An eclectic entry

Hello everyone! I am now safely and contentedly back in Rexburg. By the way, as soon as I was home (meaning La Grande), I didn't miss the dorms at all. I missed BYU-Idaho life and friends here, but not the dorms. My visit to see the family was fantastic, and it was re-enforced to me how cool they are. And what a good cook my step-mom is. The new house is ENORMOUS...it was really weird. My family is totally loaded all of a sudden. The town of La Grande is a cozy lil place, and rather small. Somehow, it looks nothing like how I remember it from when my Mom and I drove through and explored it in August. There's not a whole lot to do around there, but since Rexburg is the same way, it wasn't a problem and we easily found ways to amuse ourselves. Our amusements and entertainments consisted of the following relaxing and satisfyingly un-productive things:



Going on a picnic

Visiting a lake

Exploring a graveyard

Walking the dog

Having a rock-throwing contest

Doing the dishes

Watching movies

Driving to Union and back

Visiting a kid named "Reggae" at work (Subway)

Listening to music

Playing air-hockey

Climbing stairs

Being cold

Eating leftover Thanksgiving



I lied. Doing dishes is definitely productive. But that was the trip. My roomate Alexis came along and that was fun, also. She fit right in with the Whittakers.

As I am sitting here blogging away, I'm listening to a lovely little rock band called "The Strokes." Because they are right up there with chocolate and theatre on my list of things I love, I would like to devote a paragraph or two to pay tribute to the "fab"-ulous band. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the group, let me introduce you. They are definitely the drug-addict, raucous rebel rock music type, but there's an inexplicable appeal in that to me somehow. Julian is the typical, messy-haired lead singer singing the story of teenage angst. He's got a voice that can croon the verses and grind the choruses. He's also probably high (as in drugs, not music) all the time, but what rock star isn't. Nikolai is the bass-player and is very talented and doesn't interest me that much. Nick is the same way...a talented guitarist, and really quirky, but not very interesting. My adoration is mostly directed to Albert, the sexy, curly-haired guitarist who's the most talented of all of them. His rock solos rival any other rock legends and he always wears really cool clothes, and plays his guitar with a funky, non-cholant, rocking out kind of air. And let's not forget good ole Fab, the drummer who's like a human metronome. Also curly-haired attractive and plays with a passion like no other. I invite you to visit their site, www.thestrokes.com and listen to their music and watch their videos ("Reptilia" and "Last Night" are the best). Some of you may be a little bit shocked to hear the raucous rock music that I adore, but what can I say. I could be a rebel in worse ways.

Um, I can't remember the other thing I was gonna blog about. So, I'll just say ta-ta. (Oh, by the way, I've decided to give up a productive career and just do theatre and play music for the rest of my life. I'm restless. I've got post-production blues. I just so busy after the 2 productions I was in that it just caught up with me right now.)

The older I get...

I would just like to say, for the record, that it is the weirdest thing in the world to go "home" for Thanksgiving and NOT KNOW WHERE ANYTHING IS. My family moved to a totally different place at the same time that I moved out to college. So this vacation has been a little odd. You never realize how complicated everyday things can be when you don't know your way around this house that your family now lives in. Things like where the bathroom is. Do you know how awkward it is to ask your own family where the bathroom is? And then there's the cooking issue...it's a little complicated when you don't know where any of the food or silverware or anything is.

And I don't have a bed. Or a bedroom.

Life gets more and more bizarre the older I get. I'm just saying.

What?! I like living here?!

All right. I give up. In spite of my excitement to move out next year, I apparently really like living in the dorms.



Which is totally weird to me. I don't know what's going on. I guess the dungeons grow on you. I only noticed the fact that I like our cozy lil prison this morning. I'm leaving town for a week, and as I was getting ready to go, I looked around and thought "I'm excited to leave, but now that I'm going to, I kinda don't want to! I like this stupid, cramped, scrict, inconvenient little place!"

WHAT?! I thought I hated the dorms! My roomates and I were seriously contemplating cancelling our contracts and moving off-campus in January. The only reason we didn't do it is because we are all poor and would lose money if we went through with it. We spent nights sitting around and just silently hating the dorms. We spent afternoons walking around downtown looking for prospective homes. We spent evenings in the Galley choking down the same thing we had been for the last 9 weeks, and hating every minute of it. (Actually, that's sort of a lie...the Galley DOES have unlimited cereal, and some of us--I ain't naming any names--were perfectly content if a certain curly-haired photographer happened to drop in...) But the point is this...we didn't like it here. At all.

Apparently, I don't know myself very well. I guess if something's annoying enough, you begin to like it. That must be it, because I never thought I'd see the day when I left the dorms for a week and missed them. Maybe I'll snap out of it when I'm in an actual house with an actual kitchen and stuff. I haven't experienced that in so long maybe I forgot what I'm missing.



ADDENDUM: This is totally unrelated to living in the dorms. For the sake of your own amusement, I would also like to include in this entry, "The Tale of the Chipmunk," a little story co-authored by myself and my roomate Jen during my political science class today.



"The Tale of The Chipmunk"

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful chipmunk. She liked cheese and pickles. One day a large and evil carton of eggnog came tromping into town. He was furious because the purple goose had just eaten his french toast. "Darn you, goose! I'll get you next time!" he cried. Just then, a rumble came from the stomach of the goose. An outrageous french accent..."I LIVE!" cried the purple toast! (It was french toast origonally, but being inside a purple goose would turn anyone purple.) The purple french toast leapt out of the purple goose's mouth and screamed "Would you like to hear my thoughts on fiscal policies?" They shrug. THE END.

A day of rest?

Sunday is a day of rest, right?

WRONG!!!!!!!!!

For members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in leadership positions, Sunday seems to be the busiest day of the week.

Examine my schedule for this sunday:



10:30 - 11:00 Leadership training meeting

11:00 - 2:00 Church

2:00 - 3:00 Presidency meeting

3:30 - 4:00 Visiting teaching

4:00 - 4:30 Get visit taught

sometime between 4:30 and 6:00 Visit sisters who weren't in church

6:00 Fireside

8:00 Chat with sister online

9:30 Sing

10:00 Stadium singing



And somewhere in there I've also got to eat (which I still haven't done today) and start a 9-page research paper that's due the day after tomorrow. Gah. I adore college.



At least I'm pleased to report that I'm anxiously engaged in a good cause, even if it is exhausting!

Mmmm...food...

On this day, being the twentieth of November in the year of our Lord two thousand and four, I am pleased to announce the creation of the finest club in Rexburg...The Food Club! That's right folks, a club completely dedicated to the consumption of delectable delights.

Allow me a brief historical interlude. The Food Club consists of 4 girls, roomates from BYU-Idaho, who decided one evening to sample the dinner menu at a nearby Chinese joint. Liz, Alexis, Jenny, and Jen (along with Danielle) decided that the food was so satisfactory that they should eat there one night every two weeks. Thus, the "Fong's Club" was born.

Only there were a few complications: One, we are poor college students with not nearly enough money to blow on ritzy Chinese food, even if it's really good and only once every two weeks. Two, anytime we told someone about the club, they would say "The what club?"

But tonight, at last, a solution was found! While these four connoisours were dining at Hogi Yogi and Craigo's Pizza, they decided to not limit themselves to just Fong's Restaurant, but to expand the club to include all kinds of food!

So weekend evenings from now on will be spent sampling all the culinary delights of the area. Oh, how I am looking forward to that. Last week, sweet and sour pork with fried rice...this week, a toasted BLT and cinnamin sticks. Ah, the joys of eating!

So, to any who live in Rexburg and are interested in food, please join us. We like to eat. Hizzah.

So what the heck is that Liz girl doing, anyway?

Hey, so I plan on using this nifty lil site to keep all who are interested aware of where I am and what I'm doing and so on and so forth. It occured to me that I should actually put a post about that kind of stuff if that's what I set this up for. So, here goes!

I am currently attending Brigham Young University-Idaho in the charming and very cold town of Rexburg. For those of you who I know from the Medford area, you might be interested to know that I kinda don't live there anymore. The same weekend I moved up here, the Whittaker family up and relocated to La Grande, OR so that Dad could take a job at Eastern Oregon University. So I'm a bit without a home at the moment, a feeling I'm not so much a fan of. I've never been to the home where my family lives now. And I most certainly do NOT plan on making the dorms my home, either. So we'll have to see what happens.

(Maybe I should just get married...that would solve so many problems! Housing, financial aid, love polygons. Actually, I don't know that getting hitched would really solve any of that. By the way, for all of you who warned me that this campus is the land of RM's and that I'd be engaged by Christmas, you are all big fat liars. I'm just saying. )

Anyway, I am majoring in theatre and speech education...fixin to be a teacher of the drama. And my minor changes about twice a week, so let's just pretend it's political science or English or something and leave it at that.

I love it up here at BYU-I, and have met a bunch of really fun, talented, amazing, inspirational people. (And a lot of them are named Jason. There are also a few Kevins, Jeffs, and Bens, along with a Jen and a Jenny and an Alexis and why the heck am I giving you a freaking roster? No more, I say! I am through with naming names!) I have also learned more about Mormon culture than I even knew existed. Did anyone else know that "The Princess Bride" is a quintessential part of Mormon culture? I knew it was a cult classic, but apparently the LDS population has embraced it and declared it their own as well. The same goes for Napoleon Dynamite. (Idaho really does look like that.) I have seen more jell-o during the last few months than I ever have in my life. And my LDS lexicon is also expanding. This also includes terminology exclusive to this campus. Example: "Hey, that's chill. Sorry you can't come over...we got Q'd cause my roomie's D.T.R. went too late last night. I'll meet you over at the M.C. so we can drive down to the D.I. in I.F. Right now I gotta burgle so I can look up what's-his-bucket, that Utard preemie on stalkernet for a little N.C.M.O." (For those who may understand that, it's not something that is likely to happen up here. I hope. Is there a D.I. in I.F.?)

A few plans for the future include working a summer at the Playmill Theatre in Montana (owned by a theatre teacher here), living in Canada, getting into "Comic Frenzy," the incredibly awesome improv team of BYU-I, getting an internship with Disney for a few months in a year or so, going to the Aquabats concert in Salt Lake next month, and in the nearest future, going to sleep.

You all rock the caspah.

Good night.

"Recouping"

You know when you hear someone say something to you, and your brain registers the words and they're talking perfectly loud enough, but somehow, you just don't have any idea what they're talking about? Normally when that happens, most of us will say "What?" and then the person repeats what they just said. If you're lucky, you'll actually understand what they said that time, but every now and then, they'll say it again and you'll still not even have a vague idea of what it is they're trying to communicate.

Human beings have this wonderful trait. We will do anything to keep from looking stupid in front of one another. Unfortunately, a guy named Murphy came along and set up this law. This wise-guy decided that whatever it is we don't want to happen, will inevitably happen. Therefore, any attempt to save face we make will just make us look even more idiotic. Often to a point beyond repair.

Just such a tragic instance occured this afternoon, when I happened to run into one of my proffesors on my way to somewhere important. I gave an obligatory wave and he replied with "Hey, kiddo! What's going on?" (Don't you love it when proffesors talk like young uns?) I said "Not much" as I continued down the hall in the opposite direction. He called after me "That doesn't sound like you!" meaning that he knows I'm a busy person, so it's unusual for me to have not much going on. But I heard his comment and was really confused by it. I had no idea what he was talking about! What, was my voice different? Was my reply somehow out of character? I said "What?" and even when he repeated himself, I was no less perplexed. So, not wanting him to know how lost I was, I came up with an answer that made sense to me and said "Yeah, my nose is kinda stuffy" and continued down the hall. Then, and only then did I realize what my proffessor was talking about.

There's simply no way to recover from something like that. And this was my Communications proffessor! I would like to know exactly what went through his head upon hearing me say "Yeah, my nose is kinda stuffy." Actually that's a lie. I don't want him to remember the incident.

In most cases when you do stupid things, you can do a little "recouping" (in the words of Mr. T). In a situation involving things you say, there's nothing you can do. You just gotta walk, my friend. All you can do is walk.