Skills

So I was really curious about the sudden proliferation of pizza delivery trucks on my way to the Relief Society Broadcast when it finally dawned on me:

Poor undomesticated daddys (:

dilemma

Once, out of boredom-slash-curiosity, I read this article on Feng Shui.
Vortexes of Sha? Centers of Chi? Sounds perfect!

So did I move my desk 1.4 inches to the left? You betcha.
Invest in an assortment of divine aromatherapy candles? Check.
Get a plant to inspire my energy forces towards positive growth? Of course.
(Make sure it was fake so as not to incur negative energy when it thirsted to death? Duh)
Measure the straps of my backpack to ensure perfect symmetry? To the angstrom.
Drape myself in various strands of energy crystals? Er...

Ah. Crystal-Free-Quasi-Harmony.

After partaking of some Chi-flavored goodness, I decided to let you all know about my success. But when I logged onto my blog, I got a BIG Sha-zam.

You see, the whole point of Feng Shui is balance. Balance. Symmetry. Poise. Harmony.

So how the heck am I suppose keep my Chi in check with "Jon Harmon" sticking out like a sore thumb? Obviously something's got to change, but do I balance the cosmic equation by giving EVERYONE two names? Will "Annie Jacob" jive? Does "Adriane Blackham" float your boat? Although I will admit that "Bobbert Buhler" brings an alliteratory smile to my face, I just don't think that's gonna fly.

On the other hand, I just can't have "Jon." Jon? Jon who? For all I know it could be a misspelled Prince John (a valid concern given a series of strange comments on Maria’s blog.)

Thus the dilemma.

So now what do I do? Without my Chi, all I have is a plastic plant and a lifetime supply of smelly wax.

My groove is totally thrown off.

My third first week at BYU? Here's some ABCs for you:

Atmosphere. Sure, there's a little bit of this, and a whole lot of this, but I love it anyways.
Boys. Boys. Boys. Boys. Boys. And Brady Toone. What is he, cloning himself?
Classroom. So What if I've been downsized from one building to one room? So what if it looks like this? Curtains make GREAT walls!
Drywall. Hallelujah!
Espanol. Is it a problem if every time Taylor suggests practicing, I get the Bay City Rollers stuck in my head? (Sabado Noche! Sabado Noche!)
Friends. Yeah for football even though we lose. Yeah for chill spots. And yeah for really nice compliments on a bit of silliness, really (thanks Annie).
Guys. Guys. Guys. Guys. Guys. Is that technically allowed? Heck yes it is!
Hilarity. Like that one time Hannah stole Taylor's jeans so when Taylor accidentally knocked over her garbage can she said, "Just be glad I'm only literally kicking your trash!"
Impatience. Like that one time I missed the green arrow and looked in the rear-view mirror to find the driver making neck-choking motions in the air. I assume in my direction....
Jabbar Gibson. Finally comes a story of hope.
Katrina. A rock dropped into the sea of humanity. Stepping stone or stumbling block?
Labor Day. Yes, I can indeed trim trees like this.
Musical Mondays. How can you make an inspiring Elvis movie? If you end it in 1969.
Naps. Here a nap, there a nap. Everywhere a nap-nap.
Olives. The only way to play.
Popsicles. Mmm. Mmm. Good.
Queues. It's a good thing I'm in an Engl-ish state of mind and find that word funny, otherwise the bookstore lines, the twilight zone lines, the banking lines and the traffic lines wouldn't be quite so amusing.
Reality Check. Isaiah 58:6-9.
Surreal. Playing tennis with Tyler Severe.
Tennis. In general. I pity the fool that messes with this!
Ultraviolet. More like ultra-beet-red. sheesh.
Veto. It's the way to go, Arnold.
Walrii. Class is in session. And Winston. Married.
Xanthochroi. Do gentlemen really prefer them?
Yellow. Bad for journalism. Good for writing.
Zebra Logic. No Meagan, just because you have no idea what la profesora is saying doesn't mean she's speaking Greek. Maybe you should have done your homework at the library instead of sleeping, then you would understand her. Oh wait, she is speaking Greek.

I'm sane, but I'm overwhelmed

Alanis Morisette's "Hand In My Pocket" was playing on the radio as I went to pick up Hannah from work tonight and that particular line stuck a chord in me as my thoughts went from the astronomical gas prices to the disastrous effects of nature's wrath that are behind them.

I'm scared. Whole cities have been swallowed up in the depths of the sea--it's as if I'm reading the Book of Mormon, only it's the headlines on MSNBC. But even more that being scared, I'm sad:

I mourn the deaths the occurred during the storm itself.
I mourn those who lost their lives in the subsequent storm surges and floodwaters.
I mourn for the survivors who are stranded, still awaiting rescue.
I mourn the lost possessions, the damaged livelihoods, the tarnished memories.
I mourn the country whose thirst for the terrible has accustomed the media to highlighting tales of terror instead of stories of hope.

But most of all, I mourn those who have allowed their better selves to be overwhelmed by the situation. Those who have let hate and fear wash away their humanity as Katrina washed away their homes. Those whose only response to tragedy is to rape, pillage, and plunder until patients have to be moved to the upper floors of the hospitals because looters have made the lower floors unsafe. Until police have to halt rescue efforts because they are being fired upon. Until store owners must guard their doors at gunpoint in order to stop the robbery of their goods. Until the dead are left lying in the streets as officials try to restore order among the living. And until people who should unite in their time of tragedy instead live in fear of their own.

So in your thoughts pray, and in your prayers plead--that sanity be returned, peace be restored, spirits rejuvenated, and hope revived.


Then know that "what it all comes down to, is that everything is gonna be fine, fine, fine."