Saturday, 18 June 2011

here's to you, pixel snob.

I am positive many of you have heard this story and if so I apologize for repeating it, but I think on an occasion like today it deserves to be told.

This picture was taken after our house burned down in 1988. I am the little baby in the front.

How in the world did this happen, you ask?? Our house was heated by a wood-burning stove at the time, which required the ashes to be sprayed before being put in the garbage can. Unfortunately one night the ashes were a little smoldery and caught our car on fire, which caught its full gas tank on fire, which exploded and caught our house on fire.
Our neighbors called to alert my parents, who had no idea how serious the situation was at first. By the time they got outside they were surrounded by 40-foot flames and I can't even imagine how they were feeling.

As they sat with their neighbors and each other, watching their house burn down and waiting for the fire department, they realized there had been a slight miscommunication--Both my parents thought the other was going to get the baby out of the house....

(I've been told this story many times and every time this part turns to slow motion)
So what does my Dad do? Takes a deep breath and runs inside to rescue his little girl from the fiery flames. Apparently when he got to me I was entirely covered in soot. There was a white outline on my crib from where my body had been laying and when I opened my eyes they were the only thing on my body that wasn't completely black.

Needless to say I am quite grateful to my father. (aren't you?) Not many people can call their Dad their hero in quite so literal a sense, but he's also a hero in lots of other ways.

BOAT HERO: Here he is on some trick skis he wanted to try out.

Don't let the awkward picture throw you--while he's an incredible slalom skier, sometimes he likes to switch things up! The one thing that doesn't change is his prescription yellow goggles and his bullet proof vest of a life jacket.

TENNIS HERO: I don't think I can count how many times he's told me,
a) "Keep your eye on the ball until it hits your racket" and
b) "Have your racket back by the time the ball hits the ground."
I know, Dad!!! I guess I should start doing it so he can stop telling me...

FOOD HERO: When he's around there will be no shortage of delicious food, especially things like fresh fruit and artichoke hearts.

DOCTOR HERO: It's fun to have friends tell me they saw/worked with/were put to sleep by my Dad. They never fail to tell me how kind and at the same time witty he was. His fetish for laffy taffy jokes truly has no bounds.

PIANO HERO: Nothing was more vexing as a child than practicing the piano for hours only to have my dad sit down later and play my piece perfectly on the first try. Sheesh. He has amazing natural talent that unfortunately I didn't inherit.

IMPROVEMENT HERO: I think the man improves in his sleep. I have never met someone who is so diligent at consistently improving in every aspect he can. While I have complained to him on occasion that I just want to coast in stagnant mediocrity for a while, I'm so grateful for his example of never being complacent.

Last but not least, my dad is a PIXEL HERO: More realistically we call him a pixel snob. You better believe he jumped on the Laser Disc train when those things were hot, and since then it's made its way from HD to BluRay to who knows what's next. I could never define the difference between the two and honestly BluRay looks a little too real for me. Say what you will, the man loves his pixels.

I'm so lucky to have been raised by the most hardworking, diligent, and genuine father in the universe! He is an amazing example of humility and love, and I owe him so much more than my life. He cares about his family more than all his hobbies combined times ten and I hope he knows the feeling is mutual.

Happy Father's Day Dadio! Love you much.

Thursday, 16 June 2011

i'm selling my coats.

Welp, I got a job. At TBWA/Chiat/Day in Los Angeles where it's 70 degrees and sunny year round. What in this whole wide world???

While I feel the term 'dream job' is somewhat of an oxymoron, it may be semi-applicable. I was looking over my journal from last year and it's kind of crazy how many times the phrase, "I think I'll apply at Chiat, not that I have a chance but I might as well right?" comes up. I start July 5th. EEEEK.

For those who have no idea what that means or how to pronounce it, here's some stuff they've done.

This spot 'introduced Apple computers to the world' at the 1984 Superbowl.


This was done buy a BYU Alum who is stellar and has been such a help over the last few months and I owe him one of my children, even if I end up adopting them at 40 and single.


This was done last year and is cool because I will most likely be working on Pepsi...


And here's a snapshot of the agency. You can skip through the first part but it's pretty great.


This is obviously just a snippet of their work but I think they're cool. Sometimes when I tell people where i'm working they think I'm swearing or saying a naughty word of sorts. It's pronounced shyyy--uttt--day, so there you are.

As the last few weeks have feen spent between the King Henry pool, Seven Peaks and Utah Lake, I'm more than expecting a swift kick in the face from adulthood when I start working full time, especially since in this industry and at this agency full time is more like infinite-over-time. It's really strange to think I'm leaving Zion!! Leaving my home, my friends and everything that I know and is comfortable. Sigh. I'm full of a billion emotions but mostly just overwhelmed.

As for moving to LA, i'm feeling pretty good. Tanner is convinced I will be a Lakers fan by next season, and while nothing would be nicer for a Jazz fan than jumping on that bandwagon, I don't think he understands the hatred we are raised to feel. I'll most likely be living in Santa Monica so if anyone's been there, could you let me know what it's like? I'm going down this weekend for the first time ever, so let's hope I find a place to live.

I may or may not have read a book by Liz Gilbert and may or may not be treating her words as scripture right now:

"I've come to believe that there exists in the universe something I call "The Physics of the Quest"- a force of nature governed by laws as real as the laws of gravity or momentum. And the rule of the Quest of Physics maybe goes like this: "If you are brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting and set out on a truth-seeking journey, and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue, and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher, and if you are prepared-most of all-to face and forgive some very difficult realities about yourself, then truth will not be withheld from you."

Here's to a new adventure, Lizzy Gilbert. Here's to eating and praying and loving (?) every bit as much as you did. Before this gets too epic, I'll end by saying...
I have a feeling the next little bit of my life is going to be insane.
I feel so incredibly lucky to be doing what i'm doing.
I am so terribly sorry for whoever has had to deal with me lately, heavens knows I've been completely self-absorbed.
I will miss P-town like crazy....slash I hope I never want to come back :)

Monday, 13 June 2011

shportants.

I just remembered that this invention exists.


Mankind thought it was so smart until it realized how dorky it looked in the meantime. Baha!

I remember at my 6th grade science fair Garrett Mckay came up with the same idea. He called them "shpants." If only he'd had a good patent lawyer before they showed up in department stores. Sigh.

Searching "zip off pants" on google images produces possibly the frumpiest set of results I have ever seen. 6.8 MILLION OF THEM, I might add.

Like if you wanna wear one pant and one short you can do that.

Or if you're a cop and you still wanna wear your shpants, you can do that.

Or if you're gothic but you wanna wear some shpants you can do that too.


Cabela's come with a very informational picture. Here is their product description:

Cabelas Guidewear® men's zip off pants are great for travel -- zip off the legs when the sun gets hot, and pack the many pockets with everything from guidebooks to sunscreen and a sacklunch. The waist can gather on a skinny guy, but they're handy travelers. Add atraveler's money belt and you'll be carrying everything you need.
Call me materialistic, but curse the day when I stuff my sacklunch in the pocket of my shpants.

Tuesday, 7 June 2011

and on a lighter note...

Had to share this. Again, proof that real genius exists in the world.


Monday, 6 June 2011

when you're bored, but leaving.

You will wish life had a fast forward button, and then think maybe you'd actually rather have rewind. Pause?

You will go to the gym. As the class is getting out you’ll think I don’t have time to stay for sit-ups and then you’ll realize you could actually stay all day.

You will find yourself at the mall. Your friend who works at Nordstrom will comment at how she keeps seeing you there and you will realize hey, I should stop this materialistic habit before i become all materialistic.

This will make you think about all the people you could have helped with all your free time and you will feel guilty. You will think about Serving Someone and start making a list of who/how you could serve.

You will remember when you were little and you made the mistake of telling your mom you were
bored and she said you could help her vacuum the stairs if you're that bored.

You will think about your friends who have babies who probably wish they were bored sometimes and you will try to take advantage of being bored because once you have babies you probably won’t be bored ever again.

You will realize at some point that the reason you are so agitated with boredom is because you are out of the habit. You wish you had been less productive.

You will think about how you should probably call some of your friends to see them because you are leaving soon. You will think actually maybe it’s better to stop seeing them now so you can get used to it. You wonder if they will miss you when you're gone. You will know it's immature but you will kind of somewhat hope they will be sad.

You will suddenly never know what to wear. You will stand in front of your closet, not caring what you look like but having no ability to choose what to put on.

Your monthly Netflix fee will increase in value.

You will remember times when you wished you had just a few minutes to sit and be bored. You will realize that in a month you will be have no time to be bored and you’ll probably wish you could be bored and even when you will be bored, will you have anyone to be bored with?

You will think maybe I should’ve gone on that blind date. Then you will remember how tiring it would have been and that you’d rather be bored.

You will be overwhelmed by all the time you have to finally read books. You will go to the bookstore and buy five books and read a part of each one every day and be frustrated at never finishing them. If you could just finish something.

You will wonder why you keep spelling boredom 'boredome' and realize your brain has possibly, to some degree, ceased functioning.

You will be trapped inside your head and think too much. You will wonder how you can show up to your job way creative. Maybe you should think weirder. Maybe you should watch some obscure films. Maybe you should get your hipster glasses back even though you got your eyes lasered.

You will realize that the only thing that makes you feel better about being bored is writing about it and then you'll feel grateful you got a job where you could write and then feel scared that what if you actually aren't that good at it.

You will think all this in the space of ten minutes, sitting in your kitchen, wondering what to do next. You will start to do something. And then before you're done you will think it alllll again.

Thursday, 2 June 2011

that one time i got punked by the canadian zoob.

After an adequate healing period, I feel it is finally time for the following episode to be shared with the world.

When you go to BYU, dating is part of the curriculum. I once even had a classmate use as an excuse for not doing his assignment the fact that he "was having a first kiss on a second date." It should probably be said that he wore crocodile boots and I detested his guts, but still you get the point--we date a lot here.

Because dating is such an integral part of a BYU education, I have decided to present you with a little test question:

Which of the following elements does not belong with the others?
a) spaghetti
b) pudding
c) ribs
d) twister
e) food fight
f) date
g) all of the above can be combined to make something romantic and adventurous

If you guessed F, you are correct! If you guessed G, you are either crazy or you are the zoobie who punked me.

Sometimes at BYU people think it's ok to ask strangers out. In my opinion this is never acceptable, unless the stranger happens to be Justin Bieber or something of the sort.

One fateful day, however, on a cold walk home from campus, I was startled by a non-bieber stranger who came up beside me with a chipper, "hey, how's your day goin??" Surprised, I responded and we began to converse. He told me he was thinking of going into advertising, so naturally I got all excited and began telling him the ins and outs of the program. Alas he mistook my enthusiasm for interest and cleverly came back with, "well, maybe we could go on a date and talk about it then?"

What else could I say?

Let it be known that this boy is a totally nice, clean-cut, i'm sure upstanding citizen who will find a great wife someday. I'm just not sure it will be me.
The day of our date (which happened to be April 1st) I received a text from him that said, "Hey, we're going to do some messy stuff tonight, is that ok?"
Messy stuff? Is that a euphemism? Trying to appear cool and low-maintenance, I responded saying I didn't mind getting dirty (not a euphemism) and made some joke about us having a food fight, to which he responded that a food fight would be an accurate mess-level for me to dress for.
Dread! Dread! Fear! Desperate search for excuse!

When we arrived at his apartment it was him, his brother, his sister, and both of their significant others. All five grew up in the same small town in Canada and all five did not laugh at Rebbie's jokes. Likewise, Rebbie did not laugh at theirs.

The first activity was not a food fight but actually its evil step-cousin, the eating contest. The food to be eaten? Spaghetti and ribs, washed down with chocolate milk (common meal in Canadia I presume??) It went like this: The boys went first. They had to sit down at the table and lift their arms up, while the girls reached underneath and shoveled food into their cake holes. Nothing quite like a man with spaghetti slodged all over his face. When it came time for the girls to pig out, I employed acting skills I didn't know I possessed.

I sat down at the table. I lifted my arms. I succumbed to the spaghetti. But after a few bites I felt ill. How do those asians on Coney Island do it? Oh my good heavens!!! For fear of losing my spaghetti, I began to chew politely, much to my competitive date's dismay. I looked up through pasta debris flying through the air. I saw his sister sitting opposite me, her face, hair and ears covered in spaghetti, laughing. At this point I knew I could never make him happy.

After we cleaned things up, he pushed out the table and rolled a giant piece of white contact paper out on the kitchen floor. He retrieved what can only be termed vats of different colored pudding from the fridge. Red, yellow, green, blue. He proceeded to splat dollops of colored pudding on what had now become a twister board. A pudding twister board.

Put your right hand in the yellow pudding!

Put your left foot in the red pudding!

Pudding sludged through our digits and around the paper until eventually it all mixed together to coat the paper in a nondescript greyish paste. Alas, I failed out of the game pretty quickly and watched the remainder from the sidelines. After the men were thoroughly sweaty, red-faced and covered in pudding, the game ended. (I am so sorry I'm still writing this post. I am so sorry if you are still reading it. But the truth must be told.) Wouldn't you know it, that darned Canadian zoobie stood up and yelled, "PUDDING FIGHT!!"

I stood with my arms in the air and let that stranger slather me in pudding. Really, what else could I do? Covering my face, coating my love handles, down the back of my shirt. Pudding.

I left that night feeling like an awful, high maintenance word that rhymes with witch. I have not seen this individual since the incident and looking back now, halfway wonder if it was real life. The fact that it occurred on April 1st has caused many to speculate the nature of his intentions. Did I get fooled? Most definitely. But was it on purpose? He just seemed way too nice (albeit confused) for that to be the case. In keeping with the curriculum, I've decided to give him an A+ for creativity, messiness and innovative means for breaking the touch barrier. As far as other date categories go, I believe I should keep those grades to myself. As thankful as I am to my Alma Mater for such a well-rounded education, I am even more thankful to have left it.