Really?

Not that I'm making excuses or anything, but I don't normally watch reality television. While in Phoenix, however, my sister Courtney was watching the show So You Think You Can Dance which I found surprisingly entertaining as I sat down to join her, soon accompanied by my sister Angelica. I would like to share with you a little tid bit of the glory we beheld. With all the authority of reality television behind him, one of the judges boldly uttered the following train wreck of attempted poetics--looking very proud of himself--and all to a glassy-eyed audience seemingly awed by his eloquence yet apparently oblivious to the actual words that were coming out of his mouth. And without further adieu . . .

The performance ends, the host chats it up with the panting dancers for a moment, and all eyes turn to the judges for their expert opinions. Placing his chin on his elbow searching for the right words to express his profound critique, taking a deep breath and a long pause, and gazing heavenward as if for divine inspiration, he begins to speak:

"Being outside of your comfort zone represents umfa. . unfam. . unfurmiriarity (he struggles with this word but it doesn't seem to deter him and he moves forward with the utmost confidence) and it also represents darkness. And when faced with certain challenges like being out of your comfort zone of your gen-gen-genre you have to go and befriend characteristics of your challenge and you see the music. But when you see the music, you have to see certain pieces of music with your ears. And when you see with your ears, there is no darkness. And I saw no darkness within this routine."

Applause erupts from the awestruck audience who have just been privileged to hear from the Homer of our age. But just when you thought he was finished he clears his throat and begins again over the enthusiastic cheers:

"A lot of dancers they tend to forget that there's a pocket of music [. . . like a pita pocket? I'm not following. . .]. Each specific you know piece of music has a pocket and you have to get in between those instruments, you feel me?" [no, I really don't].

Now that's what I call entertainment. But seriously, who let this guy on T.V.?

St. Lucia

When I decided to write an Honor's Thesis I had no idea it was going to involve this many perks. I've been in St. Lucia in the West Indies for the past two weeks--a trip funded by the Honor's Program--working on my thesis. I'm writing on a book-length poem called Omeros by Derek Walcott who lives in St. Lucia. The poem is anchored in St. Lucia and is essentially an investigation of the St. Lucian identity. Consequently I was able to go and spend time on the island, positioning myself within the poem, visiting the various sites mentioned, and getting a feel for the culture and issues there. I've gotta say, not a bad way to spend two weeks.

Christian came with me as he's prone to take any and every opportunity to travel and we spent 12 glorious days on the island. The landscape was absolutely stunning and the culture pretty fascinating. I was also able to meet Derek Walcott--the author--who turned out to be quite funny. I'm sorry I'm not writing more here, perhaps I'll expound on my experiences later but right now going into any sort of detail seems overwhelming. So I'll just post a few pictures and call it good for now.

If you are what you eat. . .

. . . meet Lanee:

Most Important Meal

I woke up. I went to the kitchen to eat breakfast as always. I pulled out some oatmeal and cooked it up. As it was plain oatmeal I threw in a spoon full of extra crunchy peanut butter and coconut. Protein, flavoring, good. Then I thought: I should put some chocolate chips in there. So I did. They melted and made a gooey, delicious, brown substance which I promptly began scooping into my mouth. This is really good, I thought. This is really familiar, I thought next. And it was then that I realized that I was essentially eating no-bake oatmeal cookies in a bowl for breakfast.

Flighty

I went on a lovely one day vacation on Monday. Well ok, it wasn't lovely, but it was a lot more lovely than the 48 hour drive endured by my parents and little brother. So here's how things went down:

I got up early Monday morning and headed to the airport to catch a one connection flight to Minneapolis where I was to meet my immediate family, to join my extended family who live there for a lovely week at the cabin. I made it through security--after a slightly creepy incident involving the security guard hitting on me--and rolled my little carry-on happily to my gate. I boarded the plane, was seated next to a very young, very lovey couple, and before I knew it I was ready for take off. A mere hour and five minutes later we landed in Denver where I was to have a two and a half hour layover before jetting off to Minneapolis, the land of the mosquitoe.

To my surprise, Colorado greeted me with an alarming message on my voicemail; it was my mother telling me that due to some unforeseen circumstances the vacation had been cancelled. This seemed especially odd since my mom, dad, and brother had just driven 24 hours to the lake-y state less than a day before. After talking to my mom it was determined that unless I could get my flight changed back to Salt Lake (I was flying on a one-way ticket) I would have to fly to Minneapolis where they would meet me and then drive the 24 hours back to Salt Lake. This did NOT sound like a good option.

Still confused about the cancellation and desperate for another option I approached the airline's help desk. I walked up to the woman behind the counter and clumsily attempted to describe my situation--explaining that someone in my family was sick and that our vacation was cancelled and that I had to get back home. Conveniently enough I was on the verge of tears the entire time, something I was not fabricating but that I'm sure only added to my case. I think maybe it was the prospect of driving 24 hours with my coughing brother in a small car that made me a little misty. In any case, the woman clearly felt sorry for me and managed to get me on a flight back to Salt Lake in a half an hour and waived all of the fees.

Relieved, I headed over to McDonalds to be reminded of the horrors of airport fast food, and before I knew it was back on the plane with the same grumpy flight attendant who had manned my earlier flight. Two crosswords and a sudoku puzzle later I was back home enjoying the rosy memories of my one hour Denver vacation.

Still, all your sympathy should go to the ones who drove to Minnesota and back. I'll take the two one hour plane rides any day.

(By the way, can anyone tell me who told Frontier Airlines that it was a good idea to paint creepy animals on the wings of their planes? Really, and Delta's going under?)

7 Day Itch

For the last week or so I have had a mad itch to clean something, to organize something, to glue something to another something in a sorry attempt at an art project. I feel this compelling need to do or create something that will somehow dramatically increase the organizational and aesthetic quality of a space. A need. Unfortunately, everything I can think of dramatically reorganizing is in my apartment where I will only be for another two months. Thus it seems useless to take on a project there--to lose all of the benefit in two months?! I can't even deep clean anything because I am going out of town for a week and can't stand the thought of scrubbing on my knees only to leave it for my roommates to enjoy and soil. So you can see that I have a problem here.

Now I have tried to fix this. I have reorganized all of the drawers at work, I bought a little tiny adorable day planner to micro-organize my day in, I've been making my bed every morning, I even bought a new dress today--which usually solves everything. But to no avail, I itch on. Raar.

Angels Among Us

(Disclaimer: This post is in no way intended to be sacrilegious and should be read with the knowledge that its author intends no measure of seriousness, only a little light-hearted humor)

Remember that talk by Elder Holland from October Conference about angels surrounding us? (If you're not a member of the LDS church, don't be offended, just play along--the majority of the people that read this--at least those who comment, are). Well, he talks about the people around us being angels, and let me just tell you, I just met one.

I am at work right now, on my usual Wednesday night shift (otherwise known as the longest shift of all time). Twenty minutes ago, about five hours in to the shift of death, feeling very bored of my book and otherwise quite restless, an angel arrived. I looked up from the desk to see a twelve pack of Diet Coke floating by in front of me. Ok, there was a girl carrying it but I didn't really see her. Turning to my coworker I said something like "Oh man, now I want Diet Coke". Apparently the girl heard me and she turned excitedly (anyone with that much caffeine does everything excitedly) and asked if I wanted one. I laughed a little and shrugged it off but she insisted and before I knew it there was a beautiful, shiny can of Diet Coke in my bored, restless hand. It was. . . a miracle.

In other news, on my way home from work I ran into a raccoon. Not a joke. It arched it's back and ran away. Coincidence?