Close Encounters of the Third Kind

Warning: The following post may have material that is offensive to science people... so, "choose wisely, for while the following post will bring you life..." Just kidding. Name that movie?!

I recently had my own close encounter with alien life-forms.

I could practically hear the five-tone musical phrase chime in my ears as I entered the ESC- that is science-speak for the Eyring Science Center (not to be confused with the EAC- points for naming the movie!). I was coerced, practically abducted (Barry style!) and forced to enter into the physics lab. I broke out in a cold sweat that had absolutely nothing to do with the many stairs we had to climb. The breathlessness might have been slightly associated with the stairs, but most likely it was the weight of the terror pressing in on me inhibiting my breathing. OK, fine, maybe the stairs contributed a little. But mostly just the terror. After winding endlessly through passages- some of them obscured by walls that weren't really walls- I was slightly startled when we came to the door. THE door. The unhappy, white paint on the wall should have overwhelmed me and stopped me in my tracks, but I bravely plunged forward and followed my abductors through the door. Immediately the pungent smell of whiteboard markers and sadness washed over me.

Any delusion I had entertained about overhearing snippets of conversation including the words (but not limited to, of course) "Vega," "Vulcan," "red matter," "transporters" quickly evaporated as the reality of messy-looking equations laughed malignantly in my face.

Perhaps even more disconcerting, if that is possible, than the actual equations scrawled over the whiteboards were the individuals inhabiting the room. To the unobservant eye, one might say they looked "normal" and maybe even were enjoying their stay (except of course the kid that was muttering, and probably cursing, under his breath). But therein lies the problem. The alien life forms have managed to fool us into adopting them as our own and tricked us into thinking they LIKE their choice. As if!!!! (Add a kind of dopey-teenage-girl-voice to that and name that movie!). Just kidding. Maybe they actually do like physics. (I have a hard time just letting that statement stand without adding some expression of disbelief again, but I am going to restrain myself).

My abductors reminded me that I was now in the hallowed halls of the physics lab so I should probably stop being me and refrain from doing "Tara-like" things. A few specifics mentioned were breaking out into song randomly, saying ANYTHING about Shakespeare, something about "laughing boisterously" was mentioned, and under no circumstances should I attempt to fraternize. I would be detected and (possibly) forcibly ejected immediately. I will admit, I had a little Stockholm Syndrome thing going on (I was with Amy and Kaylee), so I acquiesced to their petitions and tried to keep my cool. I did, however, make the mistake of whispering and was quickly informed that by whispering I was drawing MORE attention to myself because talking was actually allowed. More humane policies than I expected from the aliens. They were even allowed to eat, and like, actually eat, not the "snacking on children while they dream" sort of thing. (Name that movie? getting sick of that yet?)

I was adjusting quite well to my new environment, quietly going about my business, writing a paper, being unobtrusive, being a very good girl. Then, a horrific thing happened. Kaylee had to leave. Just me and Amy against the physics people. I had no way of knowing whose side Amy would take if it came to a battle. She was technically one of them. But we shared a bond (and if I remember any science stuff from high school I would throw in some word like "ionic" or "covalent," but just know that it is a strong bond), a bond forged almost the same way Sauron forged his ring in the fires of Mount Doom. Except we were in London not Mordor, and our friendship was not forged in secret- though I do hope that it has power above the forgement of friendship with the physics "friends."

But we were soon to find out how true the friendship was.

Amy left.

She said it would be for but a moment. Tried to comfort me with soft words. But she still left. She left me to the physics aliens. Most likely they were going to savagely pick me apart and take my brain just like that one alien lady did with Spock's. They would be vastly disappointed though. Not exactly what you would call a "spock" if you know what I mean.

Amy left and I tried to avoid eye contact. Kept the breathing quiet... but I had a plan. Just in case. If anybody even attempted to ask me something I would just channel my inner Dr. McCoy and throw out the "I'm an English major, not a physicist!" Luckily, everybody left me alone and Amy returned eventually.

After getting sufficiently high on that whiteboard marker smell, Amy had finished her work at the lab and was ready to depart. And let's just say that I was not like Roy, hoping to be selected to join the aliens on the mothership. Let's also just say that I packed up my stuff in record time, covertly shoved my Shakespeare anthology in the bottom of my backpack and got the heck out of there (with Amy's help of course- that place is a MAZE!). I was like Barry. Finally (!) released from my abduction. Though I still plan on maintaining a Stockholm-syndrome-ish relationship with my captors, I do not necessarily plan on returning to the home of the five-tone anthem. I hope to spend the remainder of my days sequestered in my own little mothership- the JFSB. A place with a lot of windows, a nice little courtyard area, a balcony- in short, a place where you might find unicorns and stuff. Trust me on that one. Or don't.

I'm glad I lived to tell the tale of my alien encounter and I wish all of you similar success in navigating through the perilous roads of life.

May you live long and prosper (hand signal).

Be a Tree

I should probably start off by apologizing. This post could be potentially annoying as I am going to be making some references back to some posts I have made in the past. Basically just two, and I wish I knew how to do that little "click on this and go back" thing but I'm not so good with the technology, so I will just let you know which blogs to check out from the past, if you are so inclined.

I don't know about you guys, but I was always OK with Shakespeare. I respected the man. I mean, you can't deny the man is a genius, but I never felt the passion. Or, I guess, more accurately, I occasionally felt the passion but I never fell deeply in love with Shakespeare. Maybe this is bad for me to be admitting, you know, as a future English teacher, but I share my story in the hopes that maybe other people can also become converts to the Shakespeare.

Just to recap, sure Shakespeare probably liked tea, I would have tea with him, but let's just say he wasn't my cup of tea. But that all changed for me one day. (Refer back to Wednesday, June 1- "The World Must Be Peopled"). For those of you who are lazy (just kidding), that is the day that I saw "Much Ado About Nothing" at the Globe. Not only that, but I actually MET and TALKED with the guy that played Benedick. It was life-changing for me and I would say it completed my conversion to a Shakespeare-ite.

So in previous semesters I might not have been pumped about taking the Shakespeare class, but after London and the Globe, I was ready for Shakespeare class. (PS- Shakespeare must now always be said with an uppity, British accent. Just think, "How would Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet say Shakespeare" and go with that). Not only was I ready, but some of my London peeps were also game! Remember my dear friends Shelisa, Amy, and Kaylee? They are all in the class with me. Bringing the London party to Provo.

Anyway, first day of classes, I go to my Shakespeare class, Norton Anthology in tow, feathered quill with which to take copious notes. Don't even worry- we have a STAGE in our classroom. Let's just say my hopes were really high for the rest of the course. Naturally, I experimented with the performability of the stage before taking my place on the front row. Just kidding, I actually sit on the second row in that class because if you sit on the front row your feet are hindered by the stage, so second row is the way to go.

The professor walks in and a hush falls over the crowd. Not really, but we jump right in and start discussing how Shakespeah (not a typo, just encouraging proper pronunciation) "has shaped modern consciousness as no other artist has done." And whether or not if ol' Billy really has the power to "make us laugh, make us think, to shock us, to challenge us to be better and wiser." Basically at this point, I was on the edge of my seat, pumped up about life and I was having a hard time containing the excitement. Many a side-long looks were cast in the directions of the London peeps and if somebody listened closely, they might have heard little squeals of excitement escaping. I was trying to keep it cool though, obviously.

First day of Shakespeah class was a dream. And the crazy thing? All uphill from there. Next class, we review the whole iambic pentameter thing. Seemingly boring, perhaps even overdone, but NO! It was brilliant. He compared it to a heartbeat and I was sold, especially when we started looking at those certain lines and discussing how some fit the iambic pentameter and others were slightly off and what that meant. My mind was blown. Or, how sometimes he switches from more prose-y language into rhyming couplets in certain emotional situations. Brilliant. Phrases like "anapestic dimeter" and "acatalectic" were being thrown around. Things were getting crazy!

Then he uttered some statement about how we were now going to read lines and we were going to take it one step at a time and read each word, each line, each thought, but we had to "feel it's energy." We were told to feel "the energy from word to word, the energy from line to line, the energy from thought to thought." Then he said, "Yeah, I know, it's like I'm telling you to be a tree." I was a goner. We started reading lines from plays with a partner, focusing on the energy of the words. Now, I am sort of a cheeseball, dramatic nerd in the first place, so when somebody is encouraging me to get into being who I naturally am, I am not going to resist. (who am i kidding? I don't even need encouragement most of the time. Most of the time, in fact, people try to discourage me). Holy cow. If you don't think that individual words and lines have a specific energy, go and pick some Shakespeah and start reading- because you can tell when you are not reading with the right energy! Just try it. It is wildly satisfying.

Possibly the most fun lines to read were from "A Midsummer Night's Dream." I read for Helena (the spurned, slightly pathetic woman who loved a man that did not love her) and just tell me you don't feel the energy of these lines:

H: And even for that do I love you the more.
I am your spaniel, and, Demetrius,
The more you beat me I will fawn on you.
Use me but as your spaniel: spurn me, strike me,
Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,
Unworthy as I am, to follow you.
What worser place can I beg in your love-
And yet a place of high respect with me-
Than to be used as you use your dog?

Isn't that just so beautifully tragic?! Tell me every girl hasn't felt that way at some point or another? Maybe even some guys... Or, this quote from "As You Like It" that I absolutely love:

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages...
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

So yeah, next time you have the chance, maybe just pick up some Shakespeah and give it a second chance. Or a first chance. Shakespeare is too good not to share.I don't want to sound like I am bearing my testimony of him, but let's just say I might have one. In a very non-sacrilegious way, of course. Also, just picture for a minute, an entire class of English dorks reading Shakespeah lines with the "right" energy. Yeah.

Which leads me to my next point. One time I was reflecting on how I have a lot of "bad" habits I have picked up as a result of being an English major (I will refer you back to my October 3rd post entitled "Public Humiliation"). I was lamenting the choice of black as my favorite color in a Miss-Havisham sort of way, but not really because she is awesome, and I realized that there were some other "odd" habits I have picked up. My roommates helped me compile this list. One of my roommates even pulled up her "Tara's Weird Quirks" list to help me think of some. I am not kidding. She seriously has a word document with a list of all my weird habits.

Tara's English Quirks:

1. Has a hard time answering questions with simple answers. Has to give supporting evidence and commentary.
2. Finds John Keats applicable to everyday life.
3. Likes to look for patterns and themes in all media (Star Wars compared to the gospel as a main area of focus, along with disney movies).
4. Makes people like at the sky- at all times of the day. (My roommate specified that she is not quite sure if this has to do with English stuff or not, but it was odd and she thinks there is correlation, if not causation- and if I were not an English major, I would be able to tell you which of those science-y words was applicable).
5. Cries over John Keats sometimes.
6. Thinks everything relates to a book she just read.
7. Has a tendency to scribble in a notebook by her bed in the middle of the night when little insights strike her in relation to the current paper she is writing (Again, the roommate loves this- also, very good at writing in the dark).

Though I am not sure if I really believe her, one of my roommates insisted they were all "endearing" whilst the other one laughed. Most likely at me.

8. Uses the word "whilst" - one of the roommates also said I had a penchant for using big words. She did not seem too pumped about that particular trait either.

In short, this might come across as slightly testimonial again, but I love being an English major even if it has tailored me to be an odd sort of person. Almost every day I get to read something that makes me excited to live and that tugs at the heartstrings a little bit. I read about the darker side of human nature and the sorrow of life, but then I get to read about the joy in living and the beauty of humanity. Every single day I ask myself, "Why does this matter to me? What makes this important? Why is this lasting?" and as I ponder those questions in relation to the texts I am currently reading, my answer are always satisfying and in a lot of ways they reaffirm my actual testimony that I have in the gospel of Jesus Christ.

One quote I came across from author John Connolly really resonated with me. He said, "The reading of fiction encourages us to view the world in new and challenging ways. I have always believed that fiction acts as a prism, taking the reality of our existence and breaking it down into its constituent parts, allowing us to see it in a completely different form. It allows us to inhibit the consciousness of another, which is a precursor to empathy, and empathy is, for me, one of the marks of being a decent human being." If you don't like your major, come to mine and make your life better. Or, at the very least, pick up a book and let it affect you. Let Shakespeare inspire you. Build a relationship with the Hogwarts family. Love Captain Jack Elliott. Cry over John Keats (and invite me so I can cry with you). Most importantly, memorize the last part of Tennyson's Ulysses so that you always have some motivation.

Come my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

This is why I am an English major. Amen.

Nocturnal 'Nanigans

For some reason I just felt very strongly that this post needed an alliterative title, but I could not think of a good "N" word that could express the idea of "very unexpected happenings that were quite entertaining and not exactly in accordance with the Miss Manner's expectations placed upon a young lady" or something like that. So I figured "Shenanigans" was the closest I would get so I could just use the lovely "put an ' before it trick."

And when I said "For some reason" I REALLY meant: "For the very specific reason that I love a poem by Anne Finch called 'Nocturnal Reverie' and I do realize that the title is not alliterative, but I still wanted MY title to be." So there.

Now for the shenanigans part.

It all started Monday night. I went to FHE (for the first time in maybe longer than I should admit- don't tell!) and we were having a little White Elephant Exchange. I just realized that I don't know how to say "elephant" in italian and that is a serious travesty. Anyway, using my "feminine wiles" which roughly translated means, "Using my skills of treachery, deceit, and extortion" I managed to secure myself a snuggie. Oh baby. It was actually kind of ironic because the day before I was reading and my arms were really cold and I thought about how nice it would be to have a snuggie and BOOM. Snuggie for Tara. Actually, am I even typing with my snuggie right now? I wish I could answer that in the affirmative, but I just got out of the shower and I am pretty toasty, so a snuggie is not needed at present. But I will keep you updated. It is sitting by me though, hand reach away, just in case.

After FHE, like the dutiful students we sometimes pretend to be, Kathryn and I trudged (Yes, we TRUDGED. A slow, weary, yet determined walk... Name that movie!) to the library and after suffering through a few hours of the writing process, we decided it was break time.

Now an explanation is required here, a little background info, so you can be "in the know." Kat and I encountered an individual this year (who will remain nameless, genderless, indiscriminate etc so as to prevent this individual from being shunned or from feeling sheepish), and this genderless guy is just really hard to talk to. Like really. I like to think that I am not too boring, but this unidentified, and still genderless for the purposes of the story, dude always seemed like he was undergoing some form of the Chinese water torture every single time I tried to talk to him. Kathryn, and a few other select females, felt exactly the same. So we devised a little competition. Ice cream was owed to whichever individual could get this fellow (ok yeah, I am going to quit with the pretense of keeping the gender a secret) to talk with them for more than eight minutes. Harder than you might think. But I found an opportunity and found out a lot more about this person's background than I ever wanted and thus, I earned the ice cream. Clocked in at twelve minutes, just in case you were wondering. Above and beyond the call of duty.

So Kat and I decided that this break should be an ice cream break, but the only ice cream in the vicinity was at the Creamery and it was due to close at eleven and it was, at the time, just a little before eleven. We started shoving our school junk into our backpacks and made like freshmen back to the Heritage area and the mothership (Creamery) and we got our ice cream.

As if we could even HANDLE anymore excitement for the night, we took a "shortcut" home and ended up in a fenced-in construction site with one option before us. Ok, we could have come back the way we came, but it was so far, so we had one viable option. That involved hopping a fence. With backpacks and stuff. Kat was also maybe in a skirt, but that might not be the truth. We owned that sucker. With backpacks on.

Which brings us to TUESDAY night. I was once again, spending a late night at the library. It was 11:19 when I left the library and it was dark and cold and the weight of my backpack was even more burdensome because I couldn't quite finish off my paper. I was one crosswalk away from my apartment and there were no cars in the vicinity so I started to cross when all of a sudden this car appears suddenly. They were still a little bit away, but they were going wayyyy faster than the speed limit and they were not slowing down even though I was very clearly still going to be in their way when they got to my crosswalk. Though my initial instinct might have been to just let the car take me (just kidding- geez!) I scurried (and yes, I literally had to scurry) out of the way and offered the boy scout salute. The three fingers that could also be read as "Read between the lines." But in the dark and in a quick motion it might have just looked more like one, big, loud, finger. Tehehehe. For this action, I got honked at. It was worth it.

Are you even ready for Wednesday night?! Most exciting night yet. In Siena, Italy there is this glorious and grand horse race called the Palio. Look it up. There are some awesome youtube videos on the subject. But it is basically Italy's version of the running of the bulls. But obviously cooler. I am part of the Istrice contrada. We ARE the porcupines! Instead of real horses, we have classmates masquerade as horses with other classmates on their backs. It is great fun. There are many fun traditions also associated with the Palio, like the parade of contrade beforehand and such, and there are awesome italian dishes etc. Naturally, we had matching "Istrice" shirts and such and all of our practicing paid off (and yes, we really did devote some time during class to practice) and we are the victors for this semester's Palio. Did I mention we also won last semester?? Yep. I believe MC Hammer actually wrote a song about us entitled "Too legit to Quit" or something like that.

I also finished my third to last paper of the semester. No laughing matter. And yes, I am currently procrastinating the writing of the other two (even though one of them I really am almost done with, just can't quite finish it off). Thanks for asking.

A London Day

As I was thinking about my day and all of the awesomeness that it was, I had the realization that it was a "London Day." Why is that, you ask? Well, let me explain.

When I was in London, every single day was filled with adventure after adventure and I got to hang out with really awesome people all the time and I had fun and learned. That is a London day. Awesome people. Awesome activities. No time to think about how tired you are. No desire to think about the things that you "really should be doing." No desire to actually DO the things that you "really should be doing." So, basically, just a fun-filled day.

(Also, I would just like to say that it is pretty late and I didn't write a paper that I should have and because of that I am suffering when it comes to proper usage of the English language, so I apologize if there are any sentences that contain egregious errors).

The surprising thing about THE day, the infamous day (and in this instance we are going with the definition provided by Ned Nederlander that infamous means "more than famous"), is that it started out as an ordinary day, one might even use the term boring to describe the projected outcome for the day. I only had one set activity for the day and then a very lengthy list of things that I ought to do.

I started off decently on the things I should be doing list. I went to the temple and it was nice, a little crowded even for a Saturday. Then I went to the gym. That is when I should have maybe started picking up on the hint that the day was going to be good because the movie "Life As We Know It" was on. And that movie is funny. I like funny.

A little after the whole sweating and panting thing, I went home and showered like some people sometimes do after gym time. Then I received a phone call from a dear friend inviting Kathryn (my roommate) and I to a Vocal Point concert. We happily, cluelesslly for me, accepted the invitation and prepared ourselves.

I will confess I have never heard Vocal Point and if I am being perfectly honest, I just figured they were overhyped, overrated, whatever singers. I sat next to a guy in my New Testament class who was in the group and I never thought too much about it.

Um.... I was wrong. They were brilliant. Beyond brilliant really. I was amazed. And wildly entertained. Desperately swooning. I know the short, clipped phrases are probably starting to get old, but honestly, I was so blown away that I feel they adequately express (and perhaps mirror) my heart as it continuously stopped because it was so amazing. I want to marry Vocal Point. (Note: You might have noticed that I did not narrow out a specific singer from the group and that is because I would marry any of them. I would say all, but we LDS people already have a hard time disassociating ourselves with the whole polygamy thing...).

The only bad part about the concert was that it made me late to my LATIN DANCING LESSON. Yes, just in case you couldn't quite see the bolded type, let me reiterate. LATIN DANCING LESSON. What?! Yeah, baby.

Just a little background to this... recently in my singles ward we had a Service Auction. People donated cans of food and the grams of protein in the cans gave them a certain amount of points. People also donated "services" and other things and with their can points, people could bid on services. So people donated things like, "Do two loads of laundry" or "Make dinner for an apartment" or other such cute things. One of the services donated was "Two latin dancing lessons." Luckily, I was the auctioneer person (Vanna-style of course!) and so when this treasure of a service item appeared I made sure to speed up the whole process of "going-going-gone... SOLD!" to the lady in the sequins. (I was wearing sequins at the time).

So I go over to my latin dance instructor's apartment and we cleared the dance space. (*giggle* *tehehehehe*). He taught me four basic latin dances and then we worked on them. It was so much fun and though I might have been appallingly bad, he was very kind and encouraging. And it was pretty much just like the best thing ever. Heaven.

You are probably thinking by now that I have had so much fun that I should probably save some for other people. Or perhaps crawl into my bed to recover? Or maybe even actually buckle down and do those things on that dratted to-do list. But did I? NO! No I didn't.

I went to Timpview High School and saw "Thoroughly Modern Millie." And it was delightful. Also really fitting with the whole "London day" thing because the best way to end your day in London was to go see a play! Millie was incredible and it was really fun to see all of the people from my home ward in the play. They were all wonderful. I also always love seeing my old choir teacher and drama teacher (Mr. Larson and Mr. Brower, respectively), they are very talented men and I was quite lucky to get to work with them in my past. Kathryn had to put up with my reminsicings about ol' times and popping out of the trapdoor and such. Good times.

Then. If you can even handle it, I will tell you what happened next. We got in the car and Adele's "Someone Like You" was on the radio. Not just once, but twice. One right after the other. Different stations, of course, but the perfect song to pour-our-souls-out-in-song-to. And oh did we ever. Both times.

In the London days, when we went to see a play we always went and got some gelato or ice cream or something to end with (who am i kidding- we did that not just when we saw plays...oopsie). So to keep with the tradition, I went with a friend in the ward to get some ice cream. Or I guess technically it was a "malt" from the Malt Shoppe. Peanut Butter. Yummy.

Did I do write my paper? Maybe not... Did I learn the new Italian tense I intended to? Maybe not so much... Did I have a ridiculously awesome day that reminded me of my London days? YES. Did I do anything that wasn't at a high level of awesome? NOPE. That is what I'm talking about. A little taste of London in Provo. It can happen.

147

Last year I lived at an apartment complex called Heather Cove and I thought the location was pretty good. Obviously not as close as the dorms, but not bad. But one thing you could not escape was walking up the stairs. Not just normal stairs either. Stairs that are too close together to take normal, human steps but also stairs that were too far apart for short-legged-ones like me to successfully take them two at a time. I use the word "successfully" because it was possible, but then you just ended up looking like you were trying to go all "King Kong" on a local village. I guess this idea of "king-konging" it to class could lead to a debate over what your idea of successful is, but mine would probably not include savaging the natives and swatting helicopters out of the sky, at the very least because I hate being late to class and acts of savagery do take time. I usually save my King Kong reinactments for the weekends and on the way home from class. More time to really get into character, if you know what I mean. Sometimes I even branch out in my acting skills a little and try my hand (or claws) at doing my best "Jurassic Park" impersonation. (Now here you should be thinking Michael Caine, "I haven't seen a walk like that since Jurassic Park!"). But I digress. (The word "digress" always makes me think of Dostoevsky and The House of the Dead, just fyi).


I don't really digress though, because as I walked up these stairs day after day I had a lot of time to think about such things. Thoughts like, "I really shouldn't be doing this in a skirt" or "Remember that one scene with the velociraptor" and more frequently "Oh good, I can hear them panting too."


This year I live at a different complex that advertised with the slogan "Your walk to campus could start here!" Coincidence that we chose it? I think not! Even though the walk time is considerably lessened, well, at least a few minutes... There is still no avoiding the stairs.


It has been a goal of mine to count these stairs and you might be musing at the fact that it took me until halfway through the semester to accomplish this task, but it is only because the above thoughts are so distracting. Or other thoughts... such as:


"1-2-3-4--Oh! Look at that bug!" oops. "23-24-25....33-- please don't stop to talk- please don't stop to talk! Try and look busy, focus on the railing! oh good! He didn't see me" yeah, I can be a jerk when I pant up the stairs. Or occasionally you encounter the super cool BYU student: "104-105-106- Do you think he realizes we can hear him singing? How could he not realize? Do you think he knows that kind of behavior isn't normal? Maybe I should tell him... Dangit he made me lose count!" Or occasionaly envy gets in the way, "75-76-- goodness she is just hauling up those suckers. She would. Oh yeah, sure, just stop and have a nice breathful conversation with the hot guy. I'll just be back here." And then of course "102-103-- RAWR (other incoherent roars and slashing sounds) *Pause to pound fists on chest*"

So as you might imagine, it took me a significant amount of time to successfully count the 147 stairs to campus. Yep. 147. If you think 147 isn't a lot, you go climb them. Don't forget your backpack of bricks, because let me tell you, that will hinder your walking rate. I almost had to count them again because I couldn't remember how many there were. But luckily I remember thinking "sort of like 76 trombones, but not. Oh! 147!" Now you are going to go out and count them yourself because you no longer trust me. Wise of you.



You get the idea. One morning I happened to leave my apartment a few minutes later than I usually do and because of this I ran into people I know. Usually I like people. But there are times when I really don't. I would like to say that this was just a "one morning thing" but it is usually just every morning. I like my peaceful walk in semi-darkness up to the library. I enjoy being able to fake-shoot the happy, chirpy birds in solitude. I like being able to trudge (yes- thing "Knight's Tale"- a slow, weary, yet determined walk) up at whatever pace I want.



So these people, had the misfortune, my misfortune really, of encountering me on my walk. But they all were going to class. So no trudging for them. They had to King-Kong-it up to campus. Does anybody foresee the problem? I did. I really did. Ten steps in, "So, how you doin?" "Ope, you know, just great.... (quick gasp) You?" "Some super clever comment about their life" (me catching a well-timed breath so that I can answer smoothly) "short, clipped comment, open-ended question to keep them talking?"



Did I mention that these people took the stairs two at a time?? Yeah.



I don't leave late anymore.



And now that I have sufficiently rambled about the stairs and eliminated the later option of "blogging as a form of procrastination" I bid you all a happy, stair-free weekend.

Public Humiliation

I was just publicly humiliated. Correction: I just publicly humiliated myself. So did this other boy, but I am not sure he had enough awareness to know that he was. Publicly humiliating himself, that is.

The boy, and I use the term boy here, because he was brushing his teeth (pause for anticipation) in the DRINKING FOUNTAIN. For reals. So beyond gross. I was so stunned that I said, "Well, this is a first for me" and he spittingly (because he had toothpaste in his mouth) responded, "What, you don't often see people brushing their teeth in the drinking fountain?" Quite a lengthy response for someone with toothpaste in their mouth. And I casually responded, "Nope. Can't say that I do." When I really wanted to say, "Nope, most likely because it is mildly, actually monumentally, repulsive." But he apparently thinks that is "normal."

Now on to my own bout of pariahhood. I was in my New Testament class and I got singled out to say the prayer. I tried to reassure myself, "it's just a prayer, you do this all the time, no big deal." But then I remembered that the person saying the prayer is required to introduce themselves. I don't usually have a problem with things like this, but the lack of preparation time just really threw me off. I also don't usually blush, but I'm pretty sure my face was bright red. Way to stay cool, Tara. Not.

So this is where the problem started. I got up, said hastily, "I'm Tara and I'm an English teaching major" then went to the praying position to indicate that this was over. But it wasn't. Far from over, really. The professor insists I give a little more information and then prompts me by asking where I'm from. Then came the inevitable T-bird or Bulldog question. (Cue lame hand motions in shape of t-bird, lamely supplied by me). Then the lovely man opens it up for questions. Seriously? Seriously. Question and answer time with Tara. Meanwhile, I am assuming the prayer position, hoping against hope that people will be discouraged. But alas, twas not so.

First kid (future rocket scientist)- "So, uh, what's your favorite color?" Are we in first grade here junior? Apparently. This seemingly simple question proved my downfall. A little background information is required here. One of my all-time favorite literary characters is Miss Havisham (name that classic Dickens novel?!) and she was quite an inspiring character for me. Come on, you can't beat the whole "I have a heart that beats, but not that loves" training she foisted on her eager pupil. Because of Miss Havisham, I have always insisted that black is my favorite color because it's the "color of my heart." Background information covered, back to class.

The color question really threw me and my instincts kicked in and I responded with the usual response "Black." Luckily, I had the presence of mind to not include the "because it's the color of my heart." Religion professors might not love that. Then some other smart alecky kid pipes in "uh, you do realize, that, uh, black is the absence of color." "Yes, thank you, I only get that every single time I answer this question" but I spared them the Miss Havisham story.

Next question from kid in purple shirt, "So uh, what do you, um, like to do for fun?" Fortunately, the professor at this point decided to step in before I could respond to questioner number two that I don't, in fact, have fun. Then I prayed and retreated back to my seat. And began to think about all of the ways being an English major has ruined me. I have accumulated quite a list so far, so that will probably be appearing sometime. Now I need to go find a hat or something to disguise myself. Excuse me.

Knockout Punch

I have lost a few rounds... BUT I WON THIS ONE!!!!

So I know I have been AWOL (or perhaps MIA) from the blog scene for the last little bit... But today I have a blog-worthy post.

I will try to set the stage a little bit for you. My freshman year at BYU I often found myself studying at the Law Library (lovingly called the lawbrary), it had a nice atmosphere, was really close to the dorms etc. Then my sophomore year I found myself at the HBLL (Pronounced "H- bell" -BYU talk for Harold B. Lee Library), with a brief stint on the fourth floor, a little rendez-vous on the first and then I set up permanent residence in the Periodicals. This year, my junior year, I have maintained that residency and have even found myself the perfect table.

This table is far enough away from the front that tons of people don't walk by, but far enough away from the windows that I don't get distracted or daydream about rolling down the hill. I have a perfect view when the shelves move (it really is exciting) and basically it is just the best table.

So I thought I had pretty clearly marked my territory, if you will, but then one day, a day that will live in infamy (ok that might have been a bit dramatic), I was returning to my table after class and there was this guy there. I know. He was even in my exact seat. But it was a fairly crowded day, so I figured I would just let it pass this once and just join him at the table, which I did. He then tried to make some sort of small talk, which I ever-so-politely responded to with inarticulate mumblings and grunts, and I figured the next day all would go back to normal.

Oh was I wrong. Next day I show up first thing in the morning, some variation on "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed" and the library was fairly empty (as it usually is in the morning) but MY table was not. Empty, that is. Aforementioned dude was totally at my table. Not cool.

So I had no other choice but to locate myself at the table right next to his (by "his" I really mean MINE), so that I could still glare at him. As you can imagine, this little "table war" has been going on for the last few weeks now. Sometimes I win, sometimes he does. Sometimes most of the tables will be empty except for MY table.

Yesterday was an all-time low when I got to the library even earlier than usual but he beat me to it. So I plopped down in the vicinity and he thought he would rub salt in the wound by "whispering" (I put it in quotes because it was like stage whispering- there was nothing quiet about it) with his little buddy.

I had resigned myself to the fact that I would just have to relinquish rights to the table, find a new place to call home and move on. Until this morning. I felt victorious enough to post a blog about it. I think I might have scared him away! (victory dance). Actually, there are only two other people here so I could probably do a silent VICTORY DANCE not in parenthesis, just go for it and they wouldn't even notice. Nobody is even here and best of all- HE ISN'T HERE. I GOT MY TABLE. Roundhouse kick to the face. Knockout punch.