Bloggerismifica

Missionary James

2012-01-29T20:30:00.006-07:00

My little brother went into the Missionary Training Center this week. My parents and older brother flew out with him in order to drop him off. James stayed just long enough to finish the 2,000 piece puzzle I started and then he was gone. To Benin (ultimately). Despite earlier doubts we've realized that it really does exist. On this planet.

Sending someone off on a mission is a bit eulogistic. Which might be somewhat appropriate in this case. Do you know what lives in Africa? Nile crocodiles. And Honey Badger.

Though James is the sort of fellow who could walk safely between the jaws of a yawning hippopotamus without knowing he was in any sort of danger. No matter where we go he will find trouble and come out unscathed. He's survived being swept down the Salmon in a one-person ducky, almost getting run over in the streets of London, and being washed out to sea in the Gulf of Mexico. On the same Salmon River trip, James was trying to swim into an eddy behind a rock - which he did just fine - but his lackadaisical efforts at getting back to shore just didn't cut it. Downriver he went (again). When my dad and our guide caught up with him, he told them something along the lines of, "I thought it was time I became a man." He was 12.

I don't think I'm qualified to say this but...welcome to manhood, James. Good luck out there.

Waiting on the Lord.

2012-01-09T23:02:00.002-07:00

"But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint." (Isaiah 40:31)

Contextualized in that way waiting still seems dreary...but doable -- a worthwhile endeavor. Unfortunately, as you strive to keep an eye single to the glory of God, as you are asking and seeking and knocking the devil comes to meet you instead. And sometimes he comes at you so hard and for so long that you begin to doubt everything you once believed in. Yourself. Your relationships. Your God. Did I make the right decision? Am I doing the right things? Should I have moved to Salt Lake and stayed there for 7 years...really? Why did you tell us to adopt a narcissist and his lackey brother again? And where the cuss did you go anyway?

That persistent little devil keeps at you until you beat your plowshares into swords, and your pruninghooks into spears because suddenly the slightest provocation stirs you to battle. You're a paranoid pirate and you've holed yourself up in a man-of-war. You must defend yourself at all costs...but all costs means you feel so isolated and empty that you find yourself looking around wondering where everyone could have gotten off to in this, your dark, dark hour. You wonder how you can make it back to the days when you thought, like Victor Hugo's Mademoiselle Baptistine, "If the devil came into this house, we'd let him do his worst. After all, what can we be frightened of in this house? There is always someone with us who is the strongest. The devil might pass through but the good Lord lives here." Because the good Lord apparently isn't home and the devil is not just in your house but in your heart. And he is doing his worst. And you're no longer trying merely to get through the test of time but the test of now. And that test just might kill you. You're the first marathoner and the road to the fourth watch seems impassable. Even if you make it through this grievous ordeal you will probably just lay down and die at the end of it all -- forget about waiting on the Lord.

:deep breath:

...but...just when you're beginning to resign yourself to your awful fate, when you no longer have the strength to fight the inexhaustible and the desolate deep threatens to swallow you whole, a sliver of light reaches your drowning soul. You realize that, perhaps, at some point during your struggle for the infinite your waiting turned into hiding. And once you unlock the door to your gray room and meagerly call out, "Here am I," you hear the response, "Be still and know that I am God." (D&C 101:16)

Your futile flailing is over. The devil is gone. The fourth watch is here. And all you have left to say is, "Be near me, Lord Jesus; I ask thee to stay close by me forever, and love me, I pray." Please stay. Because you don't know how many more watches you will be rowing through before this storm is gone forever.

But, of course, this is all purely speculation.

What a year.

2011-12-27T09:30:00.001-07:00

I'm not sure I'll look back on 2011 with many fond memories. For reasons that aren't completely clear to me, this year has been one of my most difficult.

Lots of great things happened. Lots of changes.

My little sister, Kathryn, got married. Two of my good friends also got married. I went home for a pseudo-ten-year reunion. My little brother, James, got his mission call -- Benin, Cotonou. Ever heard of it? Us neither.

My sister, Christine, got engaged. I went to my first country concert -- Sugarland. I kind of enjoyed it. DON'T get your hopes up, country fans. I only kind of enjoyed it. My godniece started walking.

I finally found the perfect peppermint ice cream -- Schwan's. Me oh my, it's divine. My ward basketball team took second in Regionals. Yes, I wore the tattoo sleeve the entire season.

Just recently I got an ovation for bearing my testimony at a Relief Society activity. What? It happens to Glenn Beck all the time. I may or may not have strongly hinted that I wanted one -- is that wrong...?

You would think with all these things going on that the year wouldn't have been such a struggle. But it was. And it's taking its toll. Ladies and gentleman, I got my first A-.

Not ever, people. I'm not nearly as brilliant as everyone thinks I am. First this go-round -- in purportedly the easiest technical elective offered by the mechanical engineering department. People who don't even go to class get A's. And I went to class. Apparently that was my first mistake...

I thought graduating would be easier this time. Unfortunately, 4 more grueling years of school and $25,000 in tuition haven't given me much more of an idea of what I want to do. I am, once again, directionless. There was a part of me that thought that companies would line up to hire me, a female mechanical engineering student with a 4.0...well...a 3.99 now. I was hoping I wouldn't have to pursue a course of action because it would be pursuing me. Huh, I think I just summed up my whole life-philosophy...think about it, it explains a lot.

Back to engineering -- it's not that I dislike it, I'm just not sure I'll be any good at it. My GPA is misleading. All it means is I'm organized. And brilliant.

Who knows what 2012 will bring but here's hoping it'll be a sweet job in a sweet location where I'll meet a sweet, sweet, sexy man. We don't even have to get married. I'm pretty sure that just dating one for a couple months will cheer me right up.

Holiday grumps.

2011-11-19T01:22:00.004-07:00

I realized tonight that I get end-of-the-year holiday grumps.

Around this time I've been in school for 4 months, finals are coming up, and there's HalloweenThanksgivingChristmasNewYears - all in 2 months and 2 days. The holidays make me miss my family.

I know. No one wants to read yet another post about how much someone loves their family. It's just...I don't get to see them that often. I went home a lot this year -- four times come Christmas, in fact -- but it still doesn't seem like enough. Not this time of year.

Maybe it's on my mind because most of my friends are from around here. They have holiday parties and Sunday dinner and people who come listen to them speak in church and take them shopping and help when their car needs a-fixin'. Gripe. Gripe. Gripe. Don't get me wrong. I'm pretty well taken care of here. Some of my friends' families have been more than gracious to me, and I will love them forever for it...but it's different somehow. I will always be an outsider in someone else's family; always relying on their charitable feelings towards me. I would much rather abuse them like I can my own family.

Families are funny, aren't they? I guess I can't speak for yours, but mine is. I don't talk to them very often...oh, once a month or so -- we're awful communicators -- but somehow they get me. Without knowing many of my life's tedious details, they get me.

I am instantly comfortable with them.

We go well together, my family and me. No, they're not perfect. In fact, we're slightly dysfunctional but gosh, they're fun to be with. So yes, I miss them. And I think about going home constantly. And I'm sorry if you hate this post but it's written and it's going public, so shaddapa you face.

I am, however, an artist.

2011-10-16T23:31:00.000-06:00

An indie artist. As soon as I figure out what to call myself, I'll start producing cds.

I really have always wanted to be in a band, but there have been two major setbacks which have kept me from achieving this dream: stage fright and very limited musical talent. My friend and I accidentally tried out for a garage band once. I was handed a bass guitar -- which I had never touched before -- and was told to improvise. Um...what just happened?

This same friend and I have been preparing for the elusive day by trading band name ideas back and forth. She always hated mine. Optik Slander?! It's cool, right?

We played once as Smitten Kitten (her idea) at her golden birthday party. We were a one night wonder.

Some of our other ideas have been: New Normal, Amazing Bacon, and Atomic Orange. Forboden was an option if we were going to do a techno, happy remake of Du Hast.

I'm reminiscing about this because another friend of mine is getting married Saturday and she asked me to put together a cd of loooooove songs for the wedding favor. For some charitable reason I don't fully understand, I decided it would be fun to record a song for it with her brother who plays the piano and sings like a sexy, sexy man. So we did. I present to you our remake of Can't Help Falling in Love:

I had so much fun with the microphone I borrowed that I recorded another song of my own. Careful by Guster:

In your face, chimera, I'm going solo! (...want to be in my band, Stef?)

Writing.

2011-10-10T09:22:00.000-06:00

I am not a writer by nature.

Now, now, pick your jaw up off the floor, what I am saying is true. I never liked English. Well, I never liked writing. It wasn't something that was inside of me...except, maybe, when I was 16 and hormonal and wanted to be unhappy. So I wrote poetry. Bad poetry. 16-year old sad girl poetry. And I took honors English classes.

Later - much later - I met some friends who showed me how to read books for more than just the story. They taught me to enjoy the storytelling. They saw artistry in a sentence -- not just in what was conveyed but how it was written. When I saw how masterfully people put words together, I realized I wanted to write like that. I wanted to express ideas deliciously. I wanted to stir up emotions merely by word choice. And a well-placed period...and lots and lots of ellipses.

So I practiced. Thank you, my dear compassionate readers. I found inspiration and I mimicked it. Don't misunderstand me, I still don't claim to be a "writer". Writing, for me, is not a rush of eloquent statements -- a hurried purge. Nor is it constant brilliance. It's much more methodical. I put down some thoughts. I put down some more. I reorder them, piece them together, go over it and over it and over it, change something here, add something there. I come back day after day until my battered Scrabble board is an accurate rendering of what's jumbled in my head-heart -- the form of which is unclear until I give it shape outside my insides.

The reason I still write, despite my concentrated efforts, is because I've come to appreciate writing as an exploratory catharsis. I've produced maybe 3 worthwhile pieces in all my years of writing...and one of those was a vocabulary exercise in 2nd grade...but they are my Frankenstein thoughts and my deliberate words.

What I write may not be much but it's mine.

Who moved my cheese?

2011-09-21T01:10:00.003-06:00

I'm not sure which cosmic committee decided I needed a good shake up but shaken up things have become nevertheless -- all jumbly jumbled like this sentence.

Minor contributors to this epileptic seizure-ing are some things I've learned recently:

1. There are bears in Michigan!

Yes, yes, this may not come as a surprise to any of you. I, however, was never warned of dangers in the woods during my reckless childhood. I wasn't tucked into bed with tales of people being mauled on family bike rides or Girl's Camp hikes. I was probably more wary of them while I was camping but somehow that was a different Michigan. A wilder, not-my-Michigan Michigan. So imagine my surprise last week when I found out that some marauding bear knocked over my parent's bird feeder and crushed the nut dispenser in our freaking front yard...what?? I'm actually still more inclined to believe it was a giant Great Dane...

2. There is a cabinet behind the mirror in my bathroom.

This would not be noteworthy except I've lived in my house for SIX years and I just discovered this a couple days ago. Seriously unbelievable. I had even recently stolen some plastic drawers that my sister left here so I could clear everything off my counter...and now this. I really could have used that space! My only excuse is that it's not your typical "bathroom mirror with medicine cabinet"...right?

3. I did not grow up a city girl.

While I recognize the ridiculous obviousness of this claim, it actually pains me to admit it. Now, no intelligent person would call Marquette a buzzing metropolis but it is the most populated area in Northern Michigan. It has a university. It has a...small...downtown. We have more than one grocery store and movie theater. We get visitors like Maya Angelou and Everclear -- remember that band? I rarely run into people I know. Which is why, when my friend who comes from a small town in central Utah -- think 500 people small -- would compare our growing up experiences, I tended to resist. "Marquette has like 20,000 people!" It's not like I biked to the corner store to buy nickel candy, for heaven's sakes! ...uh...actually...now that I think of it, I...did. Hehe. Ahem.

I've just never thought of myself as a country girl. I still don't. Marquette isn't an agricultural community. We never had our own garden or chickens or guns. I guess I just grew up believing I must have been the alternative: a city girl. They're so refined. And educated. And immodest. Everything I thought I was.

That same small-town-Utah friend came to visit Marquette with me this last summer and after a day napping on the beach, biking along the lake shore, and jumping off cliffs she remarked, "This has been the perfect Leave It To Beaver day." ...I'm sorry...what? She told me she loved her trip because it was a great small town America experience. I was genuinely a little confused. Then, after some reflection and significant time in the various stages of grief, I realized she was right.

4. A Relief Society President can select a temporary replacement in the case of poor health -- is this really allowed?

I've been serving as First Counselor in the RS Presidency since June or so and a couple weeks ago, the president was in a car accident in which she suffered a minor concussion. She's been experiencing nausea and headaches ever since. As a result, on Saturday she called an emergency meeting and (after talking to the bishop) appointed me the "interim president" so she could take 2 weeks off and rest. Doctor's orders. She is relinquishing all RS decision-making to me. Great.

I've actually been waiting for this day for a looooong time. I've already updated my ecclesiastical resume.

Leap of faith.

2011-09-01T13:01:00.004-06:00

One of my other favorite moments during my time at home occurred at the Black Rocks, the local cliff jumping locale. My brother, James, was taking a turn and for the longest time he just stood there, staring out at the lake. We all thought he was nervous so we encouraged him to "just jump!"

It turns out he wasn't really nervous at all. He was trying to visualize his next move -- the leap of faith:

We were all shocked when he jumped off the cliff all horizontal and spread eagle. It was brave and it was bold. Usually this move ends in a dive...but James isn't the most coordinated...so his leap didn't turn out so dive-like. That determined soul tried THREE times with the same result:

Hahahahahahahaha.

Pretty cool though, right?

Start Wearing Purple.

2011-08-28T15:20:00.085-06:00

My family has a theme song. Is that weird? I don't care. It's the truth. It's called "Start Wearing Purple" by Gogol Bordello.

It's a quirky song that my sister, Kathryn, found and shared with me years ago. Soon our sister was on board and then my parents were converted. After that it was official. My mom even had it as her ringtone for awhile. I don't know exactly why we love it. Maybe because it's a little bizarre. Fun bizarre. Like the movie Strictly Ballroom. "You stupid stupid man."

So when Kathryn got married this summer and chose different shades of purple as her wedding colors, my dad and I thought it would be a great joke to play this song at her reception.

By the time we turned it on most of the guests had cleared out and extended family was sitting around chatting. I walked over to Kathryn to get her attention and what transpired next was simply marvelous. We all started singing and then almost simultaneously, my parents began mimicking the Greek handkerchief dance...

My adopted brother, Sergei, did a little Russian dance...

And John, the ever-attention-seeking brother, walked into the middle of the room, dramatically doffed his suit coat, clapped his hands with a flourish, and then held up his coat like a cape for Kathryn to charge. Which she promptly did.

It was one of those moments for which you want to clap. And then instantly watch the replay. I just stood there laughing and yelling, "OPA!"

Do I have to...?

2011-08-22T16:37:00.004-06:00

School starts tomorrow.

There's a part of me that wants to skip. Which wouldn't be that difficult since I don't know where my classes are yet. Can't get myself to print off my schedule. I didn't even know when school started until last week. Couldn't be bothered to look. Or rather, I refused to accept the fact that summer was coming to a close for me. And now it's essentially over.

The end-of-the-summer blog post generally consists of a frenzied array of pictures. A frenetic photo update. This time is no different. Here's what I've been up to recently:

I went sailing/swimming in the Great Salt Lake. At sunset.

I went climbing on the side of a waterfall (!!). It was FREEZING but it was awesome.

I saw a moose! First time ever.

I went to Island Park again. A little water skiing, a little tubing, a little dance party in the boat, and a loooooot of relaxing. :sigh:

I hiked up a mountain called The Pfeifferhorn. It's an 8 hour hike up Little Cottonwood Canyon. Und eets sehr shteep, ja.

I went with my boss. Weird? Maybe.

Kristin came into town and brought baby Nora. Nora didn't like me very much. Well, she did...just from afar.

And now? No more fun. Just books and books and headaches and tests and homework and books. One more year, folks.

Northern Michigan.

2011-08-08T21:00:00.004-06:00

After the reception downstate, the family returned home and I had a day to recover before I had a friend come into town. This is a rare event for me as people don't often care to visit my hometown -- maybe because it's in the middle of nowhere, or because they know that Lake Superior is really too cold to ski on, or maybe it's because they hate having fun in beautiful places. I really don't know...it is possible that I never really invite anyone...keeping it quaint, you know. Regardless of what category you fit in, you should read Smithsonian Magazine's article on the area. Maybe you'll be surprised. As we were when we figured out that the main picture is of my little brother.

So, sidetrack over, my friend arrived and we enjoyed ourselves by hiking small mountains, taking ridiculous pictures, cliff jumping, hanging out at the beach, biking along the lake shore, watching the sun set (twice), walking along the breakwall to the lighthouse, picking strawberries, going to Harry Potter at midnight, playing games with my family, eating local fare, and just plain having a better time than anyone who's never been.

A little thing Midwesterners call "the woods."

This is my friend. She's having fun. Her feet are not freezing.

Unfortunately, I left the fruits of our labors (get it...get it?!? :wink: :wink: :nudge: :nudge:) at home.

Who wants to come here now?

July.

2011-08-01T00:38:00.002-06:00

Whew! This month has been full, full, full! I will start at the beginning. Well, I'll start with week one.

July 2 my friend got married and I bought a really tight dress to wear for the wedding. Unfortunately, she's from central Utah so my only options were her 3rd cousins and they all came to the reception in Wranglers. Not that there's a problem with that, just that...there's a problem with that.

Nevertheless, it was a good time. Mostly I was glad her photographer captured the important people at the wedding. Me.

Then I went to our cabin in southern Wisconsin for some reading and respite. We played pool, we sailed, we swam, we watched fireworks, we caught fireflies -- :sigh: there were so many fireflies.

We looooove us some fireworks.

It turns out if you try to sail in the middle of a storm you end up soaking wet and muddy, having lost your flip flops and dropping your phone in the water. Good thing none of those happened to me. Next time, guys, next time.

Oh yeah, we also played Try-to-drop-popcorn-in-Laura's-mouth-and-if-you-miss-repeatedly-well-it's-no-big-deal. A real good time...

By July 7th we were off to Chicago where my mom and I were sealed for time and all...

Wait...nope...nevermind, hehe...that's right, my sister got married.

Relaxation over. Time to take a million jillion pictures in the sweltering hot and humid midwest sun.

Pictures pictures pictures picturespicturespicturespictures.

NOT such a good time.

After Chicago, we drove to the home of Michigan State where Kathryn had her first reception. Yes, yes, I said first. The second one (at home) was actually fun. This one was, ahem, well :cough-lame:. So my siblings and I played card games at our table. I ate 'til I looked pregnant then tried to dance it off. We last-minute decorated my sister's car...with empty water bottles and toilet paper...and...that was that.

And this is it for now. Just letting you know Bloggerismifica is stiiiiiiill kickin'. I'll fill you in on the rest when I'm not tired and hungry and you're not tired of looking at pictures of me.

Pagan Sun Festival

2011-07-10T22:39:00.000-06:00

Apparently in some Northern European and Baltic countries people celebrate the summer solstice in a big big way. And why not? It's the longest day of the year! Might as well have one last hoopla before everything heads back to being dark and wintery again. Besides, they don't have Independence Day. Go America, right?!

Well this year, I celebrated both. My friends and I did the best we could with what we had. We ate traditional food (gourmet hot dogs and smores), wore head wreaths (leafy camouflage?), and jumped over a bonfire (or rather, a small fire in a fire pit...).

That concrete wall added a level of difficulty I was not anticipating. It was quite scary...also, exhilarating.

See how much fun we're having?

Unhistoric acts.

2011-06-22T00:28:00.003-06:00

I recently finished a book by George Eliot called Middlemarch. George Eliot had been recommended to me by a friend who loved Daniel Deronda. So when I found myself perusing my German friend's bookshelf in search for something to read while traveling the European countryside (:sigh:), I picked out the book described by Virginia Woolf as "one of the few English novels written for grown-up people." Yes, I just finished. Yes, it's been 9 months.

It took me awhile to get through because I didn't think the story was very captivating -- grown-up people books rarely are -- I kept reading, though, because I liked the author. I thought she had such interesting insight into human nature and the character of life. Take this, for example:

"Many souls in their young nudity are tumbled out among incongruities and left to 'find their feet' among them, while their elders go about their business. Some discouragement, some faintness of heart at the new real future which replaces the imaginary, is not unusual, and we do not expect people to be deeply moved by what is not unusual. That element of tragedy which lies in the very fact of frequency, has not yet wrought itself into the coarse emotion of mankind; and perhaps our frames could hardly bear much of it. If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence."

Mmm, delicious...but why am I dedicating a post to this book about which I feel so seemingly tepid? Because the last 60 pages of Middlemarch launched it into my top 5. Shocking, no? I thought so too.

I will try to explain.

This book is mostly about two characters, full of ardent potential, who strive to achieve greatness...and fail...sort of. The main character, Dorothea Brooke, is a wonderfully ideal and noble creature. "She yearned towards the perfect Right, that it might make a throne within her, and rule her errant will. 'What should I do -- how should I act now, this very day if I could clutch my own pain, and compel it to silence!'" she asks.

The climax of the book for me occurred as Dorothea committed a sublime, "self-subduing act of fellowship." She acted out of compassion and a sense of right, laying aside her wounded heart in order to spare others pain. She did not live an epic life. Her name was not heralded among martyrs and heroines. She was a failed Antigone, "foundress of nothing, whose loving heart-beats and sobs after an unattained goodness trembled off and were dispersed among hindrances, instead of centering in some long-recognizable deed."

"Her finely-touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were not widely visible. Her full nature, like that river of which Cyrus broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name on the earth."

Every once in awhile I want my life to be heroic. Historic. I want to change the world. But for me, like Dorothea, there will be no "constant unfolding of far-resonant action; perhaps only a life of mistakes." I do not expect my name to be trumpeted from rooftops or my life to be ideal or admirable. But I do hope that somewhere along the chalky white outline of my bumbling life I will have made a measurable difference to someone around me. That my memory will be held dear by those who really knew me.

There were some who considered Dorothea's life a tragedy, a waste of divine efficaciousness, and it would have been if it wasn't so nobly human. I wrote a post a couple years ago about a song someone performed in church. I want my life to be that song and this book and her character -- imperfect, but moving. The wonderful thing about Dorothea was that, "The effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts."

And that's what I'm depending on, too.

I (build) robots.

2011-05-02T14:38:00.002-06:00

For NerdFest 2011, also known as the university's Design Day, I was required to build a robot for my Mechatronics class. The basic requirements were that it had to be controlled remotely and that it must be able to grab a ball and put it in a basket. The designs were really quite varied. Some opted to shoot the ball, some used a vacuum to pick the ball up, one team made a small elevator lift, and another team hooked up two measuring tapes to the basket so that wherever the ball was picked up it could be immediately sent along this track to the basket. Pretty ingenious...when it worked.

I have a 70-something-year old teacher who is known for asking, "What's the best kind of engineer?" The answer -- a lazy one. So in the spirit of the legendary Larry DeVries, my team opted for something simple.

We attached a tupperware container, split down the middle, to the end of a rotatable arm. The tupperware could open and close and the arm would rotate back to dump the ball in the basket. Simple, right?

It was also BEDAZZLED -- not my idea, though I fully supported it.

It turns out this design ended up being the most successful. Our robot was among the top 4 scoring robots out of 36 teams. The top two robots were based on the same idea as ours...they were just better. We made it to the 3rd round where we lost because our driver choked. Choked! When pseudo-victory was within our grasp!

Unfortunately, the 1st place robot outscored everyone by about 10 baskets so there wasn't actually much of a chance to come out on top. Overachievers. For building a robot with tupperware as one of its major components, I'd say we did pretty well.

And now? Back to doing problems like this:

A weekend with Dad.

2011-04-21T17:10:00.013-06:00

This last weekend my dad flew out to run the SLC half marathon with my sister and my cousin. The night before the race we went out for a late night carbo load at IHOP. I was tempted to get this:

Mmmmm...breakfast AND lunch!

The next morning I went out to see if I could catch a few action photos. What I got was this (mile 7):

Your guess is as good as mine...

My dad finished the race and I stole his medal so I could get a massage. Thanks, Dad!

Er, well...that's not actually true. I waited in line for a massage...I wanted a massage...I did run a little bit...plus, I had a polypro shirt on. I looked like a runner. Minus the sandals. Anyway, I didn't do it. I felt bad taking the spot away from an actual runner. I also didn't want to have to chit chat about the race. "So, how did it go?" "It was great! Didn't even break a sweat...!"

My dad was so worn out I thought it was the perfect time to lure him to the Apple Store for this:

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am now the proud owner of a Macbook Pro...plus a wireless printer.

So, Dad...you coming out next year?

Getting older.

2011-03-30T18:13:00.015-06:00

I find it difficult to keep track of the passage of time. Sure I'm getting older, yes things are happening, but time is like this amorphous enigma housed in an illusory-scented intangible. It's true, I can no longer put my socks on the way I used to -- I can't bend that much anymore. Pretty soon I'll have to heave myself out of chairs and fall slowly into them. Other than that, though, not much has changed. I don't really look different (I don't, ok?) and every year kind of seems the same...just like my bedroom, which hasn't changed since I moved in as a fresh college grad. Spiderman poster and all.

This isn't generally an issue, except when I need to confirm that I am, in fact, myself and not a better looking impostor. One day I called the IRS for information on my taxes, and they asked me where I worked in 2008. Um...I'm sorry, when? I couldn't think of any answers...so we accidentally got cut off...oops. Bye!

The solution?

Babies.

People need to have more babies. They're like living clocks. My trip to Greece was pretty epic but it's not continually getting older before my eyes so I have no idea how long ago it was. I find myself looking at my friends who are having babies and second babies and thinking, "Wow, it's really been a year?" Or 2 or 18. It's a great measuring tool!

My little brother is graduating from high school this summer. This is a picture from when he was born:

We were all really excited...

Yes, I'm the one on the right. Kathryn, the sibling next to me, is the one getting married. Crrrrrazy. Off to college, Jamesy. Off to woo girls. Off to conquer the world.

And now, I have my own little drooling timepiece. Well...kind of. On September 2 I became a god-aunt. I don't care what her parents say, she's even named after me.

Meet Nora ~~Jane~~ Alene:

That was at about 2 1/2 months. Here she is at 7:

Babies, babies, babies!

There...now you can consider this an official blog.

Everything is about to change.

2011-03-27T17:15:00.014-06:00

The end of an era has come. In 4 months time my family, as I know it, will be gone -- changed forever by the face of one who doesn't yet belong.

My sister is engaged.

I am the second oldest of 8 unmarried kids and have often wondered how a newcomer would change our family dynamics. Naturally, I'm skeptical...and maybe a little protective of this family I adore so much. I'm trying to be open and supportive, but mostly I feel like this:

You can't have her.

Yes, yes, I am happy for her. Of course I am. Theoretically I can't wait until we're all married. In practice, however, I don't like the idea of having to share her with anyone else's family. Not at all. Call me selfish but bears eat beets. It's the truth.

Admittedly, it's also a little strange to think that my 19-year-old sister knows more about love and successful relationships than I, in my recently budding 28-year-old-ness, have had the opportunity to learn. But don't think that I'm struggling with some ummarried-older-sister complex. Or an overuse-of-hyphens complex. I always knew it would happen this way.

So three cheers for Kathryn! Three cheers for officially becoming an aunt someday! (I'm getting tired of scavenging other people's children, you see.) Three cheers for another James in the family! (I will really need to figure out how to pluralize that name... Your James or our James? Both James'sss''ss's's'sss's.) And...three cheers for me! (This blog isn't about anyone else, after all.)

Update, update.

2011-03-12T22:38:00.004-07:00

This is what I used to do:

"Meet an Inventor" event. (Check out the second video.)

NOW, I work for these people:
Exciting, right? I got a summer internship with Varian Medical Systems here in town. They make X-ray tubes. I don't really know what that means or what I will be doing but it's SCIENCE! I mean, engineering, but whatever.

I start on Tuesday. If it's anything like my old jobs I'll have to do really tedious work for a supervisor that hates me. Cross your fingers!

Musical debut.

2011-02-24T16:32:00.009-07:00

I did it folks, I really did it.

I've been playing the guitar since the 8th grade and, actually, my first musical debut was finger picking The Beatles' "Yesterday" during a Young Women's Achievement Night. I stared at the music the whole time and didn't smile once. Later, I played "Brown Eyed Girl" at a Ward Talent Show. Didn't sing then either. I did con a couple friends into singing for me though, so it's not like I was just up there strumming awkwardly. Not like that at all...

I had a brief stint in a Christmas band but really, that's pretty much the bulk of my public performances until...well, there was karaoke at my friend's going away party a few years ago. I sang "Blue Christmas" in a key that was far too low for my voice. My friend, hiding in a corner behind me, responsible for the "Ooh ooh's" in the background, froze in the spotlight. Really, she just stood there. So I was left alone, cowering in the front while the DJ yelled at me to sing louder. It was a tribute to our friend and we failed miserably.

You can imagine, then, how flatly I declined when I was invited to play at an acoustic night earlier this month.

Flatly, flatly, flatly.

...on further consideration, however, I decided that 1) I should be able to accept what I can currently do without expecting it to be perfect and 2) I shouldn't be afraid to try to be more than I currently am.

So I resigned myself to fearfully facing fear.

There was actually a part of me that felt like once I got up to perform I would be all right. I would realize I knew what I was playing and decide that I didn't care what people thought anyway.

Wrong. I was very, very wrong.

I sat down under icicle lighting, arranged my instrument, and looked out into a vast army of menacing strangers. I made a joke about castanets that nobody understood and promptly broke into a feverish sweat. Then I started playing.

I now present to you my measly efforts: (Please by kind, you're actually watching trauma unfold.)

Next stop: posting videos of solo performances in my bedroom on YouTube.

Island Parkour.

2011-01-11T23:11:00.010-07:00

We jumped off the roof. We built a luge run. We sledded behind a 4-wheeler. We played the hot lava game. We fell. We tackled each other. We got covered in snow. We danced. We froze. We yelled a lot...

I can't say it enough.

I love this place.

My nickname.

2010-12-27T13:31:00.010-07:00

In the spirit of giving I've decided to clear up an often confusing feature of this blog -- my display name.

When I decided to document my life for the world I thought it would be prudent to write under a semi-false identity -- a pseudonym, a nom de plume...a literary nom de guerre, if you will. A proverbial mask for my civilian identity. As if I were a superhero...who publicizes her superheroic exploits. And I don't think I need to assure you that my exploits are superheroic.

Ahem.

To be more direct, several years ago my parents adopted two boys from Ukraine. I called them The Russians, they pronounced my name Loh-rra and thus a nickname was born. Plus, Lohra Miller ran for District Attorney sealing the form of this nickname forever. Yes, I have a nickname that is merely an alternate spelling of my actual name...what?

Here's a brief video for documentation.

Ho Ho Home.

2010-12-25T22:31:00.026-07:00

I am from an out of the way place known as the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. The U.P. The Siberia of the Midwest. Home of "da Yoopers, eh?"

There are a lot of rednecks up here. And trees. And deer. And the largest population of Finnish people. And their accents.

This Christmas my brother invited me to go ice fishing with a couple of his buddies and I felt obligated to go. As a regional experience. I felt ashamed as an official Yooper never having been, you see.

...I don't recommend it.

We sat around for 4 hours in the semi-cold and caught two tiny fish...which might be fine had we been hanging out in a sweet canoe on a pretty, warm pond or in the middle of a lazy river...but probably not even then, actually.

It turns out I don't care for fishing. At all. Surprise, right? I would much rather be doing something else...anything else. Like stunt sledding, for example!

...and by stunt I mostly mean leaping off a sled as it goes off a jump.

Yeah.

It didn't always go so well.

Attempted Superman + leap frog = random awesome times at the Shearer household.

Merry freaking Christmas.

I mean that.

Hypochondriac.

2010-11-14T22:01:00.008-07:00

Now, I'm not generally a very dramatic person. Whether you agree or not is irrelevant. I want you to know that what I am about to tell you is not commonplace.

There are times, especially with regard to my physical health, that I default to the most extreme explanation. Random splotch on my face? Skin cancer. Small toes? Oxygen deprivation at birth. Can't run? Asthma. Headaches? Brain tumor. Migraine? Stroke. Except that one was legitimate. What would you think if your arm and half of your face suddenly went numb? That's what I thought.

Anyway, it's kind of a weird anomaly of my personality. Oh, I'm sure there's an explanation -- probably a result of something my parents did to me as a child. Or didn't do. Or maybe it goes back even farther than that...

My dad was out here this week. My 80-something year old grandmother, Gigi, had been staying with my family for a few months and it was time to bring her back home. We were sitting around my aunt's living room chatting when my uncle received news of someone who passed away. Lou Gehrig's disease. A degenerative nerve disorder. Almost as an aside, a quiet thought out loud, my grandma said, "Well...there's something wrong with my nerves..."

And...it may not be funny to you but I laughed so hard I cried. It was the most...ridiculous statement. As if someone somehow missed the fact that she had a progressive and fatal neurodegenerative disease. "Whoa! How'd you get THAT?!"

There she is.

Gigi, thank you for helping me become the woman I am today. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm feeling a little fatigued...I think I have mono.

Wave of the future.

2010-10-28T15:24:00.011-06:00

So I've been updating my resume in an effort to get a real job and I think that resumes should be used a whole lot more than they currently are.

Think about it, it's a wonderfully brief synopsis of your life -- albeit your scholastic and professional life -- but it could be the perfect answer to some of the most annoying questions in superficial social situations.

"So...what's new?" "What's new? Here's a current copy of my resume. That's what's new."

Or, "Tell me about yourself." "Eh, I'd rather not. Here, read this." Immediately, perfect strangers are aware of your most notable computer skills as well as your GPA. Best foot forward I always say.

Always.

The typical resume could also be expanded to church and dating spheres. Instead of having to fill out information about your previous callings, just hand the bishop your ecclesiastical resume.

"Assistant to the Executive Secretary: Responsibilities include 'being a female presence', carving ice sculptures for bishopric meetings, and running the ward behind the scenes.

False Doctrine Teacher: I think this one is self-explanatory, really. Weird that they would give me this calling but I did what I could with it.

Sacrament Speaker Coordinator: ...it turns out I've only ever held made up callings."

Interested in some tantalizing specimen? Uh huh, marriage resume -- well stocked with several of your most photogenic moments of course.

Something like this would probably suffice.

"Astrological sign: Aries.
Pioneer heritage: Extensive.
References: Available upon request."

Suddenly all the world is an internet dating site.

I choose LIFE!

2010-10-16T09:57:00.001-06:00

I just spent the last hour distracted by myself -- reading old posts on my blog. I have been blogging for 3 years now (a hearty thank you for those few of you who have continued reading) and it's been interesting to notice changing perspectives, repeated themes...and jokes, and to remember what life was like before I promptly forgot all the minor details.

Several years go, when I still loved reading but hated writing, I was a very sad girl...naturally. I woke up a lot of mornings choosing to have a bad day and would firmly resist all efforts to cheer me up. I saw these efforts as false and superficial. Happiness meant vulnerability. Hope meant inevitable disappointment.

I have since realized what a terrible way this is to live -- in constant discouragement because of potential despair. Such a half life. Such a dreary life.

Lately, I've been thinking about a passage from Les Miserables. I think about it often enough that I have sought to commit it to memory. Victor Hugo begins his 1200 page novel with a chapter entitled "A Just Man" - a description of a bishop. Monsieur Charles-Francois-Bienvenu Myriel. About Monsieur Myriel, Hugo says many things but this, I think, is one of the most profound:

"He did not seek to efface pain in forgetfulness, he sought to elevate it and to dignify it with hope...to transform the grief that gazes on the freshly dug grave by showing it the grief that gazes up at a star."

Hope is not an empty promise. It is not naive. It is light and solace and deliverance.

I don't quite know how to do what Hugo is talking about - not for you, not really for me - but I've tried it both ways and so far, choosing happiness is better.

Season confusion.

2010-10-10T08:29:00.006-06:00

It felt like winter today. You know those mornings when you wake up and the light is brighter because it's reflecting off of snow and the air is crisp and cold? You immediately want to rally the troops and go sledding or maybe just open all your blinds, curl up with a good book and some hot chocolate and look out at the beautifully laden trees. I don't love winter by any means...but some of its days I can appreciate - like right after a storm, when everything is glitteringly pristine and you feel somehow that the only appropriate thing to do is just stand there and admire, that the slightest sound would be sacrilege, and the smallest movement would be profane; or on days lit up by twinkling Christmas lights swaying to the tunes of Bing Crosby, Burl Ives, and Mariah Carey when all you can think about is hanging out all day in your pjs with your family.

Winter is not without its positive sides, but for now I'm glad it's not here. I have too many other things to enjoy first - like going into the canyon and shooting potato guns.

I was a little scared to do it because this was the result of one of our first efforts. Watch his right hand. Sorry about the scream...

I was going to say something about how I'm going to Huntington Beach this weekend just in case winter is, in fact, imminent...but it turns out it's actually going to be warmer here than it is there. Nothing like playing beach volleyball in mucklucks and a hoody, right?

EngiNERD

2010-09-16T18:45:00.014-06:00

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Studying engineering is not glamorous. At least not for girls. Yeah, ok, and for most guys as well. Do you know how little people want to hear about my studies? I never get the question, "What are you learning about?" There is no interesting answer to that question. The best it will get this semester is reading a book for my ethics class called, "Truth, Lies, and O-Rings: Inside the Space Shuttle Challenger Disaster." On closer inspection, though, you'll realize it's merely 600 pages of this:

"Our conclusion that the primary O-ring in the nozzle of STS-51B had never sealed in the first place seemed to be well supported by the nature of the O-ring erosion we had observed and by the analytical model developed for predicting O-ring erosion. The erosion pattern on the O-ring was distinctly different from anything we had observed before, and there was evidence of hot gas flow around the entire cross section..."

Oh, we're done. Come back. Looks like your eyes glazed over there a little.

Except, here's the thing, I am actually interested in this stuff. Oh, I'm not passionate about it. I don't plan on taking apart an industrial printer and using the parts to rig a card scanner to my front door like one of my classmates wants to. I don't write computer code in my free time. I'm about as bored with the book as I presume you were. But I find myself mildly fascinated. Plus, I laugh at things like this: So in lieu of actually changing my career path (AGAIN) I've decided I need to come up with an alluring cover story. As if I were a CIA operative. Maybe I should be a tropical island caretaker who's completing the climbing program at the U. Maybe I should be a rehabilitated Nazi who loves volunteering at the local library for children's book hour. Perhaps - and I would actually love to do this - I could be a stunt double...that also teaches community breakdancing classes in the evenings. Or maybe I AM a CIA operative and "engineering student" IS my cover story.

Think about it.

Ich bin zurück.

2010-09-02T16:37:00.011-06:00

Now that I have returned from Europe I am finding it difficult to know what to say. I wasn't sure the blogging world would want another overindulgence in photographs. So instead I will overindulge you in adjectives. Italy was...how does one describe a place like that? It has history, it has art, it has Swiss guards dressed up like clowns (awesome clowns with swords) and old men riding the bus in nothing but dirty button up shirts. I'm serious, nothing but. Italy was amazing, exhausting, beautiful, delicious, stunning, sweaty, adventurous, hilarious, stressful, thrilling, fascinating, going, going, going. It was Venice, Florence, Siena, San Gimignano, Cinque Terre, Rome, Naples, Pompeii, and Sorrento. It was long but it wasn't long enough. It is everything you dream about and more. And now I am back.

Oh Italy.

Within 48 hours of returning to my now musty home I started school, my job, and received a new calling in the ward - Assistant TO THE Executive Secretary. I am the Dwight Schrute of the bishopric. So that's my excuse for my extended absence. If excuses were needed. "I did not become a Lackawana County volunteer sheriff's deputy to make friends. And by the way, I haven't."

Wrapping up.

2010-08-03T15:34:00.019-06:00

Well, ladies and gentlemen, my summer here in Germany is coming to a close. I won't bore you with tales of how AMAZING and life changing it's been. I will merely load this post with pictures and brief synopses. Suffice it to say, for the last three months I both lived in Germany and read Les Miserables and I'm not sure which affected me more. If you've experienced either you know what I'm talking about.

Surprisingly, I was able to visit everywhere on my 'travel to' list and then some. You've already heard about a few of these so bear with me.

Chiemsee: My introduction to the world of King Ludwig.Schloss Linderhof and Garmisch-Partenkirchen: Germany as I have yet to see repeated.
Berchtesgaden: Wienerschnitzel, an awesome gorge, and a parish church I was obsessed with.
Rothenburg ob der Tauber and Nuremberg: Rothenburg is a well-preserved medieval town and looks too amazing to be real. I watched a traditional wedding there and bought my first German souvenirs. I kept resisting the urge to yell out, "I LOVE THIS CITY...er, TOWN...er, TINY MEDIEVAL VILLAGE COMMUNITY!!!"I hustled through Nuremberg in less than an hour and regret not trying to go to Hitler's Zeppelintribune despite being told it was closed. I also regret not stopping long enough to take any good pictures.Schloss Neuschwanstein: Lederhosen and dirndls - need I say more?The Black Forest, Switzerland, and Ulm: The best part about the Black Forest was going to Freiburg im Breisgau, apparently the last stop for Marie Antoinette before going to France. If you've seen more than three trees together in one place in Germany, you've seen the Black Forest. In Basel, Switzerland I got totally ripped off but I did dip my feet in the Rhine...which didn't make up for a 35 Euro lunch at all. In Ulm I climbed the tallest church steeple in the world. I also tried to take epic pictures of myself...for an embarrassingly long period of time.Heidelberg and Frankfurt: An awesome location for a romantic little getaway. If anyone's looking.Vienna: We got into this city pretty late and were starving but I couldn't stop walking around because I kept getting distracted by things to see! The highlights were Schoenbrunn Palace, the central cemetery, and listening to Mozart's Requiem in an early 18th century church.Prague: Such a European city. Such an awesome city. They even set off fireworks for Pioneer Day.Salzburg: Combine The Sound of Music, Mozart's birthplace, an 11th century fortress, awesome churches, and the Alps and you get one of my favorite European locations. I think my feelings are best expressed by this one image.Pay no heed to the expression on my face, I'm afraid of heights.

Now I just need to successfully complete a 2 week vacation in Italy with my sisters and I'll be home. See you soon, America!

Night at the opera.

2010-07-27T10:14:00.015-06:00

I have a friend who is an opera singer for the Bavarian State Opera at the Nationaltheatre Muenchen. I didn't spell it incorrectly, that's what it's called. She's totally legit. If you google her name, you actually get pictures of her and a link to her very own webpage. You google me and you're directed to a page where you can buy Mediterranean sea salts.

One night I went to see her perform in Donizetti's L'elisir D'amore. She got me this sweet seat in the 7th row just a little off center.

You see?

That area behind me is the king's loge - the best seat in the house apparently. I don't know, we snuck in there once when my friend was giving us a tour and those seats were just as comfortable as mine.

I am by no means a classical music connoisseur. In fact, growing up, I was quite the opposite of that. I would complain loudly every Sunday when my parents turned it on. I had good reason to, classical music irked me so much I couldn't feel the spirit. I've grown up a little bit though, guys. I managed to avoid throwing my head back, going limp, and moaning, "I'm BO-RED," through the entire performance. I quite enjoyed it, actually. I had never heard of Donizetti or of his elixir of love. Without having read a description of the story line I tried to piece together what little English disguised as Italian I could make out and what few English words with umlauts I could read in order to get a small idea of what was going on. Mostly I just watched and listened and tried to laugh when everyone else did.

During intermission I rushed off to refresh myself with some gelato. On my way back, as I was crossing the street to the opera house, I suddenly heard someone yelling my name. Weird. No one knows me here. Looking up, I saw my friend waving at me from her dressing room, "Come up!" "Really? Can I?" I thought you people needed to focus and practice and stuff not relax and chat with friends. Oh well, if you say so! She ushered me in secretly through the artists' entrance. I had her fill me in on what the heck was going on and then she told me that the lead tenor was sick and they had flown in a replacement only a few hours earlier. Since he'd had no rehearsal he had no idea where he needed to be on stage. What a night! There was singing, there was acting, there was improvisation! There were busts coming alive trying to save an ancient Egyptian tablet with a night guard played by Ben Stiller...!! Wait...hehe...nevermind, that's...something else.

During the second act, I heard a song - a piece? an aria? una romanza? - that I recognized. I knew it must be the highlight of the opera because, well, I recognized it, but also because an audible stillness settled over the audience once it began.

I had heard it before...but I had never HEARD it before. I was listening now. I was listening hard. I can't stop listening now. When it was over there were shouts of "BRAVO!" and people stamped their feet in approval. Seriously, stamping! This wasn't a high school assembly. Old ladies in evening gowns and too much perfume put high heels to ground in ardent applause. Yes, they did.

When the show was over I clapped until my hands started to bleed and then tried to sneak backstage. The sentries posted everywhere made it impossible so I wandered outside to the artists' entrance again, waited until the guard was distracted by people getting programs for the artists to sign, and hurried through the door. I enthusiastically congratulated my friend and then walked back outside with her where people asked HER to sign their programs. Or to sign pictures of her face. How do I get lines of fans to wait for me after a long day of computer programming? How do I get lines of fans at all? "Excellent performance there, Laura. The way you defined that function...absolutely gorgeous." "You look much better in real life than in your role as a programmer." Yes, well, anyone would, that task makes people smack their faces into walls and rip their hair out. Some people just have it better than others, I guess.

Hannelore Hoffmann.

2010-07-22T10:34:00.008-06:00

I live with an old lady. And her bird.

Hannelore Hoffman is a pretty typical old lady. Her house is covered in knickknacks and lace, she owns a computer but doesn't know how to use it, she watches soap operas all day and removes her teeth at night. I think. That last part has been an ongoing investigation for me. Her son appears to enjoy live action role playing.When I arrived, Hannelore was very accommodating. She encouraged me to make myself at home. She would randomly make me food and we would sit across the table, smile awkwardly, and teach each other words: Löffel - spoon, Gabel - fork, gestorben - dead. Things like that. For the more important stuff we would use google translate, which she insisted refer to her with the informal 'you'. She let me use her computer whenever I wanted (you remember the whole laptop fiasco, no? The good news is I finally got it back...a week ago. Laptop and fiasco will forever be associated in my mind). She makes cakes topped with fruit all the time and will sometimes save me a slice.

Looks like a good time, huh? One day in mid-June she gave me a letter which I assumed had been translated for her by a friend. Among a list of rules to keep and a notice that rent was two weeks late and if it was late again I would have to move out, the letter said, "Her computer is not for your use! The agreement is to bring your own laptop, using her internet plug. Now you're using her computer instead. This is an absolute NO GO! Remember, Sister Hoffmann has opened her home to you - a total stranger. Show your respect and appreciation by following the rules."

Uh...oh. Sorry? I spent a day fuming/feeling devastated and a week avoiding going home and then found out that her friend had written it and Hannelore hadn't known what it said. Huh? Why? Seriously, why? I couldn't figure it out.

THEN, a couple weeks later, some German dude moves in. Echt - really. He's 30, he's awkward, and he likes playing games. Love games? Computer games. The current living situation is Oliver in Hannelore's room and Hannelore in the living room with Koko Gabor (that's the bird). A quick aside about Koko. This bird isn't caged and covered at night. No, no. Hannelore coos and cuddles it before putting it to bed in its mini wooden house where it stays quietly until anyone moves about at which point it shrieks its crazy head off. Repeatedly. The same goes for when it is actually caged - in the case of no one being home for long periods of time. Sometimes I can hear it down the flight of stairs as I leave. Try to sleep with a monster like that in your home. It is quite possible that I've thought of killing it more than once.

Look! It's my room.

This is where I found Oliver one day when I got home from school. He was using the internet on his laptop. I turned right around and walked out of the house...and started locking my door. Actually, I started locking my room after he asked me out. I assure you the date didn't happen. It couldn't happen. I would never let it happen. Fortunately, I was going out of town and after he asked what he could do to get a girl like me interested and I responded, "Er, uh, hehe, I don't know? I don't have an answer...sorry," he never approached the subject again. Poor guy.

So, lately, I spend a lot of time in my room, I pretend like I understand what Hannelore is saying - although now she mostly tells me I'm closing the door the wrong way or putting the wrong dishes in the sink, and I try to avoid my live-in boyfriend. Alles klar!

Skipping forward.

2010-07-15T15:30:00.012-06:00

I'm brushing over a few things in order to tell you about this last weekend. Not because it's pressingly noteworthy, just that it's the most recent thing I've done.

The program that sent me here also sent 350 other students from Canada, the US, and the UK to different cities around Germany. This last weekend we all gathered in Heidelberg for a conference. Three hundred 20 year olds and me. They all used it as an opportunity to meet new friends and party. I used it as an opportunity to sight see for free with my by myself.The second night we were there was the first opportunity I had to wander around - I went up to the castle overlooking the Altstadt, walked across the river until the lights abruptly shut off at midnight (I was actually in the process of taking a picture...setting the camera up, getting the shutter speed just right...when all of a sudden nothing was lit up anymore. Well, guess it's time to go back to the hostel!) - and I kept running into groups of students, with whom the exchange repeatedly went like this:
"Hey, what are you doing?"
"Oh, just wandering around."
"Who are you with?"
"No one, it's just me."
"Oh..."
And no one knew what to say after that, like it was the strangest thing to do. Maybe it was to them. But, what the heck, I SAW THE CITY AND I DON'T HAVE TO EXPLAIN MYSELF TO YOU.

Yeah.

When I was up at the castle, which is in a small state of ruin, I started hearing really angry yelling. A lot of it. Then I heard horrendous, horrendous screaming. I seriously thought someone was being killed inside - in a most terrible way - but no one else seemed put out by it so I just continued to wander around...cautiously...and subsequently found out that Hamlet was being performed in the inner courtyard. Riiiiight. That didn't stop me from being super creeped out when I was walking back down the dark, deserted stairs to the city.That morning we had been separated into groups in order to go on company visits. I went to Bosch. We saw way more car stuff than washing machine stuff...which surprised me. We tested out some virtual driving simulation and rode in a car on the test track as it demonstrated how terrible driving is without anti-lock brakes - we spun out almost 4 complete turns. On a wet surface comparable to snow, the difference in stopping distances between ABS and no ABS was about 1:10. I may be exaggerating that a little, but I was way impressed.

I'm the nerdy looking Indian kid in the yellow shirt.

Then we went to the Porsche Museum. I was with a whole crew of other mechanical engineers so they were super excited and taking pictures and way bummed they couldn't buy anything from the souvenir shop...and I kind of got swept up in all of it...until I realized I didn't actually care that much. Now I have all these pictures of cars that I don't know what to do with.After a guided tour of the city and the castle the conference was over. A lot of people stayed an extra night but I took off to Frankfurt in the hopes of going to the temple. An hour and a half later, after a sweaty walk through the small town of Friedrichsdorf, I found it. Tired, hot, and relieved, excited to be there I pulled on the door. I pulled again.

Locked.

Poo.

It had closed just a couple hours earlier. No, I didn't check what hours it was open, no I didn't. Of course I should have. I took a quick picture and then wandered through Frankfurt for an hour before catching the train back to Munich. Oh well.It was consoling to know that I could have watched all three movies of the Twilight saga in one sitting.

The Everyday.

2010-07-02T06:16:00.013-06:00

It feels like it's been awhile. I'm sorry. It turns out even I'm getting tired of travelogues. There are definitely some stories I need to tell but they require pictures, which I haven't gotten yet. I'm working on it. I am. I haven't forgotten about you.

So, the everyday - I wake up around 10, I go to work, depending on how quickly I get stuck I stay for awhile or I don't. If I leave early, I will try to get together with a friend who teaches until 1:30. Or I wander around for awhile in the city by myself until I head to the church for FHE or institute or Thursday night soccer or Friday night activity. I go home as late as possible. I travel on the weekends. Rinse, wash, repeat.

I spend a lot of time on the bus or the train, which means I spend a lot of time reading or listening to music. Sometimes...I practice saying German words under my breath...and then I laugh at how crazy I must look. I only know how to say ridiculous things like: "you're crazy" or "who do you think you are?" or "legit" or the word "ridiculous," but I want to make sure I'm saying those things correctly.

Work is still the same - way hard and way boring. I have assumed that it doesn't really matter if I take a day off here or there...so when the bus drove by on a Friday morning and didn't pick me up, I decided to stay home and watch the Germany and USA World Cup matches instead or when the missionaries and my friend were going down to Neuschwanstein one Monday, I joined them. This weekend I am going to Schwarzwald - The Black Forest - and I thought, "Switzerland is only 40 minutes away, perhaps I'll stay Monday and see it!" So I finally asked my supervisor if it was ok...I've never loved my job more. He doesn't even want advance notice.

Living in a foreign country, never having to work, and getting paid for it. It could only be more perfect if I had a better living situation - which I'll get to later.

Munich is great. At first I kind of saw it as just another big city...with a way awesome downtown, but I love it here. The city center has become dotted with fruit stands and people playing live music - good music! I'm not talking about yet another homeless guy with a harmonica or some Asian kid with a karaoke machine. People cart out pianos to play quartets and stuff.

I have a million pictures of the Neue Rathaus because every time I see it, it strikes me as picturesque. Churches fill up the skyline. Parks are everywhere. Things are happening - one night there were free orchestra and opera concerts; another night it was big band music, old people dancing, and little shops in the Residenz plaza; for the whole of this month there's some super Indie craft/international food/music festival. I actually kind of know my way around and I haven't yet felt unsafe.

Some days I don't think 3 months will be long enough.

World Cup 2010.

2010-06-23T16:12:00.006-06:00

Quite honestly, I had been a bit disappointed with the World Cup thus far. I'm in Europe for heaven's sake. Shouldn't there be plundering, pillaging, dangerous riots, and cars burning in the streets? Based on the dull response of those living in Munich, one would have thought Germany LOST its first game.

Then they actually DID lose despite being granted a penalty kick...who misses a penalty kick?
Tonight was the final game of the first round. USA had already earned themselves a spot to move on by scoring in the extra minutes at the end of the game. Talk about pushing it. So tonight I went to a pub just off of Marienplatz to watch Deutschland attempt the same. We watched outside. Germany won. Instead of going straight to the U-bahn at Marienplatz (like we did after the first game) we walked past Odeonsplatz to the university. It turns out I had just been in the wrong part of town earlier for there was definitely some celebrating worth celebrating.

Doesn't the guy in this video sound way scary? Typical German.

I've been meaning to post video on here for awhile now but unfortunately my camera is so awesome it records in HD...in a file format no one uses...and it's taken me a little while to figure out how to convert it. Now I just need to figure out how to convert it without the little advertising stamp. No time, no time!

I think it's pretty obvious why we decided to take the next train.

Jawohl!

THE ALPS!

2010-06-15T11:26:00.015-06:00

Guys! I've seen the Alps! The Alps, the Alps, THE ALPS! I'm in love. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate our beloved star-spangled Rocky Mountains, I do, but...these mountains make me giddy!

First things first, though: the first two weekend trips I went on took me to two of King Ludwig's castles. The less famous ones.

King Ludwig II was purportedly crazy. And gay. And died mysteriously in a lake. But the Bavarian tourist trade can thank him for his eccentricities. So can Walt Disney.

Castle #1: Herrenchiemsee

This palace was built on an island in Chiemsee (Bavaria's largest lake) and was modelled after the Palace of Versailles...except it had running water and a central heating system.

Naturally, we weren't allowed to take pictures inside and naturally...I did anyway.

The rest of the time was spent enjoying our first day of nice weather.

Castle #2: Linderhof

This palace (I'm not really sure why they call them castles) is the smallest of King Ludwig's castles, it's also the only one he finished.

The grounds have an artificial grotto which was lit by different colored lights "where opera singers performed while Ludwig was rowed around in a boat shaped like a shell." Like I said, way gay.

Then I traveled into Garmisch-Partenkirchen and wandered around for hours trying to find the information center. That's how I saw the city. Finally I found the office and that's how I saw Eibsee, a small lake at the foot of the Zugspitze, the tallest mountain in Germany.

Behold, the Alps:

Now tell me, aren't you enraptured?

The things I left behind.

2010-06-09T15:02:00.009-06:00

No, I'm not going to talk about singing in my car, dancing with my friends, or my dear dear mother. Nor am I referring to streaming Hulu, Chicken in a Biscuit crackers, or my laptop...which I still haven't gotten back.

This post is about the last weekend before I came to Europe. Yes, my friends, this post is about my modern dance troupe and our time in Goblin Valley, U.S.A.

So my friends and I decided to have one last hurrah before I left them forever, I mean, for the summer which would undoubtedly feel like forever. Enter Goblin Valley. A few of my friends had never been and I never seem to get tired of it. It's a place like no other, this little lumpy valley.

So we went, we saw, we conquered the cuss out of that thing. We threw rocks...we went on a hike for little kids...we pretended like it was really fun...

...I took a lot of pictures of our token Asian male taking a lot of pictures...

...or posing like Aunt Jemima...

...we tried to fly kites, we failed, we threw paper airplanes instead...

...we found the best secluded camping spot...

...lastly, we took pictures for our new album entitled, "Jericha Road - The All Girls Boy Band."

Seriously amazing.
Shazam!

A soggy day in Munich town.

2010-06-06T14:59:00.062-06:00

We've had a lot of rainy days here. Pretty much only rainy days. Last Thursday was a German holiday...but it was also a rainy day. So instead of going somewhere, which was obviously my first choice...I wandered around the city. If it keeps going on like this I may be forced to give in and get an umbrella.

Biergarten in the Englischer Garten

So what does one do with a day off such as this? One goes to museums, of course.

I went to the Wittelsbach Residenz - "the seat of government and residence of the Bavarian dukes, electors, and kings from 1508 to 1918. The complex as a whole is one of the largest museums in Bavaria." They're not kidding, this place is seriously huge. Here are some pictures of the facade and the Hofgarten (Court Garden) when it was still nice outside.

My favorite part of the tour was the antiquarium and the reliquary. And the strange, grey, mini-tennis-racquetesque audio guide handheld speaker...of which I don't have a picture.

Antiquarium

Did you know that holy relics are physical remnants - body parts...or objects - of saints? Who knew?! It could be anything - mummified children supposedly slaughtered by Herod, a piece of Christ's cross, someone's hand. Rich people (and churches too, I believe) would collect this stuff and display it as a sort of endorsement of their status. I will never be satisfied with a mere burial again. I want my bones to be entombed in gold.

Look, they thought this was the head of John the Baptist:

I was then supposed to meet up with a friend to go to one of the art museums but she was hung up at a lunch with the missionaries so I did a lot of this:

And a lot of this:

I ran out of things to do so I rode the U-bahn to the end of its line. Why? I was filled with the spirit of exploration! To embark into the great unknown with only a 1500 page book and an iPod, that is man's greatest desire!

Unfortunately, by the time we met up and made it to the Pinakothek they were closing in 45 minutes. Ach du Schande!

So we hung out German style - went out for Italian and chatted in her room until late. I may or may not have almost called her a Nazi once but guys, they're way normal over here.