Ode to Melody.

I have an ode to write.

We'll call it Ode to Melody.

Melody is my cousin, friend and ex-roommate. She also holds more obscure interpersonal titles, such as person I regularly get lost with, roommate who gets coerced into watching BBC/Korean TV and 80's movies with me, and geek who actually gets excited about grammar with me.

I'm sort of fond of her.

Melody is also one of the only people I regularly text. I'm not a huge phone person at all. I got chastised yesterday by someone who had been trying to get a hold of me for three weeks, during which period it had been lost and out of battery... and I just hadn't really cared.

So the fact that I text Melody is huge. It means she is hilarious, comforting, and uses punctuation. What more could you really ask from someone?

I've typed up some of our texts because I didn't want my phone to erase them from existence and I'm putting them here because I think they say really good things about both of us. Or possibly just really weird things.

Thus.

Mel: (on break at job) I've had the misfortune to run into someone I briefly worked with at Pizza Hut. He keeps giving me communicative looks and expects me to, like, talk to him or something. Yuck. Talking.
Me: Options: 1) Change your name so you can plausibly deny knowledge of his existence. 2) Improbably deny knowledge of his existence. 3) Quit. 4) Work under your desk until you quit. 5) Say hi.

Mel: I'm in a state of hyper activism. My parent took me into public. This does not bode well for the general consumers of Winco. I ALSO have the hiccups.
Me: Ah, poor general consumers of Winco. I do worry about them. Are you coming home at some point?
Mel: Yes! Because I have pineapple! We can practice communism! I get some pineapple, you get some pineapple, and the world is a little happier.
Mel: Well, that's a lie. We're a little happier, not sure about the rest of the world.

Me: (when I forgot we were going to the International Cinema) Sorry, Love, my phone was in my shoe again. We could go Friday or Saturday.
Mel: Why was your...? Never mind. Right. Friday or Saturday should work. Comunist pineapple and unnderrated movies.
Mel: I'm sorry, I'm still trying to understand.
Mel: WHY?
Mel: I do adore you.

Mel: Beans are like the kid in the class who eats whole wads of paper and makes spit bubbles and the teacher finally just puts him in a corner because they can't kick him out.

Me: Ohmgosh. STRIPPED OF AN ORGAN? Who does that?

Me: I will be going tomorrow. You may have to lock me in the closet for significant periods of time at some point this weekend.
Mel: I'm pretty strong and I grew up with 6 brothers. I can wrestle you into a closet and lock you in no problem. What are friends for?

On Giving You Grandchildren

I know I sort of missed the Mother's Day boat, but my mom has complained in the past that I always right about my dad instead of her. So I wrote her a poem. Look, Mom, I wrote you a poem!

On Giving You Grandchildren

You say you want to be a grandma.
Not in the guilt-inducing your reproduction of our race
 Is ultimately about me way,
Just a factual I want to be a grandma way.

And I think, Heck, Mom.
I want to be a grandma. All that unconditional
Love and wisdom. Wrinkles notwithstanding,
Maybe we should be grandmas before we're moms.

But I want you to be a grandma too.
Not just because it would make you happy,
Not just because it would make me happy--
In a hypothetical future in which I understand
How you could possibly stand in front of a holy man and commit to someone
That (here in the Mormon world) you may have known less than a year--
Not jut because of that.
But because I want to understand how you love me as much as you do.

One of the reasons I like growing up
Aside from the eating peanut butter for dinner if I want to
(I don't actually do that, Mom I promise)
Is that moving a sea and several states away
Has forced me to be responsible from making grocery lists and judging when,
Exactly, it is absolutely necessary to laundry
And this has given me a different way to talk to you.
And I love talking to you--
I have always loved talking to you--
But I love talking to you as an adult
As well as your daughter.

I will love talking to you as a mother
When I finally understand how you love me as wisely as you do.
I will love loving you even more when you are a grandma
And I understand how you love me.

For the Love of Libraries

I discovered the library this semester.

I mean, it's not like it was hidden. It's a fairly large building. It sort of takes up a lot of room. And I've spent a lot of anxiety-filled, breathless moments in there, trying to print something out a few minutes before it was due.

But this semester I discovered the library. (Kind of like how I discovered YouTube when I was thirteen. Speaking of YouTube, do you know about the Vlog Brothers? I'm going to be John Green if I grow up.)

I didn't use libraries growing up. My family doesn't excel at due dates, and my mom's running theory was that it was less expensive to buy books than to pay the late fees--and I actually think it was most of the time. Which meant I grew up in a house full of books, which was fantastic, especially because the libraries around my house are not impressive.

I don't know that the library here is impressive--I don't have a good point of comparison. But I love my library. (I actually have a shirt that says that. And, just after I typed that sentence, I looked down and found I was wearing the shirt that I have that actually says that.) On the fifth floor in the back corner there are rows and rows of literature.

I'm pretty sure that's what heaven looks like.

Anyway, I've been reading a lot of books this semester--a lot considering that I'm going to school full time and attempting to have a life. I mostly don't read great books. I read a lot of those for class, and as much as I love it does sort of numb my brain.

(Although? I fell in love with Ralph Waldo Emerson after I read: "In your metaphysics you have denied personality to the Deity: yet when the devout motions of the soul come, yield to them heart and life, though they should clothe God with shape and color. Leave your theory, as Joseph his coat in the hand of the harlot, and flee.")

I don't seek out great literature on my library trips; I'm just looking for a good read. I thought I'd give you three I've enjoyed.

The Rook: I don't know how to tell you about this book without making it sound extremely weird. Truth being, it's an extremely weird book.

So I'm going to skip the plot summary (google it, if you'd like) and skip to the stuff I like.

I like the plot. It's a bit bizarre, which makes it a bit unpredictable, which is awesome. I also really, really like the humor here. It's dry, understated, and sarcastic. If I knew boys who had this books sense of humor, I would be a lot more upset about not having a boyfriend. It's also a fairly quick and easy read, though by quick I don't mean short so much as I mean fast-paced.

Stuff I don't like? Some plot holes, some swearing. Not pervasive swearing, but when it's there the words are colorful.

The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks: This is such a girl book. I don't mean that in the usual way--it's not boy-meets-girl-fall-in-love-break-up and there is absolutely no bodice ripping. That's a thing, right? Bodice ripping?

It's a girl book because it's about a girl trying to figure some things out and because there's a fair amount of girl-power in it.

Things I loved? The girl power, the somewhat random (but totally awesome) factual side stories, and, again the humor. I read this out loud with my roommate and didn't do my homework very much that week.

Things I didn't love? The ending. By the middle of the book it was the only ending that made sense, but I didn't love it.

The Fault in Our Stars: Apparently everyone knew about this book and didn't tell me. I'm actually sort of annoyed about it. Why have you all been holding back?

This book was written by John Green, who is the newest addition to my hero list (others being Emma Thompson, Kim Yu Na, and my mother). I'm afraid if I tell you about this book you won't read it.

Please read it.

This is not the best book I've ever read, but dang it, I am so attached to it. It's funny, smart, sad at parts, but hopeful too. I love the characters in it. I love that the main character adores her parents, that she watches really bad television, and that she can complain without being in a perpetual state of sorry-for-myself. Also? If Augustus Waters was a real boy I would marry him, misused big words and all.

Basically, this book provided me with a new life plan: become John Green, marry Augustus Waters, and learn to talk awesomely.

It's a work in progress plan.

A Post About Photos With A Surprising Lack of Photos

I'm sitting on the floor in my bedroom. (I read, recently, that doing things other than actually sleeping in bed makes it hard to actually sleep in bed. Thus the floor.) My hair is wet and I'm listening to Mumford & Sons, which is my favorite band tonight. My window is open. Praises be for open windows.

I believe it's spring here, but, not being very practiced in seasons, it's difficult for me to be sure. In any case, I have plans on riding my bike to school some day soon and possibly playing soccer. Except probably not the soccer thing.

Today I went and got pictures developed off a disposable camera that I bought on impulse a month and a half ago. Also on impulse, and possibly in consequence of the first impulse, my friends and I started a photoblog.

I've never been a photographer, friends. As in, never. I am a reader, writer, biker, cooker, sister, and many other kinds of -ers, but I've never been a photographer. In spite of this I now have a photoblog.

Here's why: Most of my friends are leaving. And when I say most, I mean mostly all. They're all leaving on missions--to Spain, Germany, Japan, New Jersey, and many other awesome places.

I'm staying in Utah, and I'm preemptively lonely. Not so much this week. Last week was pretty bad, but this week my loneliness has been relocated and is regulated to an obscure part of my heart. In any case, my impulse when battling negative emotions is to curl up on my bed (which I'm not even allowed to do anymore, otherwise insomnia), which is actually a really bad idea. So instead I made a photoblog.

In my head, this makes sense.

You see, I have friends that are going to cities all over the world. The thought is, maybe they can take pictures of it and send it back to me and I can put it on the blog. The advantage here is threefold: (1) I stay in contact with my friends. (2) When they get back they'll have a record of their missions. (3) I don't spend a lot of time curled up on my bed and not sleeping. At least in theory.

A Few of My Favorite Things. Again. I Have Lots.

There's this one building on campus where people are always talking about the newest fantasy story they're writing. Or about whether or not '?!' is acceptable (general consensus--no, but we're probably going to use it anyway). They're talking about BBC TV shows. And The Last Airbender. And foreign films.

They're such nerds, guys. Really. Nerds. And the first time I really stopped and listened to them I thought, I've found my people!

Anyway, upstairs in this building there is a board where they ask questions and leave sticky notes, and you get to answer them. This week it was What Is Your New Years Resolution?

These were my favorites:

       Be less creepy.

               Get into Hogwarts.

          Floss everyday.

                       Live like an art project. 

   Be even more awesome (will be hard).

                 Find a cure for the zombie apocalypse. YOU OWE ME!

Steal a snowman.

                Crash a wedding.

       Overcome my depression. (Accompanied by scribbled, encouraging notes.)

Stop the apocalypse (get the salt!!!)

             Don't kill ANY moths.

Don't you kind of love people?

In case that didn't do it for you, try this. (He's a local photographer, and I love him. He makes them look interesting.)

                  

Ah! And this. (It's a New Yorker story. And it makes me laugh, really hard. There is swearing, as a heads up.)

And this. (I'm totally not crying.)

Hey, guys, how do you think you steal a snowman?

(From http://www.vintageseattle.org/2008/02/22/seattles-great-storm-of-1916/)

The Irony Department

Have you ever watched any Inside the Actor's Studio? (Youtube it.) It's this collection of interviews with actors. They tell their lives story and talk about movies that they've worked on. At the end of the interview they're always asked the same questions. Stuff like, what's your favorite word? What's your favorite curse word? One of the questions is, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? George Clooney said, "I'd like him to say-- Come on in, Rosemary's singing, Nat Cole is playing piano... they're singing Always."

Now I've thought about this and come up with several answers. First of all, I'd really like a hug. Seriously, if I make it to heaven, I feel like a hug will be in order. I'd also really like to hear, "The library is this way." But recently I've been thinking that, before the library, I'm going to need to go see the Irony Department.

There are irony offices in heaven. Officially they're called the Irony Department, or ID, or (because they just think they're so clever) Id. There are probably different divisions in the office. You know. Like maybe they have one for dramatic irony, one for situational irony. I'm not sure. But I am pretty sure that the offices are largely populated by writers. Because you can't really be a writer without taking thismuch pleasure in other people's pain. (Or THISMUCH. That works too.)

Betcha that Jane Austen is there. And Jonathan Swift. Every snarky writer that ever lived, they all get together and plot about how to make the world poetically miserable.

These are the people who sit up in the clouds on their swivel chairs and say, "You don't like that person? Really? Then you should run into them every single place you go." Or there'll be an intern who'll say, "Hm. Marissa just studied six hours for her test. You know what we're going to do? We're going to have her know everything on the test--but she isn't going to read the directions right, so she'll get a B anyway." And then the guy in the cubicle over says, "Hey, why limit yourself? Might as well have that happen on two tests on the same day, right?" And then they both rub their hands together and cackle evilly. You have to have an evil laugh to work there.

They like to tell themselves that they're in charge of God's sense of humor.

I hate them. I want to work there when I die. But I hate them.

Maybe they already know that I want to work there, and all this stuff, all the irony that keeps popping up, is hazing. They mess with me a ton now, and then when I die, when I charge into the office, and demand to know who thought that was funny, they'll tell me very innocently that all that was just training. You know. So I'd have some idea of what it is that they do there.

I've been thinking about it recently, though, and I'm pretty sure I've found the person who got it worst from Id. Lot's wife is the grand winner. Not just because getting turned into salt sort of stinks, but because the irony wasn't even clear until the Sermon on the Mount. Because, you see, now Lot's wife literally is the salt of the earth.

...Ba-dum ching.

I'm going to go work on my evil laugh now.

Insecurities, Why I Will Never Be a Heroine... Oh, and a Book List

I was asked for book recommendations a few weeks ago and felt utterly overcome with responsibility. What if you didn't like the books I recommended? Or, like always happens every time I recommend a TV show, I've forgotten something in them that will make you very uncomfortable? Or I leave a book out that deserves its place on my shelf of favorites? And what if I make my favorites sound worse than they are by trying to be honest about them? And what if I'm no good at reviews?

I have overcome these fears by not thinking about them. Which seems to be my new approach to fears and things I don't like in general. What's that you say? Avoidance? So?

Thus, in no particular order, here are my favorite books.

Peace Like a River: 

Told from the perspective of a little boy, Rueben, I love nearly all the characters in this book, particularly Rueben's sister Swede. But I think what makes it one of my favorites is that it's a book about miracles--about the mercy and attentiveness of God--that doesn't get cutesy or preachy. Instead, it's a story in which miracles occur and largely go unnoticed, or freak people out. The downside of this book is that, like so many others, the ending feels rushed.

How to Kill a Mockingbird:

You all should have read this in high school. If you were deprived of that opportunity, go pick it up from the library. If you used sparknotes or intuition to get by on the tests, go pick it up from the library. And if you read and thought, "That was nice," but it didn't make you laugh or cry hard, go pick it up from the library. That's all.

The Elegance of a Hedgehog: 

I adore this book. I love this book. I recognize that this book is not for everyone. It's plot is slow to start, and slow to pick up. It's a book that is largely concerned with people and ideas and, so, will dwell on them for quite a long time. Also, there is this side plot concerning suicide which can be thematically disturbing. And while we're being completely honest about things I don't adore about this book, I have to say that I thought the ending was the product of either a lazy writer or a lazy editor.


Those things honestly sound worse than they are. What I love about The Elegance of a Hedgehog is it's main character who intelligent, funny, and utterly unorthodox in the world of fictitious heroines. I also think the language is soul-stirringly immaculate. Truly, this book is worth reading if only for the vocabulary boost. I think we often read, or participate in any kind of art really, because we want to feel a certain way. When I'm stressed out I listen to cello music, and read this book (and, yes, eat lots of chocolate) and I feel better.

Howls Moving Castle:

This book is nowhere near the quality of the other books I'm recommending. There is nothing in this book that I feel the world at large should become aware of. The language is entirely adequate, the characters funny, interesting, but probably not deep. I'm recommending this book not because I think it is a triumph of modern literature, but because I like it and because I think you can't always be reading triumphs of modern literature.


Howls Moving Castle is a fantasy book about a girl who gets cursed--and turns into an old woman. Which, yeah, pretty much stinks. But instead of buying a new wardrobe of lavender and lace and feeling sorry for herself--which is probably what I would do--she runs away from home and becomes a cleaning lady or an evil wizard. And this is why I will never be a heroine.

The Book Thief:

This is one of those books that I'm pretty sure everyone has heard about. In fact, I think all of these books might be this way. Or maybe I just love them so much it's difficult for me to imagine it's not. The Book Thief is a product of genius story telling, gorgeous language, and brilliant character development. It's narrated by Death and takes place in Nazi Germany. And it is one of two books I have ever read and thought, "That was the perfect ending."

Go read it. Now.

A Few of My Favorite Things

I watched The Young Victoria yesterday. Again.

Every once in a while I get the urge to watch a "bonnet movie." You know, a movie where all the women wear beautiful dresses, and all the men wear high boots. Where everyone is witty, and the stakes are purely interpersonal. Where it's clear from the beginning who is going to fall in love, so any angst suffered along the way is throughly enjoyable. This happened sometime last January and to satisfy my craving I got on Netflix and watched Bright Star. I was less than pleased.

A similar urge ceased me sometime last summer. Once again I consulted Netflix. I found The Young Victoria. And it was love.

If you are a guy, this may be a good time to bow out. I don't know that this is a guy movie. Unless you're a guy like my dad--who called me, several weeks ago, to inform me that when I got home we were going to watch all of the six hour Pride and Prejudice and do a textual analysis of it in which he would prove, once and for all, that Lizzy did not fall in love with Darcy for his money.

But, if you're not a guy, or if you're a guy like my dad (in which case we should talk), let me tell you what I love about this movie.

There is your normal run of good things--the script is smart (though not fast paced), and the acting ranges from inoffensive to excellent. The film is beautifully shot (mostly), and the score is lovely.

But I've got to tell you, what I really love about The Young Victoria is Victoria.

I have thing for smart heroines. If my smart heroines are also powerful and deeply flawed, then I am completely sold. (it's the perfect combination of things i am and things i wish i were. i'll let you guess which are which.)

Victoria is strong. This strength saves her from a childhood full of hurt and in which she was denied any power at all. However, this same strength is detrimental later in her life, as her stubborn streak makes her unwise. I love this. I love that the best parts of her are also the worst parts. It's something I recognize from life.

I have to talk a little bit about Alfred too, because I love him almost as much.

I like Alfred on his own. He seems basically kind, and extremely smart. When I fall for him, though, is when he's with Victoria.

He is supportive while having his own opinions, gives good advice, loves music, and is nice to her dog. He is saved from perfection, however, by something like pettiness, which is a flaw that we as viewers are prone to forgive. If he were cowardly, or (heaven forbid) humorless, it would be more difficult. But pettiness is forgivable and even lovable.

They make me happy.

And while we're talking about things that make me happy (which we should definitely continue doing, because it's a great excuse to not fill out job applications) I should mention Humans of New York.

I stumbled across this last week with the assistance of facebook and an excellent English teacher. (thanks jackson.) And it just makes me smile. And want to go to New York. And take up photography...

Go check it out.

...No, seriously. Why are you still here?