find myself detached from things that i used to love only to discover it on an empty stomach. it's funny, but i seem to discover my ipod every other week and realize a forgotten life i once had. i mean, i used to love that song and now i don't even know where it is. when i am not constantly around certain beauties - such as dance, music, trees - my appreciation for the sight and sound of them is exponentially greater. watching the dancers was no exception. i had fasted for so long to experience the catharsis that i only get when i watch someone dance. it is second only to being the dancer.

i insisted that my friend give me the one balcony ticket - i love to watch the dancers from up there - and i often like to go to concerts alone. i sat on the edge of the row and spent the night shifting my view around the big person in front of me - my eyes bright and hungry. i think i cried three times. the adagio to Samuel Barber's piece... you had to be there. and the dancers' company had a pas de deux to Neil Diamond. seriously. i was moved because i realized i wanted love.

the girl next to me probably thought i was over-the-top. i smiled at the cute and comedic, nodded my head with approval at a clean succession of turns, whispered "wow" when i thought something was really great, and scribbled notes onto my program in the dark.

i noticed the themes that each company brings to the stage - which as far as i can tell, stay constant with each year. the dancers' company brings soul, weight and farce. the ballet company brings showy solos and sadness. the cougarettes bring intensity and synchronized spirituality. the folk dancers, a show-stopper and sincerety.

an hour later in my law school carrell, i closed my eyes to think. the dancers were there, behind my eyelids. i had brought them with me and they were dancing.

i'd be a lot more productive if i didn't have the internet

-Bryan, BYU Student.

I complete relate, Bryan. You are not alone.

eve's surprise

tuesday night in the wilk. i'm walking back from a ward council meeting and i have an umbrella because it had been raining earlier and a sprite because at ward council they had given us pizza and psychologically i couldn't eat the pizza without imagining having soda with it too. so, my psychological pizza weirdness moved me, my legs, my umbrella, and my wallet to the express store in the middle of the cougareat for one of those low cal bottles of sprite.

i had seen my roommate, eve, in the wilk on my way to the meeting. she was studying in memory hall because it was so peaceful. i didn't anticipate seeing her on the way back, but she was still there - the fantastic eve who is everything mutlicultural. no multicultural student gets past her radar so i wasn't surprised to see her with a group of people, from i'm-not-sure-but-probably-international-origin, who had been at the latin dance night. i was delighted to see her. familiarity almost always makes me feel better about the world.

we hugged and chit-chatted. she asked if i was hungry and i said "nah, i just had some pizza. and i've got this." i lifted up my sprite bottle. she asked me humbly (eve always asks humbly) if she could have some. i handed it to her and she put it to her mouth. the next moment, she was giggling and a couple feet from where she commenced drinking, waving her hand in very eve-ish gestures and exclaiming in her musical hawaiin accent, "wow! holy cow, man! i had no idea that was soda! i thought that was water!" i laughed at this, though still a little apprehensive, just in case she was one of those fanatical health people who doesn't drink soda because it will stop your heart or something. but, to my relief, she was rather delighted. and so was i.

that experience was one that simply cannot be re-created. with no foreknowledge that what she was about to drink was a tingling, eye-watering sensation, she dove in like it was water. her response: pure surprise. i mean, she had no inkling - like what you get when your birthday is close and your friends want to take you to someone else's house to help with "homework." eve's experience was of complete, bewildering, delightful, perfect unexpectedness. i wonder how similar Mother Eve's experience was to this. did the fruit taste a million times more awesome than that everyday fruit she'd been eating? considering my role in this situation, i prefer not to push the analogy too far. but i will say:

may we all have some sprite when we think it's water moments todayand often.

an "F" for finished...for now

graduation, commencement, pomp and circumstance.

overrated? maybe. my feelings are so mixed. i went to an honors banquet and felt like a total poser, even though my mom kept assuring me that she was so proud. the kid that got up to speak started out by saying that when he got to BYU, he was worried that his teachers wouldn't give him enough homework. my exact thoughts: you have GOT to be kidding me! man, thank GOODNESS the honors program gives enough homework. what WOULD we have done?

and then, when the professor of the year, who i love by the way (especially because he put a plug in for j-dawgs and that changed my life), said, "you will use you MIND" very deliberately and pointed to his head....just like jack black in school of rock....and my mom and i almost lost it...because we were totally thinking about that moment, i thought this experience couldn't get any crazier. but, then we got focused and enjoyed a very nice luncheon. my old mish companion,eve, played the piano and that was a highlight. (chopin nocturne. ah!)

then i'm sitting at commencement a couple of hours later. the irony is that i'm studying calculus. i had my last final to take. so, as they are congratulating everyone on being "done," i'm cramming differential equations. watching all of the professors walk in reminded me of when i was about nine and we went to my dad's ph.D graduation. it also reminded me of "goodbye mr. chips." i love that movie. i used to be star-struck by this sight. these robed celebrities were my idols. i loved the officialness of it all and the pomp definitely was appealing.

was it strange, then, that this time it just looked like a bunch of people dressed up like harry potter characters? it is like my whole perspective of this ordeal had totally changed. i should have more respect for the institution of education and academia. but, i realized that I was sitting there in a robe and i'm just a plain-jane-nobody-special. we are all people and all have insecurities and probably like to watch "the office." it was like i had to grow out of the way i used to think about academia. what are these honors anyway? the worth of the experience depends on so many things. and "who you are" is ultimately not determined by these things.

well, anyway, coming to an end of a chapter is interesting because it makes you consider where you stand and where you stood. after many mixed feeling, the feeling that i got as i sat in the marriott center today on a bench behind the big backdrop was gratitude. i am sooooo grateful. for byu, for my parents, and for faithful tithe payers who made my experience possible.

and this gratitude is why i'm going back.

and going forth.

God is good

I know it. For some reason, He just keeps sending goodness to me. Constantly. I don't know why, He just blesses me.

I am so grateful.

And a shout out to my good earthly parents too. They are so amazing. And my roommates too. They are so cool. And my missionary district. And my visiting teacher/ees. And my friends in Jamestown 27 and the waffles they made.

I'm also grateful for rides, green arrows,
the Olympics and national flags, wireless internet,
Shauna Barrick,
CNN on occasion, chocolate cake,
Sundays, Provo temple,
hands,
Asians,
being asked to dance by my little brother,
Wendy's run with Kira last night, Debussy,
Emma and her hilariousness,
the bench outside, Relief Society,
an open door,
everything Rachel Kessler,
and the CD that The Mollies sent especially for me with Mindy tonight.

oh

and i have a post i really want to write about the fourth of july, but that will have to wait for now. it is pretty amusing. at least i think so. perceptions about America are just so interesting - and i'd love to hear yours soon. but, do, do enjoy the poetry below. it's nice.

miles to go before i sleep

It is certainly not snowing right now in Utah and I am actually not very near the woods, but the last stanza of this poem kept coming to my mind today. I've concluded that I, in fact, really like Robert Frost. I just do.

My dad used to always say the last two lines of this poem to me when I was working on a big project for school. Today is no exception - big projects, especially papers, are my intellectual bane. I'd much rather write mindless posts and eat sorbet, but whatever. My grandpa reminded me of the third to last line this morning over a bowl of cereal, (I attempted hermitage today by going to my grandparent's to work on my project, but I guess hermitage is supposed to be in solitude. I'd much rather have company though.), and I thought it fitting to my current position in life. I think it is simply a lovely poem and it has the musicality of a snowy evening, a quiet wood, and heavy thoughts.

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost

the next wave in design

what do you think of when you see this picture? try and visualize this furniture in any other place besides where you are picturing it now. how many places could you picture this piece of furniture looking 'at home,' appropriate, and comfortable?

i tried this exercise as i gazed at one of these chairs sitting in my friend's college apartment. i thought, 'now that's interesting. maybe i could go for that look in the apartment, ya know, sorta different and vintage.' but, really, can you picture this looking classy anywhere but, well, wherever you're visualizing (grass, backyard, fireworks, parade)? a nice hotel lobby, behind an oak conference room desk, in a snazzy little restaurant? i mean, really, no matter how cool you are, i truly wonder if you could pull that off - you know, the way some people make the ugliest clothes look cool. i'm actually really drawn to the practicality of this furniture - but the design is just not made to appease aesthetics... or is it, readers? i'm really hoping to be proved wrong. i think these chairs are fabulous.

i'll tell my grandkids that...

my great-grandma was the first woman to drive a car in heber city. i saw a woman run for president for the first time. i used to listen to cassette tapes and remember the first CDs i ever owned (all 4 one, celine dion. hahaha) i remember when we got a DVD player to replace our VHS and using the old macs in elementary school to play computer games when laptops were unheard of. i remember (in COLLEGE) using a whiteboard to write down missed phone calls to roommates for people who had called on our landline. i can say that i saw the day when gas prices reached $4/gallon and i tracked the price of a barrel of oil as it climbed a dollar more each day - and that $4 used to be a lot. they probably won't believe me.

uncultured philistine

we went to see iron man this week with my brothers and sister-in-law (pretty good show, i'd say. funny). the theatre is usually a pretty loud place, but before the showing i stepped into the girl's room and to my delight there was one of my absolute favorite pieces of music playing: Mozart's piano concerto no. 23 in A. as i thought how incredibly lovely the music was, two girls walked in and one scoffed to the other, "elevator music? ugh." hmmm. i thought. now that's what i call ironic.

but, i cannot justify pointing any fingers at people's lack of culture. for you see, only earlier that day at the Phoenix art museum, i had slighted a painting that i thought dull and uninteresting and even said to myself, "well, i haven't got all day and i want to make sure i spend time on things i really like," only to see my brother take a cell phone picture of that very painting and say, "cool! a picasso!"

fahrenheit 451

i've deemed myself a failure of a conservationist. i've always believed you shouldn't waste anything if it can be helped. that is why i agreed to watch over rachel's pasta when she left because i believed it was the right thing to do. she was gonna just leave it, but i insisted that i would watch over it for her and, quote, "put it in a cute tupperware for you to have when you get back." after all, that's what friends are for.

i leaned on the counter and watched the bowtie pasta bubble up and thought about how the sound of boiling water was really quite lovely.

no sooner did i walk away from that fateful pan of pasta then i was immediately distracted by the idea to download this one counting crows song that i hadn't heard in years. this led to a saunter to my room and an attempt to work on my thesis. this was followed by my bed looking oh-so-welcoming for a midday nappy nap. which i took. until i heard a beeping.

following my efforts to turn off every burner in the house in an attempt to figure out what the heck was going on (remember, i had just been sleeping), i reached the knob that was on medium-high, still faithfully heating the remains of a beautiful bubbling bowtie...mess.

the following are a series of text messages concerning the event:

me to rachel
just so you know, our fire alarm works. i fell asleep and forgot about your pasta. yeah...
(i wanted to break it to her gently. fewer details the better.)

rachel to me
[no response]
(i didn't know she'd take it that hard.)

me to emma and rachel
nobody hate me please. the house smells a tad smoky...just don't come home for a couple of hours...
(total understatement. try a couple of days! this text is accompanied by the thought: "i sure hope rachel wasn't that attached to that pan...")

emma to me
lol...what i totally hate you! lol well this is the first time it isn't me! yeah! lol
(we can all see that emma likes exclamation points and "lol." and that is what earns her faithful blog readers - exclamation points and cute acronyms. i need to use more of those.)

me to emma
oh you have no idea. let's just say that our fire alarm works.

emma to me
lol! that's awesome! i have never done that before!
(yeah, jana, i'm not THAT stupid.)

me to emma
just a classic Jana b. moment.

emma to me
lol! i wish i would have been there to see it! and take pictures!

me to emma
yeah, we definitely don't have enough pictures of me being a moron.

emma to me
me neither! ugg we r two of a kind my friend!

me to emma
yes indeed.

emma to me
hehehehehheee!

i'm just glad i'll be gone all next week. this apartment is going to smell pret-ty awesome for a while. so, if you have any referrals for me, i'm still single. (i know. shocking, right?) my homemaking skills have yet to meet their rival.

how does one obtain self-esteem?

i wrote this in my notebook yesterday and i am seeking an answer. after some conversation with a dear friend, i thought of this question. no matter how many treatments or conversations with a counselor, etc., you have, no one can simply bestow self-esteem upon you. then, where does it come from? i'd appreciate your insights.

reading others' blogs

reading ammon's blog: i was pleasure reading the other night while grant, in my ward, was plunking out clair de lune on the piano. he asked me what i was reading. i flashed him the cover and sighed. he said, ah, Thoreau. how is it? my response: i feel like i'm reading my brother's blog. and he laughed.

reading cath's blog: depressing. it is so entirely well-written and funny and inspiring and ironic all at the same time, it puts anything i have to say to shame. that's why i love it. God gave some people (cath) all the talents.

well, those are the two that i just read, as it would be, because their's were the most recent comments on my blog so i went to theirs. yes, i am a narcissist.

paige, rachel, you'd better believe your blogs are next on the reading list. i shan't be gone long.

a typical post

a lot of people I know write stuff on their blogs like their pet peeves and stuff. (by the way, have you ever typed the word "peeve"? have you ever noticed at how awkward this word really is?) anyway, i would like to contribute to the mass rantings about people and the silly things that they do. and here it is:

everyone in Utah always sit far left and never change positions. now, to clear up the quizzical looks, i am not talking politics. i am talking traffic. we need more progressive thinkers and more progressive drivers here because truly when every lane of traffic is blocked straight across by three shiny Fords all going 63 mph, there is little to be done. i have little patience for a general traffic awareness that permits no passing lane.

number 2, i always think that it is important for people to put away their shopping cart once they've loaded their groceries. i had a young women leader once who used to always take stray carts back to the stalls to prevent people's cars getting damaged, etc. now, i feel guilty when i don't grab a couple of forgotten carts and return them in addition to my own. and now i hope you all do to because there are far too many shopping carts in this world left on the wayside. this is a serious problem. it is just pure negligence.

hmph. that feels better.

Thank ye, O three

i'm moving up in blog-world. 3-whole-comments on my recent post. not too shabby. and i just assumed that people didn't read long posts, especially when they are void of pictures. not bad, not bad. you - all three of you - proved me wrong!

between every empty church and every broken home

I sat outside talking to my dad. I had my hands in my pockets and my dad was working on cleaning something on the old air conditioning unit. Quiet night, early spring, birds too. I looked out into the pale sky as the sun was going to set soon and told my dad how I thought that we have so much love that needs to be given to the world. There are so many people who need that. Christ can't do it right now - come down and take each person's hand. The only way people will know it is if they feel it from us. I walked home and read the paper the other day. I looked up in disbelief and stated: the world needs more missionaries. But, I told my dad today, that isn't enough. 55,000 missionaries for all these people who are in the shanks of alcoholism and hatred? WE need to love our neighbors. Members everywhere in the world need to acquaint the hurt people around them with Jesus Christ.

My dad asked me what happiness was. I said that it was the Atonement, feeling that personally as I have learned that nothing else can heal or laugh without it. Happiness is being empowered by it and doing things with Christ. It isn't passiveness and dependency in the way that makes us complacent. Christ empowers us so that we are doing things with him. He heals us and tells us that it is going to be okay. But just think about how many people need that right now. Christ has us to be His hands. We need to be. I am overwhelmed by the pain in the world. In my own neighborhood in little Cottonwood Heights, Utah: people with illegal drug problems, domestic abuse, etc. In all my years working with children, said my Sunday School teacher, I've found that all children want and seek is parents who love them. They just need to feel loved. Otherwise, we end up in the mess we are in now - so much pain and hurt.

Like my brother Ammon said in his mission letters, "Between every empty church and every broken home is a prosperous bar." Dallin came home from his mission on Friday and told of great things about the land he served in, but also of the great depression he saw there. Poverty, violence, corruption. We love the people we serve, but we also see their shackles. Alcoholism, poverty... We see how they are trapped in the world. Day in and day out Dallin saw these people who have nothing and live in ignorance. Nothing to hope for. Deadly cycles. Violence begets violence, pain begets pain. It seems to be surrounding my view of the world at a greater extent than love is. I live in Provo and feel guilty for staying there while so many suffer. Oh how I want to take that child across the street in my arms - the one whose arm was broken in a violent upheaval in the night - and say, "You know, Christ loves you and He is here with you." We can help so much more. It doesn't have to be that bad. How often do we look away, hope they move away, and forget them in our prayers that night?

President Faust once said that there is no private sin. He said that what we do does not just affect us. It will always affect the people and the environment around us, no matter how private we think it is. My dad believes that goodness has to work the same way. We may not see how our goodness in all aspects of our lives is making an impact on the world around us, but it is. I want to believe that. I know that Pres. Hinckley was always happy and optimistic. I can be that way too. Smiling in the midst of the great task ahead.

i like this picture. i like flamenco. i like black and white photography. i think people should dance more often.

keep BY-utiful

my friend text messaged me (i love how that's a verb) and said that he had picked up a piece of litter and thought of me. this may seem strange, but it was quite endearing to me. you see, i had performed my usual habit of picking up trash around him once, something i am especially conscious of around BYU or MTC campus, around my apartment, and/or temple grounds. keep it beautiful or the clever keep it BY-utiful. this is either admirable or really weird. but i like it either way.

as gershwin said, our love is here to stay. and so am i. BYU law next year. thanks voters. if you want a justification, you can ask me.

later

ya know, at BYU, being "above average" requires a lot. so, when i score "above average" on ANYTHING, i'm feelin pret-ty good about myself. even if the survey was an online Procrastination Survey and tells you from a scale of 0-100 how much of a procrastinator you are and you score a 75%. but, that means i'm still "above average something." i'm an "above average" procrastinator. yesssss. finally getting credit for something.

freud

The boy across the table from me is chewing his gum in the most irritating way - swagging his mouth in a quick, abrupt,open fashion, his big teeth chomping the little piece of who-knows-what Trident or Orbit. When he'd first sat across from me, the comfort of having someone there and even the sound of his gum put me at ease into my book. I always prefer some kind of human warmth in my scene. Such presence penetrates sweetly into my peripheral senses and allows me a type of mental relaxation. Soon, my eyes began to get heavy and the incessant chewing that commenced once he looked up from one problem to look at the next one in his book suddenly shot through my dreams of Paradise by Toni Morrison and I had to get up to take a walk. I sat back at the solid library table, pandering around on my computer, bugged that I couldn't get wireless internet on this floor. I just wish someone would text me so I wouldn't have to face the papers that need to be written or look at the glaring comments on my last paper to try and decipher just exactly what my teacher wanted me to do. I sort of shrug at the vagueness of her feedback regarding my own vagueness of my paper and wonder if she is not grading me on assertions she's made about the sonnet which I didn't include and never intended to include. At least I'm just glad that one of my teachers is willing to force my writing to be better than first draft. I've gone this far - a senior! - with mediocre writing pulling me A minuses on a paper.

Sometimes, a certain fear probes me. I've recently identified it, though haven't named it. I realize that it is scary to approach the world of knowledge for me. The world of writing a paper. I am afraid of my own ability and afraid of what it is going to demand. It is easier to just hypothetically think about it. I get a type of anxiety when I think of diving back into the vault of academia and human knowledge because the requirement is so great and the expanse too massive. It is like when we were little and my brother said he would be afraid of going to space, that the weird phobia of being in a space with no limits, no surroundings, no confines would kick in. The exact opposite of claustrophobia. Most people know, I'm the kind of girl that needs my space… But it's also true that I need someone to sit across the table from me. Don't talk to me, and you don't even have to bother nodding. Just be there. That way I'm independent but not alone. I like that feeling - the feeling I get in big cities and busy cafes and going to the theatre alone.

There I just went, completely avoiding the task at hand and delving into a great narcissistic self-examination and finding other things to occupy my time and mind. But really - no more avoiding reality. No more skirting around with mediocre educational endeavors. I feel like a poser sometimes, applying to law school and all. I feel like I'd get a much better grade and better earned one too if they'd test me on how much conversation I can achieve in the student lounge - something easy - not how much I've read or the integrity of the things I've written for my class. The fear of jumping into Homework capital H also stems from the regret I know I will feel once in there and realizing that I should have gotten in to the water much earlier. Too much time wasted on the shore and the water feels so good.

help

so, in case anyone was wondering if it is weird to read your blog out loud, it is. it's one thing to write something and in your head to make it sound good; but reading it out loud makes it sound about an inch deep and as comprehensive as a post-it note. all my efforts, all that listening to NPR radio voices and i can't do a decent reading of a personal essay in my living room. an aspiring blogger - not an easy job. not as easy as it looks, people.

so my question is: does something have to sound good out loud to be a good bit of writing? because i'm wondering that if it only has the dimension of sounding good in one's mind, but not aloud, then perhaps i need to rethink my composition strategies. because right now it feels like that incredibly uncomfortable feeling of hearing a recording of your voice on a tape your mom recorded and you run from the room yelling "ew! that can't be me!"

giving advice to your siblings reminds you that you need to live that way too.

the map of the Congo called me

i'm studying in the map section of the HBLL - 2nd floor. one of my favorite reasons for studying here is because there is a sign that says "may not be conducive to studying" by all the study tables and the fact that the drinking fountain on the east side sprays really high when you first push the button down.

i was looking around tonight and noticed that there are lists of what maps are in each of the wide drawers lining each aisle. i began to be curious of what a map of the middle of Africa would look like up close. what is there? where do the rivers run and the mountains jut upwards? are there forests, big cities, major highways? i tried to picture the people and the romantic image of a storybook Africa ignited into my homework-weary mind.

but this curiosity and fascination is a century too late. i mean, how many kids do you know that ask for a cartography set or an atlas for Christmas? the world of maps has been replaced by the Discovery Channel and National Geographic online. i felt like i was venturing over some dusty and forgotten boundary into a world when frontiers were not all realized, quantized, imperialized and i felt the cool, refreshing taste of wonder that must have persisted in the mind of Vespucci.

but by now, people have walked on the moon and sent spacecraft to mars. i can flip on my computer and google-earth the Sahara. frontiers are at our fingertips and i sat here and wondered if that sense of awe is not lost on convenience of the modern age.

as good as it is to see you in person, your blog just says it all

i realized that in recent conversations with friends, old and new, we ironically ended up talking about what we have written or posted online. our topics of conversation kept returning to our electronic representations of ourselves. we have blogs and facebook to make-up for the time that we can't spend in person, and once we are in each other's company, we end up talking about what we're up to online. ponder the implications of that.

word-Y! jana, you're blog has no pictures

[original title was "i know this first sentence sounds cliche"]

the new title is comment said by my siblings. it's true and i feel i should apologize before pouring another bucket on the heap. I'm working on posting pictures and shorter entries. i need to appeal to my readership.

reading, more than anything, makes me want to write.

this sounds like a very simple formula, but i am always astonished by it. and let me clarify - it isn't while i'm reading that i feel i should write. it is how the reading has given me new lenses in which to look through that i see the world in the color, in the texture, in the word-choices of the current author in my texts and i can finally visualize what I see, but in their words.

i am inclined to write, partly to acknowledge what these writers have ignited in me and partly to see if i can do that cool stuff with words too, ha! that is why everyone should read - a lot. after all, you are what you read and i'm seeing that become realized in the way my thoughts are shadows of the words streamed into my mind by the most recent bits of a novel i've been reading from. i am sometimes just too lazy and therefore i keep my blinders on when i don't make time to read - only seeing the world in the limited spectrum of my own experience, a dull two-tone. but thanks to dr. cronin, who scared me into reading constantly, i have been able to get into quite a bad habit of reading - even and especially when i shouldn't be.

like, what are YOU supposed to be doing now? you are reading this blog post, but you've got a lot of other things to do, don't you. well, now you'll be looking at those tasks ahead of you through a glass pieced together by this blogspot (which hopefully doesn't hinder your ability to see in lyrical and rhetorical ways, but helps you recognize them - for i do see my great weakness in writing) combined with the article from the New York Times you read, the nutrition label you perused during breakfast this morning, the bus schedule you squinted to read, the billboard you whizzed by, your dose of scripture, and the cookbook recipe you attempted to memorize, not missing any nuance. You'll be seeing how the lightposts look amazingly like asparagus, or acknowledge the Mosiah during your lunch break, the fat content of the current political campaign, or the efficiency in the route and the many stops the garbage man took today. These words will now build the next few hours of your perception, until, that is, you encounter the next fated author's contribution in your path - a frozen dinner coupon, a Russian literature anthology, gmail, and the lyrics of your favorite U2 song... ahhh, the striking resemblance provo has to the city of blinding lights.

it's all the words you put it to; the lyrics to the great dance of life; your world is thus created.

is it not written, "In the beginning was the Word"?

ひさしぶり

it had been a long time since i sat at the window with the mere intent to just look at the sky. this time, it was gray-white, pale and pregnant with the not yet visible snow that would eventually come and powder the street below and gust past the street light. the mere objective of sitting there at the window just to look and be made me feel somewhat old. i was in a place where time was long and connected. i was like a giant sea turtle surfacing ever so slightly to see the warm vast sea surrounding it. so much there, yet everywhere you look, relentlessly the same. every corner containing so many possibilities, every crease in the thick, rolling waves; yet, all these things rolling towards some type of oneness eventually - the next wave inheriting its neighbor in its own folds and another indiscernible and identical to the one that had come from a mile away. i thought of if i would do this ten years from now, if i would do this as a mother, a grandmother - ever have the mere reason of just looking, or would it be to see the headlights of a child coming home or to glimpse up at the sky where my loved ones lived? i saw people walking - so calmly - in the sharp coldness. it felt like watching an old movie version of people walking on streets, like the people on singin' in the rain who were no doubt wealthy businessman and wife on a stroll that evening. i couldn't hear their steps or their shivering breaths under their hoods. it all looked so serene. then, i dove back in to my thoughts - through with suspending them, having left my worries and obligations and paper to write out to dry too long - and entered the vast sea which is my life, still looking out the window a little bit longer but no longer from my outlook of crawling on the surface of the sea as a great grandmother turtle.

in memory

Two of of my dearest high school friends' birthdays are on Sunday. Chris Christensen, who battled muscular dystrophy until he passed away a year and a half ago. He was an artist and a hero. He had an angel's face and a heart of gold. His conversation was serene and un-intrusive. Ivan Anderson, who passed away suddenly almost exactly a year ago and who still seems like he can't possibly be gone. It went so fast. He was a computer-whiz and a musician. His hands were strong and his integrity never-failing. He loved the sound of laughter. They will both be 24 on Sunday.

I will always remember their goodness and their charity, their strong testimonies and their astounding resilience against hardship. I owe them a great deal. I wouldn't be where I am now without them. I can give you more details in person, but it is too personal to share here. I am so fortunate as to have tasted true grief only rarely in my few years on earth, but I shed a tear tonight for the absence and the memory of these friends.

Thinking of them reminds me of the kind of friend I want to be, and maybe should have been. More time to spend with a good friend and more appreciation expressed for their influence in your life. I await the time when I can embrace them both and where I can be that friend who never has to leave and has no other commitments, and can sit in the long grass and listen to their stories.

the truth-o-meter

On C-SPAN Campaign 2008 online, there was an interview with Bill Adair, editor of PolitiFact website. I'm pretty sold on this idea - getting an analysis of statements, ad campaigns, accusations, as well as so-called factual mass emails concerning candidates and getting a rating on each of the truthfulness in the information. The statements are back-checked and each can rank from true, mostly true, half-true, liar-liar-pants-on-fire, etc. This website has a page on each candidate and breaks down statements into little packets of rated truths (or lies I suppose) - like check-out Obama's radical Muslim status and other outrageous attacks.

Check out the truth-o-meter, though be aware that PolitiFact could still be throwing its political weight around by publishing certain things and not researching others. But, it is definitely worth checking out.

www.politifact.com
www.campaignnetwork.org

i'm tu-wen-tee fo-wah today. yep, read it and weep. i survived age 23. my brother (the well-read one) was convinced that at age 23, one of two significant things will happen to you. you will either die or fall in love. i had a little taste of the latter, but as rach said tonight, she was in love with love when she was 23. i think i can relate with that. but anyway, whoever is out there reading this, make this a year to remember. this year is the one you do something awesome in - something you've always wanted to do. i'm extending the permission for you to do it. so get busy. i'm going to bed.

happy new year. don't forget to write.