Tuesday, June 28, 2005

just got back from the windy city...

And I've been thinking (NO!):

Having a corner suite on the 18th floor with incredible views of both Lake Michigan and the Chicago skyline is great. Except when some wacko blows a fuse that takes out 12 entire blocks of downtown power and you have to WALK up 36 flights of stairs to get to your room (curse vaulted ceilings), wash your face with water from the melted ice bucket, and read your scriptures using the backlight of your cell phone. RB Stairs what?

You really shouldn't judge people on how they look. You could have a cabbie who dresses like one of Puff Daddy's entourage but really just moved to the US from Nairobi and has an excellent command of English because that's what he has a bachelor's degree in and is now driving taxis to pay his way through Medical School. On the other hand, you could have a cabbie that dresses like Dennis Rodman and has the road rage and Tourettes to match.

It's a good thing I don't drink. For one thing, it uses up way to many tickets at taste of Chicago, and for another, its not funny if you're so drunk at the ball game that you can't find your seat and have to stumble around like a complete idiot yelling "TOUCHDOWN" and spilling Bud Lite all over your equally smashed girlfriend. It's only funny if you fall down. Ha ha ha.

I'm glad I'm not an otter. A five square-inch piece of their fur has approximately 6,500, 000 hairs, enough to cover the heads of 48 people. Can you imagine how long it would take to dry off?

I'm also glad I don't live in the 70s. Not only would I be forced to associate with balding men that probably would kill for that 5 square-inch piece of pelt, but I would be addicted to video games. Pong? Digger? Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy? Bring it on.

Ana Gasteyer was selling herself short on SNL. What a set of pipes. I am in awe.

Why the heck do I have to go all the way across the country to see a girl of seventy-fun? Don't get me wrong, Jena and I had a blast (picture to come) but what the heck's wrong with Utah?

Okay, I'm done.

Monday, June 20, 2005

i have a confession...

I think I have misled a few people about the real reason I am hoping to go to London for Study Abroad.

Sure, the classes will be interesting, the ambiance is fabulous, and the chocolate is to die for, but that all comes in second to England's best attraction: the tube drivers.

Yes, the men and women famous for the droning repetitions of "Mind the Gap" and "Next stop: Piccadilly Circus" are the driving force behind my attempts to become a temporary expatriate.

Why, you ask? Well I'll tell you. If you spend enough time in the underground, the dank recesses and harried crowds of public transportationists can get to you, and you are forced to break the Beefeater-like facade of disinterested contempt and show some personality.

For example:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I do apologize for the delay to your service. I know you're all dying to get home, unless, of course, you happen to be married to my ex-wife, in which case you'll want to cross over to the Westbound and go in the opposite direction".

"Do you want the good news first or the bad news? The good news is that last Friday was my birthday and I hit the town and had a great time. The bad news is that there is a points failure somewhere between Stratford and East Ham, which means we probably won't reach our destination."

"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the delay, but there is a security alert at Victoria station and we are therefore stuck here for the foreseeable future, so let's take our minds off it and pass some time together. All together now....'Ten green bottles, hanging on a wall.....'".

"We are now traveling through Baker Street, as you can see Baker Street is closed. It would have been nice if they had actually told me, so I could tell you earlier, but no, they don't think about things like that".

"Beggars are operating on this train, please do NOT encourage these professional beggars, if you have any spare change, please give it to a registered charity, failing that, give it to me."

"Please allow the doors to close. Try not to confuse this with 'Please hold the doors open'. The two are distinct and separate instructions."

"Please note that the beeping noise coming from the doors means that the doors are about to close. It does not mean throw yourself or your bags into the doors.""To the gentleman wearing the long grey coat trying to get on the second carriage - what part of 'stand clear of the doors' don't you understand?"

"Please move all baggage away from the doors (Pause...) Please move ALL belongings away from the doors (Pause...) This is a personal message to the man in the brown suit wearing glasses at the rear of the train - put the pie down, four-eyes, and move your bloody golf clubs away from the door before I come down there."

"Let the passengers off the train FIRST!" (Pause ...) "Oh go on then, stuff yourselves in like sardines, see if I care - I'm going home...."

Holy funny Brits Batman!

Thursday, June 16, 2005

are you sitting down?

I think I have a crush.

I'm going pull a Drew and leave this person nameless until I'm more certain.

After all, I only pulled the strategic meandering past his house...twice...yesterday...

In other news, when I shared this tentative tidbit of information with the fam, they freaked. This led me to some serious pondering as to why I find it so hard to like guys and thus cause such a stir when someone catches my eye.

Enter the eternal room-cleaning quest with yet another commentary on the state of my psyche.

While I was wading through stuff AGAIN yesterday, I came across a newspaper article that my grandma sent me. Before I impart the words of wisdom (?) it contains, allow me to point out few essential facts:

1. This article was published on July 10, 2003. Less than two months after I graduated high school at the absolutely un-nubile age of 18 and almost two months before I even entered that hunting ground we call BYU.

2. This article appeared in the Deseret News and my grandma doesn't even LIVE in Utah. So now she's combing national newspapers to try to explain my condition?

3. The fact that I saved this disturbs me. But at least I can share it with you! It's kind of long, but bear with me:

“Why guys aren’t getting married”
By: Jody Genessy
Deseret Morning News

Men, according to a recent study, are waiting longer than ever to get married. To sum up the Rutgers University report, guys from 25 to 33 aren’t getting hitched because they’re, well, too busy watching “The Bachelor” spin-offs.
The real reasons for the cold-feet epidemic: fear of divorce, children, changes and compromises; and wanting to live up the bachelor life until a “perfect soul mate” comes along.
Your average Utah guy has 10 reasons for remaining, as Brigham Young supposedly referred to bachelors, a “menace to society.”
10. The “something-better-might-be-coming-around-the-corner” syndrome. So you won’t commit to the wonderful woman you’re dating for fear that a model-like babe who watches ESPN and plays Xbox may come along right after you propose? The only person likely to come around the corner is Father Time, and he’s got a bigger-sized pair of pants and a shinier scalp with your name on them.
9. Waiting until your college career is completed. This is usually a four-year process elsewhere, but it takes a decade in Utah once you figure in an LDS mission and all the time you spend trying to get into BYU before “settling” for a state school.
8. You don’t want to leave Mom’s house. Pretty pathetic, right? Look at it this way—no rent and no laundry, no cooking and no cleaning. No long strands of hair clogging up the bathtub drain or 75 pairs of shoes to trip over. Nobody saying that you can’t watch five football games on Saturday, three on Sunday, and one each on Monday and Thursday.
7. You’re trying to meet the expectations of that “150-things-I-demand-in-a-husband” list that all girls prepare in Young Women. If you don’t look like Brad Pitt, have a wallet like Steve Young, or act like Capt. Moroni, good luck.
6. Can’t get a date. All the mid-20s women in your singles ward have already told you, “Let’s just be friends.” And the 18-year-olds tell you, “Thanks, you seem like a nice guy, but NO! YOU REMIND ME OF MY DAD!”
5. Holding out for an eight-cow woman. Or at least someone who doesn’t fall asleep during your mission slide show, who believes the North Dakota Bismarck mission is the best in the world and who doesn’t whine when you’re telling that story for the 3000th time about your favorite companion Elder Kessler getting bitten on the rear by a poodle.
4. Sweet-spirited guys try to cultivate romance and are willing to accept gals for what they are on the inside instead of judging them only by their exterior package, but women these days are alarmingly superficial. Oh wait. That’s men, sorry.
3. Keep getting phone numbers from hotties at night clubs that start with 911. (Operator: “Do you have an emergency?” Bachelor: “YES! I need to get ahold of Betty, she told me to call her here!”)
2. You want to marry a certain sweetie, but Utah girls demand a wedding proposal that is at least as creative as the way they were asked out to prom (which is often just the previous year). Sorry, fellas, but dropping to one knee doesn’t cut it anymore. In other words, don’t bother asking for her hand if you don’t have a fish bowl with a cute card that says, “Out of all the fish in the sea, I want you to marry me,” or a hidden, coded marriage-message buried deep inside a box of Alphabets.
1. You just can’t find a wife. You bachelors have tried, of course. Looked high and low, turned over every rock, searched every singles Web site this side of IAmADeperateManAndNeedAWifeNow.com, and blindly dated every “perfect-for-you” girl whose mom--and the lady at work’s neighbor’s cousin’s friend—set you up with, to no avail.
Stay tuned for another column: Angry single women respond, call shallow bachelors really bad names that can’t be printed.

So I’m assuming she sent this as a comfort. You know, “Don’t worry if you don’t get married in the next two months Meagan, just look at what you have to work with!”

But I can say that while some of this stuff is pretty accurate, there are TONS of boys who don’t fit this image at all. So even though I didn’t get married at 18, I can say that's a good thing because I’ve matured enough to be able to pick out those anomalies from the mainstream.

And I’ve even taken another step in the right direction...

Yep, it’s definitely a crush.

Monday, June 13, 2005

the perks of being a packrat

In the seemingly eternal quest to:

(a) clean my room
(b) unpack from moving home
(b pt. 2) unpack from moving home last year
(c) get organized
(d) become the world's next domestic goddess

I pulled every last cardboard box and plastic bin out of my closet and proceeded to painstakingly sort through the muddled mass of memorabilia. Accompanied only by my good friend the big, black garbage bag, I endeavored to determine what had to go and what would survive until next year.

At first it was relatively easy, who wants the reminders of that trial by fire we call American Heritage lurking about? And just how many bottles of hotel shampoo does one need? But about 2 hours into "Meet Joe Black" I hit a paradox (no, not a pair o' docs, I had made some progress and they were already neatly stored out of the way.) This paradox came in the form of that roadblock we call memory lane.

When I opened a box marked with malicious vagueness as “Taxes, Recipes & Other Files” what to my wondering eyes should appear but a colossal jumble of cards, certificates and other communications. So for the next hour or so, Mr. Garbage Bag went hungry as I relived Jr. High crushes as exposed in notes and emails, the love of family in cards and letters, and the glory of my days as a world-class shoe thief in an epistle demanding my immediate sale into slavery should the pilfered pair not be returned.

It was a bittersweet experience and though Martha Stewart would probably disapprove (but who am I to be affected by the opinion of an ex-con?), I boxed it all back up again (save for one birthday card from an old dentist) and put it back on the shelf. And although I did change the misnomer on the label to “Memories” so as not to be blindsided again, I think I’ll repeat the experience next year with my eyes wide open.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

far off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!

Okay, so it's not exactly Beauty and the Beast, but close. The Scarlet Pimpernel is playing at the Scera Shell June 8-24! (gasp, faint, die) I've included the description here for anyone who needs more info:

This lavish musical epic set in 1794 Paris during the French Revolution is blazing with adventure, romance, intrigue and deception. Back at SCERA by popular demand, THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL tells the story of a brave band of Englishmen who masquerade as cowardly nobleman while secretly rescuing innocent victims of the guillotine. Their leader is an enigmatic hero known only by his calling card -- the red flower known as the Scarlet Pimpernel – a secret he must keep from his wife and her former lover who has sworn to apprehend him! Directed by Neal Johnson.

Adriane and I want to go this Friday (June 10) and EVERYONE should come! The show starts at 8:00 but we want to get there early for good seats. I propose we meet at 7:15 outside the gates. Everyone bring lots of blankets and other comfy lounge equipment. Tickets are $10 but you get $2 off if you bring your student ID. Call me if you have any questions! (400-5766)