Remora's Random Blog

Youth Conference

2009-07-17T11:46:00.001-07:00

If you've never been on a pioneer trek before, you will not understand my pain. My stake left Monday night at 7 pm on one of those huge tour buses with the big windows and a bathroom in the back. And yes, I know all too well about that bathroom, because I, unfortunately, had to sit right next to it. We watched movies for a while, but the DVD player was crappy so everything would skip whenever we hit a bump in the road. Eventually, I just pulled out a book and read. It was actually kind of cool, I mean, the bus had reclining leather seats and nice armrests. Although, when it's three in the morning and you're trying to sleep and one of the leaders from another ward steps on your feet while trying to get into the bathroom, it isn't exactly fun. Ah, well.

So we arrived at Martin's Cove/Devil's Gate at around 8 in the morning and there's a freezing wind blowing at us, but whenever anyone complained a leader would yell, "The pioneers had worse wind! And snow!" It was kind of entertaining to watch people get chewed out. We ate breakfast, but unfortunately, I forgot to eat my banana and yogurt, causing my apron to be sticky and smell like rotten banana for the rest of the day. (Not fun when you also have Tootsie Rolls in there and they absorb the flavor.) Pulling the handcart was pretty sweet, though, even though I had to wear a skirt. (Definitely not fun.) We stood on the banks of the Sweetwater where the Sixth Crossing/Rescue of the Martin company took place, then walked into Martin's Cove. It has this really cool, but also really odd feeling in the cove. You can actually feel that something tragic happened there.

So, after that five mile hike, we got on the bus again and headed to our campsite where pretty much everyone crashed--or went to the pioneer dance thing, which I didn't go to since I was one of the people who crashed. (But can you blame me after not getting any sleep the night before?) The next day, we went on an eight mile hike with even heavier handcarts. And mosquitoes. Lots of mosquitoes. (Fortunately, I didn't get bitten like I had the night before. I swear, when I wear bug spray, it attracts the little buggers and when I don't, they avoid me like the plague.) I wish the guy with the video camera had been taping right before we got to the bridge, because I tripped over a rock and was dragged on my stomach by the handcart for about thirty feet before my "ma" took pity on me and suggested that I just let go. (Something I lacked the common sense to figure out on my own.) It was pretty funny, my "sister" told me after I assured everyone that I wasn't hurt. Then, we got to this pretty large--though not very steep--hill and they kicked all the men out and made them walk to the top. So it was just me, "ma" and my two "sisters" to pull the cart to the top. It was pretty easy, but one girl in another ward had an asthma attack that scared pretty much everyone. We got to the bottom of that hill and then we all sort of panicked. Because there was a hill just as tall as the previous hill and at an 8% grade. We got about halfway up, the strong guys pulling and the three girls pushing, when suddenly, we hit a headwind. Just our luck. But we made it to the top, where we ate lunch (I don't like jelly or wheat bread, but I scarfed that sandwich down like it was a chocolate bar). We continued along the top of the hill and finally, my little "sister" and I spotted a bathroom, and, after pushing and pulling a handcart nearly eight miles, the two of us sprinted for it.

But by far, the best part was the river. On the last day--yesterday--we were doing a river-fording trail. At one point, we had to walk through mud that smelled like cow pies, but then we reached the river. It was so cold my feet went numb, but it felt so good when we got back out and my skirt was soaked. We crossed it another time, then ended up at a wide, slow-moving section of the river where we all tried to dunk each other. (I only got dunked twice, once by the stake young women's president and another time while I was dunking my friend and fell over to pull her in.) Then, I stood and watched as everyone who wasn't wet enough for the wet people in my ward's taste got thrown into the river. It was pretty awesome.

Later that night, we drove to Rock Creek Hollow, which is where the rescue wagons were waiting for the Willie Company. I'm not an emotional person, as you all know, and there are only three things that have made me cry in the past year: Les Mis, A Tale of Two Cities and the common grave of the thirteen people who died from the journey up Rocky Ridge. It was just...tragic, for lack of a better word.

Although, I would've rather pulled a handcart the rest of the way home than ridden in the bus on the way home; it was absoultely miserable and by the time we reached Salt Lake, I was hallucinating and reading to commit murder for a nice, cold glass of lemonade. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life.

Happy Independence Day

2009-07-04T07:07:00.000-07:00

For as long as I can remember, this has been one of my favorite holidays. There's just something special about eating hot dogs and hamburgers and watching fireworks.

Probably the best Independence Day of my life was two years ago, when I spent it at my aunt's house in Fort Collins. We had a barbecue dinner at their neighbors' house, then sat in my aunt's backyard and watched the fireworks at the country club (maybe a quarter mile away). It was a ton of fun and there was just some sort of feeling to that day that I've never felt before. (Maybe it was because I had just finished school a month ago and one of my classes was American History?) Another favorite activity of mine apart from barbecue and fireworks is watching the movie Independence Day (the one with Will Smith and the aliens). Not exactly the most patriotic show, but still a great movie for the day.

This year, I decided to go all-American, and what better way to do that than go to a baseball game with the family? So we went to the local team's game last night. (Unfortunately, they beat us, 18-13. It was an incredible game, though.) And then, there was a sweet firework show, set to the tunes of Michael Jackson. I admit, there was a part of me that wanted to stand up and dance Thriller, but I resisted it.

So today, I'm wearing red, white and blue and planning on reading up a bit on American trivia. For instance, I learned today why the flag is red, white and blue. The answer is that there is no official meaning given, which is a lot better than what my brain was trying to tell me last night. (The reason why the French flag is blue, white and red.)

So have a happy Independence Day, everyone!

Sports

2009-07-03T11:19:00.000-07:00

I have finally discovered the connection between my favorite sports--apart from swimming and basketball. (And chess, if that counts.)

Last night, I was at a baseball game, and it hit me. (Pun not intended.) In tennis and baseball, you hit the ball; in badminton you hit the birdie; and in lacrosse, you hit other people and their sticks. Therefore, my conclusion is that I just like hitting things with sticks and/or rackets.

Sparknotes, Cliff Notes and my Computer Mic

2009-07-02T11:37:00.000-07:00

Today, I shall rant about three things I completely and utterly despise.

My computer mic is a piece of crap. I can sing a song perfectly, and it will turn my belted high notes into static and my non-belted high notes into a five-year-old kid's voice. On a video camera or my cell phone? Perfect. To anyone who happens to be in the room? Perfect. I hate this stupid mic! In other words, no Randomness Idol for me.

And Spark/Cliff notes are pretty much the worst things ever. I want to be an English teacher and I swear that if any student of mine ever uses them and gets caught, I will fail them. Teachers have you read those books for a reason and that reason is so that you can actually learn something from them. Just because they were written over a hundred years ago doesn't mean they're bad books. In fact, they're better than modern books, but--heaven forbid--they make you actually think while you're reading them. Now, I'm not the world's biggest fan of The Scarlet Letter or Wuthering Heights, but I'd pick them over the trash teens are reading today. I've lost count of the times where I'll be reading a favorite book and someone comes up to me and the following conversation or a similar one ensues:

Them: "What class are you reading that book for?"
Me: "I'm reading it for fun."
Them: "Fun? That has to be the dullest book ever!"
Me: "Have you read it?"
Them: "No. I couldn't get past the first sentence."
Me: "I see...Then how do you know whether or not the book is dull?"
Them: "Because it's old."
Me: "What does that have to do with anything."
Them: "Old books are dumb. They don't have anything to do with real life."
At this point, I have one of two different responses:
If they're holding a sci-fi/fantasy book, I burst into uncontrollable laughter.
Otherwise, I say, "Yes, it does. Now go away, I'm trying to read."

I've read modern books before, and apart from a very select few of them, they're utter drivel. There really isn't a point to them other than to tell a story--and in most cases, not even an entertaining one. So next time you're trying to recommend a book for me, do us both a favor and don't. Unless you happen to be an English teacher.

Watch This

2009-06-29T13:30:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is the funniest thing I've ever seen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5iNlz9ENLU

Thanks to mikomi uchiha for recommending it to me.

Girl's Camp...

2009-06-28T13:18:00.000-07:00

If you like drama--and not the fun acting type--then you would love girl's camp. It's basically a week in the wilderness with a whole bunch of cliquey girls. And if you, like me, are a bit of an oddball, who'd rather read a good book or sing dramatically than gossip about how cute that guy in geometry is, then you will suffer beyond any previous comprehension you ever had of suffering.

The fourth year hike was fun, I'm not going to lie about that. My tent partner was one of the coolest people I've ever met in my life and she, like me, loves to sing dramatically at random moments. (Like, on the edge of the cliff by our tent while the sun set over the Grand Canyon.) We saw some pretty awesome stuff too. While we were at Pipe Springs, there was a nest of baby Say's Phoebes and they were adorable. The Grand Canyon was amazing--I'll have to post some pictures once I find my stupid camera cord that seems to get lost every time I need it.

But the next morning was brutal. My awesome tent partner and I woke up at around six in the morning with a wasp buzzing around our faces. Eventually, it landed on the wall of the tent and I carefully crawled out of the tent, sprinted around it and chucked a rock at where the wasp had been. It flew out and we both lived. (Which is pretty awesome.)

But once we got to the actual camp--a few miles past the Jacob Lake lodge--I ended up getting stuck in a tent with the three girls in this world that I could kill and feel only a giddy sense of vengeance afterward. (If I was Madame Defarge, I'd knit them into a shawl or something.) Girl #1 and her mom have hated me for, well, ever since I've known them which is pretty much my whole life. I don't know how she's popular either. She's not funny, she's not smart, she's not pretty and she's a total b****. Girl #2 is sometimes funny and sort of pretty and in dance, so I can tell why she's popular. I guess Girl #1 is only popular because of Girl #2. But anyway, all Girl #2 does is complain. Her hair is greasy? She grips about it; never mind that everyone else has greasy, nasty camp hair too. She has one tiny zit on her forehead? She gripes about it; never mind that my entire face is a mess of zits. She's cold? She gripes about it; never mind that my only jacket got soaked during the rain storm earlier. Girl #3 is more or less the slave of Girls #1 and #2. She doesn't talk much, but when she does, it's always a reference to an inside joke between the three of them. She has an okay singing voice, but she's the one who gets complimented about it by Girl #1 or #2 when they overhear one of us singing. (Never mind that I'm the one who has been told to sing the hard line of our song because the leaders know that I have a powerful and beautiful voice and she's stuck singing the easy line because they know she doesn't.) And then, three of the sweetest girls in the world are in another tent, but it's too small to fit me in, too. I should have known that things would only go downhill from there.

By Thursday night, I was so completely miserable that I even refused to participate in the skit. I love acting, and I love improv, so all the leaders were confused as to why I refused. Last year in drama, I had four leading roles in the class play, and I could come up with an improv skit on the spot and it would have everyone laughing so hard they'd cry, so I wasn't exactly surprised when my YW president came and asked me why I wasn't going to participate. I began to tell her about the memories of camps in years past that I had tried to forget. I started with my first year skit, where I was given--because I'm not 'cool' enough to be allowed to pick my own part of help with ideas--the part of "holding the 'storybook' so the narrator can read it". A part that had no use whatsoever, but because I refused to brown nose Girl #1 and her clique, that's what I got. My second year at girl's camp, I had to tie a rainbow boa around my waste and throw pinecones at people and act like a total retard. Again, a part that had no purpose other than to put me in the skit and make me look like an idiot. My third year at girl's camp, I was forced to act like a false stereotype of a nerd while Girl #2 sang the song "White and Nerdy" horribly. They told me I had to be a wuss and cry and act like a bad dancer, and that was where I drew the line. My best friends and I are nerds and we A: don't cry over stupid stuff like that and B: dance really well.

The next day was the only good day other than the fourth year hike. My tent partner from there and my friend from the fourth ward and I got to go on the first year hike together and we all caught up with each other. Afterward, we sat around watching for lighting and talking about friends, love and a few other things that are extremely personal between the three of us.

After we had to go back to our camps, my tent partner came back to my camp to find me and the two of us went out into the meadow to watch the storm. We were halfway down a hill and situated in between a piece of metal, a pond and the forest at a distance that made where we were the safest place to be during an electrical storm. It was the best lightning I've ever seen in my life. It lit up the whole sky, and branched across the entire horizon in front of us. The thunder was deafening and barely a second after the lightning flashed.

But, in keeping with the theme, this couldn't last for long. The two of us were sitting out there, enjoying God's fireworks, when the stake leaders walked by (they were carrying watermelons across the meadow for some activity later, which the two of us had managed to screw up by picking a piece of paper out from under the metal mill part) and they yelled at us, telling us we were in the most dangerous place because we were the tallest things around. (Which I don't know how they figured this since we were halfway down a hill and there were trees about thirty feet to the left of us.) So they tried to make us go back to camp--the holier-than-thou camp director calling me an idiot for saying it wasn't safe to stand in the midst of a whole bunch of trees with all the lightning which made me wonder if she'd failed every science class she'd ever taken. We didn't go until it started to rain. Then, we ran. We were both soaked though and I had to sit in my tent listening to Girls 1, 2 and 3 gripe about the rain.

But at least before that, there was a little bit of a nice interlude where I got to sing "On my Own" as I walked back to the tent. I had to go alone because the director lady--I keep wanting to call her 'fuhrer'--tried to drive my friend back to her camp. (I say tried because not only does she fail at science, she fails at finding the camp right next to her own and ended up dropping my friend off a long way away from it.)

Needless to say, I was so freaking happy to go home yesterday morning that I can't even express it in words.

Classic Literature, Irony and Girl's Camp--AKA, my Summer so Far

2009-06-17T09:27:00.000-07:00

You just know this is going to be epic. Not.

So my summer starts off with a phonecall. Not a good phonecall, as in one from my best guy friend--who I think has managed to lose my number yet again--but a crappy phonecall from the senior class president. It went something like this:

Me: "Hello?"
Her: "You're in the band, right?"
Me: "Er, yeah...?"
Her: "Well, we need you to play at graduation Friday morning at 8 am at the college so ifyoucouldprettypleasecomeitwouldtotallymakemylifeplusdidImentionyou'llfailbandifyoudon't?"
Me: "Okay..." Needless to say, that last part was very, very hard to understand.

Turns out, she blackmailed us. We weren't really gonna fail band, so I walked out. (Of course, lucky duck that he is, my aforementioned best guy friend fails at clarinet--and therefore, life--and got to leave early. If he had stayed, I would've too. Not that it would've mattered since I'm the Sydney Carton to his Lucie Manette. More on that weird analogy later.)

The next week, I had driver's ed. This was invented many centuries ago by the Marquis de Sade. It's just as useless now as it was then, even though they didn't have cars back then. (Well, they did have carriages.) And worst of all, I had the two biggest nincompoops it has ever been my misfortune to know as classmates. And one of them sat right behind me.

I sped through all my assignments in order to read my book. (A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. If you haven't read it, you're missing out.) And every time I got to a really good part (which usually involved either something hilarious, something important and/or--most importantly--Sydney Carton) Moron 1 would tap my shoulder. "Hey, is this right?"

Me: "Yeah, it is. Shut up now. I'm reading."
Moron 1: "How can you read?"
Me: *My what a guy that Gaston! Ha ha, BATB moment! Oh how I hate this guy.* "It's easy. There are letters, and the letters form words, see?"
Moron 1: "I know how to read, but how can you read that book? It's so long and the words are tiny!"
Me: "It's fascinating."
Moron 1: "What's it about?"
Me: *A hot guy who's pretty much exactly like me, well, exactly what I would've been like if I was a man in the late 1700's...* "Er, it's about the French Revolution and the human condition in London and Paris, hence the title."
Moron 1: "That sounds boring."
Me: "Read it and see for yourself."
Moron 1: "No thank you. I don't think I've ever read a book all the way through in my entire life."
Me: *Do you know how much I hate you right now? I would clock you if this was a hardcover and Bundy wasn't staring at us.* "Really? Not even Dr. Seuss?"
Moron 1: "Not even Dr. Seuss. I've had books read to me before."
Me: "Whatever. Please let me read. It's a really good part."
Moron 1: "What's happening?"
Me: "A trial."
Moron 1: "What's so exciting about that?"
Me: *Shut up, moron, I'm reading!*

There was a similar conversation to that every day. Fortunately, he had the sense not to say anything while I was sobbing after the last chapter. (He hadn't seen my tears during the last six chapters, fortunately.) But that could've been because he was working on his test still.

But wow, that was an amazing book. Madame Defarge was made of pure villain and strong female character win. ("Tell the wind and fire where to stop, but don't tell me!") And Sydney Carton was that freaking awesome anti-hero-to-hero archetype that makes me totally swoon. (Unfortunately, he's exactly like me. Does that make this narcissism?) And the prose was beautiful too.

And then, on the other end of the spectrum, there was The Scarlet Letter. I hated that book. I still hate it. I hate the fact that I have to think about it in order to talk about hating it! It was boring as crap. The symbolism in that book was like a 40 ton brick dropped on your head from the top of the Empire State Building with, printed in bold red font, "SYMBOLISM" written on the side. I mean, yeah, Dickens laid it on pretty thick with the wine/blood recalled to life/resurrection themes, but man did Hawthorn lay it on much thicker. If we're going to study American lit, let's read Huck Fin. If we're going to study a book about sin, redemption, and harsh punishments, let's study Les Miserables. Please? To any English teacher reading this, please take my suggestions to heart! If you don't want to come up with a new lesson plan, I'll write one for you! I want to become an English teacher myself and I'll never be cruel enough to subject my students to this book!

And then, I had surgery. (Far less painful than that book, I might add.) I had to be there at 5:30 in the morning (never a good sign) and so, I was a sarcastic, snarky, hot-tempered b****, as I usually am before 7:00 am. I was disoriented from lack of sleep, but still able to function, for the most part. I don't remember much, except that the nurse asked if I was afraid. I told her, "Nope. I'm not even going to be conscious for any of it. Why should I be?" I even kept my cool when the IV guy showed up. He stuck a small needle into my left forearm--didn't feel a thing--then wrapped my arm pretty tight with one of those rubber things and told me to drain the blood from the area--took me about three seconds before almost all of it was gone. "That wasn't so bad," I said. I'd been afraid of needles since I was seven, and this trainee was drawing my blood. She missed the vein and hit a muscle, and then, instead of pulling it out and trying again, wiggled it around in there until she hit one, and apparently, it wasn't the right vein, and was at a bad angle, so she pulled it out and tried again. I was saved a few minutes later by her superviser person. So I was proud I hadn't panicked in front of IV Guy. Then, he pulled out the biggest needle I'd ever seen in my life. I wimpered like a kicked puppy at the sight of the thing. It was as long as my middle finger and about as thick as a nail-gun nail. Then, he shoved it into my arm--I still have the bruise. I kept still and didn't make a sound until after it was in.

The best part of the whole operation was the anesthesia. I have terrible insomnia now, so I think I might be addicted to it, though. But it was way cool. After they put it into the IV, the nurse asked if I felt sleepy, and then suddenly I did. It was a peaceful, floaty feeling, and I managed to fight it off until they opened the doors to the OR. I woke up about three seconds later and saw--through my hazy vision--a figure standing over my right wrist. It took all my courage and determination to panic in a silent, motionless way. Suddenly, the nurse said, "Oh, good, you're awake." That's when I lost it. "GOOD? IT'S NOT GOOD TO WAKE UP IN THE OR! OH GOSH, WHY DIDN'T THE ANESTHESIA KEEP ME UNDER, WOMAN?" She calmly replied, "You're in post op, honey, relax." My senses kicked in and I replied, "HOW CAN I RELAX! THERE'S A FREAKING GIANT NEEDLE IN MY ARM!" She didn't say anything to that, but wheeled me to this other room where she gave me grahm crackers and cold water, which I guzzled against her request. (I hadn't had anything to drink in 9 hours, what did she expect?) She brought my parents in and told me to change into my street clothes. I hopped off the gurney even though she had told me to be gentle. (A word that apparently is not in my vocabulary.) It hurt like crazy for the next two days, but by the time we left for Ogden, it felt fine.

While we were in Ogden, the only cool thing that happened was seeing the Thunderbirds and the airshow. Well, I guess it was cool that grandma ordered the OCR of A Tale of Two Cities, but I don't know if she'll ever send it to me once she gets it...And now I've decided I really, really want the OBC if they make one. Because the Broadway cast totally made my life.

Then, we drove to Park City, where I didn't get to ride the bobsled and had to hunt down my two cousins from Colorado because the four-year-old is ADHD (without the AD and D; he's just plain hyper) and the one-year-old is a sprinter and climber. (How he's not dead yet, I'll never know.) The only good things that came out of that trip were the Alpine slide/coaster/zipline, new books, a new trenchcoat and good Mexican food. Oh, and Catchphrase. I officially love that game now. Everything else was loco en la cabesa.

But now I'm home and there's a week left 'till girl's camp. Am I excited? Not really. See, I have to go on the fourth year hike and all the fourth years are preps--I'm hoping the cheerleader finds out at some point I'm friends with her cheer captain, because that might score brownie points with her. But one of the girls wasn't there at the meeting yesterday, and she's my buddy (since neither of us had buddies), so I hope she's cool. If not, I'm at least friends with the leader from my ward, and the other leader, who I made friends with simply because I said A Tale of Two Cities was my favorite book (so every free moment we had, she talked with me about it and told me to watch the movie, which I found out will probably play on Bastille day...The day we leave for the trek next month. Ah, the irony).

But the rest of girl's camp should be cool. My friend from the 4th ward will probably be in the same camp as the last two years, and thus, right next to us. And some of the beehives are really awesome. But I promised our president I'd stand next to her and belt our song. I don't even get to hear it or get the sheet music for it until tonight! And my voice hasn't been up to par lately, ever since this stupid cold. Such a shame, really, because a musical theater expert friend and her sister--my voice teacher--told me I was going to go far--maybe even be a star on Broadway. And the irony? That conversation was literally two days before the cold hit. Maybe I'll just have to go into regular theater, even though I love singing so much.

I should probably go eat my Froot Loops now.

Until next time,
Remora

The Truth About Twilight

2009-05-21T16:18:00.000-07:00

This was a book report I was assigned last quarter in my English class. If anyone reading this is a rabid Twilight fangirl who wants to rip my throat out because this is "OMG hOrIbLe RiTiNg" and "NOOOOO!!!!11one MA EDWARD IZ TEH HAWTNESS!" feel free to comment, but just so you know, my English teacher's a huge fan of the series herself and she gave me a 120% on it because she felt it would've gotten a 5 on the AP lit test. (She teaches 12th grade AP lit as well as Honors 10th grade English.)

Well, it was kinda long so here's a link.

Time for some poetry

2009-05-18T17:20:00.000-07:00

I submitted this poem as part of a portfolio for English. This was my favorite of the bunch.

The Reign of Terror

We've seen this all before

Heard the crowd’s roar

Echoing as innocent

And guilty, penitent

And defiant alike

Have their heads stuck on a pike.

The gruesome scene:

Madame la Guillotine

And her victims,

With their lifeless limbs.

This is by no means fair,

But Citizen Robespierre

Will have the head of whoever

Makes any protest whatsoever.

So at the heart of the crowd’s cheers,

In every man, lies a hint of fear.

Who is brave enough to defy

The cold-blooded hatred in his eye?

This revolution of ours

Seems to have gone too far

But who can put a stop

To the town square’s butcher shop?

Surely no one man alone can fix this error,

This horrifying reign of terror.

<3 The Scarlet Pimpernel

First post...Dun dun dun...

2009-05-17T09:54:00.000-07:00

Hello everybody! I don't really have much to say right now, but the page looked so empty I just had to post something. I'll just leave it at that since I don't want to disturb y'all too quickly. Yeah.

-Remora