degree in a box.

Every syllabus, assignment (save the one left to turn in), draft, rejection letter, release form, ounce of suffering and individual sin (the latter two chronicled in the journal inside) that it took to get a Masters degree, all in one tidy box. Call me vain and self-important, but someday when I donate my papers to a library they are going to really appreciate all this organization.

What makes me vain and self-important is half wishing there would be a fight for my papers, like when Stanford got all pissed that Wallace Stegner left his papers to Utah. I know, I know, dream big...

this blog is turning into a bunch of emotional crap. somebody find me a video of a dog running into a wall or something, stat.

It's funny to me the way my perceptions have changed since I decided to move away from this place. Tonight I was looking for a qtip when I happened upon the giant jug of handsoap refill. I refilled the soap dispenser and realized that I probably won't need to fill up the handsoap again before I leave, and alas the jug of handsoap was magically transformed into a jug of bubble bath.*

Everything's been like that the past few days. I drive down the Sunnyside-- the street I drive down the most in this town--and I think about how there will be a time in my life, quite soon really, when I don't drive down that street, when I won't have occasion to recall how I almost ran over some extras from "High School Musical 3" on that very road last summer during a freak rain storm.** And the mountains, yes, today-- absolutely pissed that I had to put on my puffy coat-- I looked at the mountains and noted to myself that this could be the last time I get to see snow on those mountains as one who lives in Utah.***

I did this when I left Tacoma, but having lived here just nineteen months I find it striking. So I order that pizza from The Pie, drop in to see my favorite people in the department, and take another longing look at the valley because I know I will miss Utah when I'm gone.****



*About eight ounces will do if you are going for an effect similar to "Pretty Woman."
**Yes, that was one sentence. Lately I've been rewriting the newspaper articles in my head as I read them... I'm in a strange place with words these days.
***Who am I kidding? This is Utah!
****Which is not to say I'm not excited about leaving, but that's another post all together.

milking mormon masculinity for all its worth.

I saw this on facebook today. Maybe it's because my blood pressure is a little high right now because people are DUMB but I saw it and was just like, "great, as if they need to be even bigger douchebags when they get home."


It's like you think you've gotten over things and then you realize that you haven't. I mean really, I have gotten over things... but REALLY? Yesterday my friend was just talking about how weddings are such big business in Utah, and this was like icing on the cake-- exploiting things that should be valuable and emotional and special for business! ARGH! I am going to go live in a cabin in the woods ALONE. Good thing nobody clicks on facebook ads anyways.

p.s. isn't screen grab useful?

made the paper.

Where's Mel?

Who made that great hot pink sign? Hmm?

bear with the donut analogy.

I've been reading a collection of stories called Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri. I climbed in bed to read two and a half hours ago, feeling exhausted, and her poised and constant gazing into the depths of peoples souls rejuvenated my mind (my body is still tired, from what? shopping?) and I just had to write down the title of an inevitable paper that must someday be created (my mind wanders). It's problematic, not knowing my future but knowing that this research would pull me back to Utah, were research a possibility (dark, as of late, I shun all possibilities, allowing only the purgatory of vacation to enter into my mind). Already I feel the tug of Utah and I have yet to leave.

I never expected Utah to become woven in to who I am. I left Washington with the rocket-powered urge to escape, thinking of what awaited me in the intimate terms of ward and potential husband and in the ironically penal description of "doing my time in Utah." (there is no better way to sum up those few months I did in the Seventh Ward). Such language was quickly replaced with the distant vocabulary of the historian comprised of far away events and vaguely titled theories. I too became distant. The shattering of self followed by consuming bouts of tears that somehow glued me back together are as remote to me as the intense spiritual warfare I waged everyday but never fared all that well at. At arms length, I offer you my interpretations as I neglect the private pages of my journal.

Utah has been so elusive. Occasional trips into the mountains or the desert have yielded confused awe; I have no frame of reference to compare Utah's anomalous scenery against. The same with its history. As much as I decry regional exceptionalism, American exceptionalism, or really anyone saying that some place is truly different (HA! there is no truth!), Utah really is the center in a Western donut, it doesn't fit. Preferring Boston Creams, it would seem that Utah is made entirely of pudding.

So Utah is unique, and baffling, and I have been content to write around the strangeness, to dismiss Utah as a character in the story I am trying to tell. Only when I got back from Washington did I even try to engage it, to accept that this embattled jilted territory made of stone and salt and Mormons and not is what I am and to know-- suddenly and strikingly-- the feeling of ownership. The milieu is odd but familiar, even familial.

Leaving is inevitable, but lacking the propulsive feeling, the thought elicits a sense of desertion rather than relief. I daresay that putting my things in my car and driving out of the comforting embrace of the mountains will tear my heart right out of my chest.

and that's why you don't use a one-armed person to scare someone.

Ever since I woke up this morning the term "gonna teach you a lesson" has been stuck in my head. Immortalized by my favorite episode of Arrested Development, it is an apt description of the major theme of a rally for higher education funding at the Capitol-- "I'm gonna teach those legislators a lesson!" Well we did teach those legislators a lesson, although when we peacefully invaded us their session they tought us a lesson about the fire code because, who knew it, the balconies of the Utah legislature weren't exactly designed to hold 400 bundled up students!* But surely all the kids there learned a lesson about political action and when the budget comes out, we'll see if we actually taught those legislators a lesson. At least they've stopped talking about twenty percent budget cuts, those crazy fuckers.

The real lesson learned today was this:

Don't schedule an interview at the Starbucks at the mall.

Why? Because then you're at the mall, and that section of your budget labeled "shopping" that read "0.00" now doesn't read "0.00" anymore! Gah! The barrage of spring colors at the Gap! Noooooo! I am so weeeak when confronted with pastels!!!!


Pathetic. But my lanta, it is the cutest scarf ever, and the fit of the V-neck cardigans? Don't even get me started.

And while you're not getting me started, don't even get me started on the sublesson of the experience,

Don't go into the Apple Store if you even remotely dislike your PC, let alone hate it.**

You're destined for heartache. I promise.

*But it sure did feel like The Man was keeping us down!

**Didn't buy a Mac yet... but I nearly peed my pants when I saw the Mac Pro HOOKED UP TO 3 FOOT LONG FLATSCREENS. My lanta. WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT MY FUTURE IS SO I CAN BUY OR NOT BUY A NEW COMPUTER?!?!?

three nice things.

1. Goofy-- Kermit the Frog vs. Christian Bale

2. Happy-- The Utes Marching Band got accommodations and marched in the Inaugural Parade.

Pride of Utah indeed!

3. Affirming-- President Obama's statement commemorating the 36th anniversary of Roe v. Wade.

now that's change i can believe in.

a lovely, clear utah winter's day.

Rocking the new pannier at the library. It took a little getting used to, but I'm easing in to see how many books it takes to become to imbalanced. 5 was good, I'll try 10 next time.

there's got to be a moral to this story.

I had a lovely Christmas break. Once we got that pesky holiday out of the way, it was truly a magical and fantastic communion with my family and my home city. My bank statement reads like a laundry list of Tacoma's finer teriyaki joints (with all other transactions involving some kind of booze purchase) and my camera runneth over with cute pictures of the Beloved Little Ones. Once I managed to get out of Salt Lake, it was a rather idyllic visit. But just as visits are nice, it is also nice to come home to see what's in your mailbox and how dead your plants are and what your thesis chair has done to your draft (I have not checked any of those things yet).

We arrived in Salt Lake about ten minutes late. Usually Southwest flights are kinda fun and cheerful, in large part due to the staff. But tonight, man, we had these two dudes running the show-- straight dudes-- and they were, I kid you not, the most non-plussed stewards ever-- they were surprisingly all business and quite vigilent about not using your iPod during the descent. So that was weird, but whatever, right? I was still riding high on the beer and Lifesavers (I haven't had them in forever and they were amazing!) and Vogue magazine I'd acquired at Seatac.

So then we land, and then we wait on the tarmac for ten minutes because the other plane at the gate hasn't pulled out yet. NO BIG DEAL, right? (that was my best effort at foreshadowing right there). Then everyone goes to carosel one and bags start coming and nobody's pipcking up their bags, and this goes on for like forever before we are told that in spite of the screen showing our bags being at carosel one, they are just starting to come up and my bags were naturally, nearly last. Ok, so I'm a mite josseled by this but whatever, I'm going to go pop on the bus and then the TRAX and then come home to my cozy warm den of smiling Chinese roommates. I decide against taking the shuttle because really, I can ride UTA for free and what do I really have to do to tonight and really, really, I could spend that same wad of cash on a feast at Bombay Kitchen tomorrow (I can't wait). And really, seeing how much money I pissed away last year when I looked at my annual expenditures I felt a mite resolutionish about spending more smartly. So I go to wait for the bus.

I am an experienced rider of public transportation to the airport but had not included into the equation:
1. I usually never check a bag and tonight I had two checked bags.
2. Busses run with less frequency at night.
3. It was twenty degrees outside.
4. It was twenty degrees outside.

I mean really, all I had were visions of chicken tikka masala and onion naan and maybe even some saagwala and definitely some of that mint chutney (which makes it a Star of India fantasy) and they might have, maybe, gotten in the way of my judgment. BECAUSE WHEN IS INDIAN CUISINE EVER A BAD DECISION? Ok, so anyways, I go outside to discover:
1. The bus just came five minutes ago.
2. It's twenty degrees outside
3. There is really no warm waiting area that isn't blocking a doorway and isn't miles away from where the busses pickup.

And I'm like, "well, what's 45minutes? I don't have any big plans!" And about ten minutes in I'm like "why didn't I just ask somebody for a ride?" but at this point it's snowing and cold and I'm like you know, hellbent on being cheap and self-sufficient so I wait and wait and wait and eventually my fingertips shrivel up but really, the bus will come at 7:50-- I landed at 6:20-- so I just sat there hanging out because it didn't feel absurd at the time but in retrospect, WTF, MELANIE?! Anyways, the bus didn't come and then it finally did come at 8:00 and finally, somehow, someway, after it meandered all the effing way around the periphery of downtown, I got to the TRAX station and got on the wrong train but then I got on the right train and then I get to my stop and I'm like, "yeah! I did this!" and then I proceeded to pull my luggage through the accumulating inches of snow to the bike elevator, because really, who wants to pull 60+ pounds of dirty clothes and whatever up three flights of stairs?

I get in the bike elevator, relieved. I am so close, just a ten minute walk away! I push the button. I'd been steeling myself for this to happen because I thought if I did, it wouldn't happen, but no, really, the bike elevator went nowhere and finally, finally I start to yell obsenities because the door won't open to let me back out. And then it did, and I began my long brusing ascent of the stairs. I look forward to seeing the polka-dotted evidence of my battering attempt on my legs and hips tomorrow.

I made it to the bridge. I felt aggitatedly exultant, pulling my luggage along the unshoveled sidewalks in the truly courageous fashion of a Mormon handcart pioneer. Ahead loomed a slower walk than expected and I was kind of reaching that point of just moving, like the time I got dumped and determined that the only thing to kill the pain would be to go running for two hours when I hadn't been training that much-- just one of those instances when you just check out and move. Anyways, I decide that the uphill walk will be easier if I walk backwards (what can I say, I want a tight butt) and who do I see but my favorite, seriously FAVORITE of the Chinese classmates-- this is the guy that speaks the best English and is the group leader and is just so stinking nice to me (rather than trying to get me drunk or telling me that eating chicken feet will improve my skin)-- and he offers to pull one of my bags and together we walked back.

As it turned out, all of his buddies had taken the shuttle back from their class but he chose to walk, LUCKY ME! So my Chinese Savior and I chatted as we traversed the snowed over sidewalks. My roommates greeted me with big smiles and a loud welcome and really, everything worked out in the end even though it seemed so dramatic at the time.

I'm going to go take a bath.

The End.

snowed in.

Lordy! It's been snowing literally since the second I got home from an appointment at noon and has not stopped snowing since. They sent all the University employees home which means plowing services will be reduced to nothing and I will be forgoing a Christmas party in order to stay safe and cozy up on the hill.


It's pretty isn't it? There should be some foothills in the background but they are hidden by the clouds.

Fortunately I was able to hit up the little convenience store at campus housing before it closed so I could stock up on nutritious non-perishables to see me through the storm. It was the perfect day for The Dark Knight to come from Netflix. Can't wait to party by myself tonight! Technically only three pages of thesis left to write!

(no, they do not sell Bacardi at the student store... but it's just too cold for gimlets so rum and cokes will have to do!)

p.s. I changed the layout to a stretch format to benefit those of us with widescreen computers-- feedback?

effing winter finally shows up.

After much anticipation, it snowed for the first time in over a month.


Some cute little boys built this snowman this afternoon.

And just in case you wondered, I still exist.

Happy winter, finally.

you're the promise that i found.

These pictures of the Venice flood kind of blew my mind, and sent me into a whirl of "I've got to get back..."

I think it's turning into Mark Kozelek week here at COTGB, which is alright by me. Click here for "Revelation Big Sur." It's lovely.

Thank Bicycle Jesus that we have Chris Buttars to save Christmas.

magic happens.

I would just like to note that there is a price to be paid for trash talking in The Paper. For example, look at what happened to Max Hall, BYU quarterback. Before the Holy War, he said:
“We have sort of a swagger. If you want to win a conference championship, you’ve got to come through us. We feel like it’s ours to lose.”

Well, it was Max's game to lose. As the Trib notes:
"BYU quarterback Max Hall was intercepted five times and lost a critical fumble in the third quarter when BYU trailed only 27-24."

Utah went on to win, 48-24. I'll leave you with this lovely quote from the Times story so you can truly appreciate the tension of the rivalry and the douchey-ness of the BYU team.

The most dramatic [game finish] came two years ago, when B.Y.U. quarterback John Beck scrambled around from the Utah 11-yard line as the clock ran out. He eventually threw across the field to a wide-open Jonny Harline, who sank to his knees to make a catch that delivered a 33-31 victory.

The symbolism of seeing Harline go to his knees to receive Beck’s prayer was not lost on many. But in case it was, B.Y.U. receiver Austin Collie gave it an accompanying sound bite last year after he caught a 49-yard pass on fourth-and-18 to set up a last-minute touchdown in a 17-10 come-from-behind win.

“Obviously, if you do what’s right on and off the field, I think the Lord steps in and plays a part in it,” said Collie, the Cougars’ leading receiver this season. “Magic happens.”

That comment has not been forgotten by the Utes.

“It definitely rubs guys the wrong way,” said Utah defensive end Paul Kruger, who is Mormon. “We’ve got guys who go to chapel every day after practice, people who are doing good things up here. People think that just because they go to a religious school, God’s blessed them with success.”

Oh, and speaking of Paul Kruger, I will use this opportunity to post a picture of him (with the amazing QB Brian Johnson). I saw him on the field after the game (you know it's a big win when the fans storm the field with 29 seconds still left on the clock) and he is an Adonis (who knows something about being blessed by God beyond the realm of his awe inspiring hotness).

Conference champs and headed to the BCS! Go Utes!

in further observance of rivalry week.

Dear Jason Chaffetz, thank you for making Utahns look like a bunch of cot-toting slack jawed yokels. We appreciate this. Glad to know that you'll be test driving materials for that tent cities concept in the House.
Rivalry Week aside: All a BYU education gets you is a bag of stinky underwear and a cot from Smith's. Noted.

So glad that somebody is speaking out about what a piece of shit the Electoral College is; so sad that our country has MUCH BIGGER PROBLEMS than what would inevitably be a protracted awful nasty amendment attempt.
Rivalry Week aside: Cosmo the Cougar's dumb outfit is made from the skin of recently shot rhinos. Cosmo the Cougar is also stupid. (zing!)

On a more positive note, I love this package design website and I really appreciate the art of Frank Plant.
Rivalry Week aside: BYU doesn't even like art.

You know what else I appreciate? GQ made Jon Hamm a man of the year. Of the four, he tops my list! Heh heh heh. Rivalry Week aside: Jon Hamm won't even make appearances in your dreams if you go to BYU because BYU sucks and Jon Hamm hates BYU and he hopes that they lose lose lose on Saturday because they are losing losers who lose.

What, that was too much for you? Fine. Then I'll leave you with an image of something really fantastic, something I'm going to make out of my leftover mashed potatoes.
Rivalry Week aside: It's something almost as good as watching BYU suffer at the hands of the Utes. Close, but not quite.

bitching, hurrah.

Can I just say that I am having the hardest time getting into this semester? With a month of classes behind me I still feel like I am wading in, getting accustomed to the feel of water on my swimsuit yet at the same time completely not giving a fuck about the whole ocean before me. Ugh. With week after week of procrastinated research and feeling completely disengaged from my readings, I can't help but wonder that anything will ever get done-- and when it inevitably (despite my doubts) does get done, if it is going to be anything all that meaningful.

It's not that being a historian in training doesn't have its fun times-- I love getting around the table with my American West class every week to haggle over what's Turnerian and what's New Western History. I love those moments when I am actually digging into my thesis and I can be like, "Oh, Phyllis" because there she is again, stirring shit up. But those rare moments of satisfaction during the week do nothing to slake my yearning to simply go to work, work, and then be done with it when I go home. I seldom feel expert. I rarely feel the motivation to keep going through this process for at least 5 more years, and then the added seeming eternity between then and retirement. Shouldn't I care more? Shouldn't I be more excited by this? It's not boring by any means-- and I am completely aware that lifestyle-wise, grad school is hard to beat-- but I am starting to wonder if this is really the best thing to be doing, you know, forever.

And Utah, Utah is really starting to get under my skin. I love the climate and Salt Lake is ultimately a really nice city, but I am starting to feel so ground down by local culture. But that's another post entirely.

So what do I do? I suppose first, I go home to Tacoma next week for some much needed R & R with my fam-fam. Hopefully that will help kick me into gear for the rest of the semester. Second, I am thinking that I could just can the whole PhD thing and go to library school.

thunder, lightning.

Praise the deity, we've got a thunderstorm for Labor Day! I haven't seen rain in so long, and don't even get me started on the blissful nature of gray skies. Even better, I am housesitting and one of the kitties has sought me out for comfort. Pet therapy and a rainy day: lucky, lucky me!

and free ice cream.

So there is some kind of event going on at the field across from where I work-- it appears to be some cross between patriotism and Father's Day and bad music. Anyways, all I can hear as I try to work-- beyond country music referencing 9/11-- is this woman at the microphone describing what you can do at the adjacent booths:

"Free calls to Iraq and Afghanistan! And free ice cream!!!"

Um, yah. That makes me sad.

UPDATE: Patriotic music lyrics inspiring me to keep my headphones on and transcribing more diligently than ever before: "Because when all is said and done/we will still be number one/because America is built on love"
Because
A. Other countries are not built on love, they are just haters with stronger currency.
B. If everything America does is a manifestation of love, then the Iraq War is really about love?! And Gitmo?! What?! Love = war???

My head is going to explode.

UPDATE DEUX: OMG Now they are talking about a beauty pageant that went on at a military ball at BYU. Involving the Osmonds. I am not kidding. OMG I think there are going to be Osmonds on that stage!!! This is really happening.

journey beyond the zion curtain.

As a matter of personal policy, I try to avoid Provo. It's nothing personal, it just weirds me out and the gas expenditure leaves me racked with guilt. But alas from time to time I simply have to go down there, usually for a much needed library book or just to be social. In last night's case, I hadn't really seen anybody this week beyond my coworker or my roommates, so getting out trumped basically any reservations I have about going down there. I had originally intended to blog about how awesome and entertaining the new Chronicles of Narnia movie is (Prince Caspian is H-O-T! Go see it!) but then my buddy took me to an awesome little place called Sammy's that deserves some serious blog love.

Sammy's is a cool little hamburger place filled with bar stool seating and all the standard acoutrements required for their genre. However, the way they do it is unreal. I recall this little edited-down chat I had with the owner, Sammy:

S: How's everything?
M: This is the best milkshake I've ever had. It's so creamy.
S: We put fresh whipped cream in them.
M: (Starts to weep little foodie tears of joy inside)

Their sweet potato fries are also amazing, and are of course served with plenty of fry sauce. I didn't do it, but you can also get your milkshake with a slice of pie mixed in. Basically they take anything you could have wanted in a little hamburger place and make it better-- at a beautifully low price. And they are open until 2am! If there was anything that was ever wasted on the teetotalers of P-town, Sammy's is it. Best incentive to go down to the Rival School for research *ever*.

san rafael swell's greatest hits.

Wedge Overlook

So I am trying to dig myself out of the leftover debris of the semester... namely five loads of laundry and some unfinished class stuff, which means it's as good a time as ever to post about my camping trip in Southern Utah. We drove all over the frigging San Rafael Swell, saw tons of cool scenery (who knew there were so many variations on rocks? and so many colors other than brown in the desert?) and ate a shit ton of smores. You would not believe how much land the Bureau of Land Management just has out there, waiting to be camped on. Anywho, I am back and grateful for running water, toilets, and alone time. Here are some of my fave pictures:

Buckhorn Wash

Goblin ValleyRandom cute little desert flower