A while back my dad came up with this brilliant idea. He needed his students to read... they weren't reading... he would make them get online and record videos of themselves teaching the reading! And he would make it a fourth of their grade! Brilliant!
Brilliant.
I told him at the time it was an evil idea. People shouldn't have to video tape themselves. They shouldn't have to summarize and analyze a complex reading a few minutes. It's just... wrong. Somehow. I told him so and told myself that I had done my duty as a student.
He didn't listen to me and continued with his evil plan (though, in all fairness, not quite as evil as Starbuck and Google's plot to take over the world). And that's alright. I'd washed my hands of it. Except now I'm in Brother McArthur's Cultural Theory class and guess what is a fourth of my grade? Gee, how did you know?
So I find myself trying to summarize Hegel's theories on divine self-alienation, history, thought and reality, and the two parts of his dialect. In two and a half minutes... Head meet desk. I sound like an idiot. And I have to record myself. I stutter and say "um" every few words. I try to stare vaguely over my computer screen so that I don't have to see... um, well, me. I hate pictures of myself. Videos are even more disconcerting. And no matter how many times I do it, they don't come off right.
The Starbucks/Google plot to take over the world is sounding less and less evil.
Other than that, though, I really love cultural theory. Thinking about thinking is mind-warping, but in a good way. Mostly.
Over.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 2, 2011
Bright Star
You might, at one point, get an urge to watch something off Netflix. Something good. And Austin-y (because you're an Jane Austin junky and you know how all Austin films end). And you catch a glimpse of Bright Star and remember that your mom said it got a great review from the New York Times. So you look it up and, truth, it was a really great review. Though, really you should have taken a clue from the line that said it's intensity saves it "from the tidy prison of [a] period drama," since a tidy period drama (read: a happy period drama, with a bow tied around happily ever after) is exactly what you're looking for.
So you download it from Netflix and call your whole family in to watch it.
So you watch it.
And it's an exceptionally well done movie. Beautiful, really. Their are some glorious shots. Like this one:
The actors are exceptional. Everything feels quite real (though I do find it odd when they quote poems to each other), but that real feeling makes it that much more annoying when the entire movie is spent in the dramatic, often depressing, throes of love.
So, when you're dad asks, "How long does this last?"
You find yourself saying, "Until he dies?" And hoping that's pretty soon.
Your prediction turns out to be pretty accurate. Most of the movie they're together and happy, though their happiness is always tinged with foreboding, or apart and dissolving into tears. Like when our main character's little sister (Topsy?) runs down and tells her mother, "Fanny wants a knife." When her mother asks why, Topsy replies, "To kill herself." It turns out Mr. Keats has written only a very short letter, after a long while of not writing any letter at all.
So when you get the urge to watch something good and Austin-y on Netflix, don't watch Bright Star.
As beautiful as it is, it's not worth the tears I--erm, you will, rather--shed when Keats dies and poor Fanny goes into convulsive sobs. Just stick with Austin. You might know all the endings... but the main guy doesn't die. And when the main girl breaks down in convulsive sobs at the end, it's because Edward isn't married after all. (Name that movie?)
Of course, I'm directly clashing with the New York Times in writing this, which feels a bit daring. It's the New York Times. Mark Bittman writes for them. And they're the only newspaper I read.
But I'm really against sad endings even when they're based on true stories and I'm against love that always has despair hanging over it... pretty much always. Anyway, I'm pretty sure no one from the New York Times reads this blog. So... Thought I'd give you a heads up. If you like this movie, I still love you. I just probably won't watch movie with you.
Over.
P.S.
I have now had an hour, a few games of Clue and a chapter of Hornblower to think this over and can view Bright Star with some complacency. While the plot was a bit circular and the characters a bit hard for me to relate to, I still think it was a good movie. I might even have liked it, had I had not been hoping for something a little more cheerful, at least in the beginning and middling parts. So, if you like this movie, I'll still watch a movie with you. But I get to choose the movie.
So you download it from Netflix and call your whole family in to watch it.
So you watch it.
And it's an exceptionally well done movie. Beautiful, really. Their are some glorious shots. Like this one:
The actors are exceptional. Everything feels quite real (though I do find it odd when they quote poems to each other), but that real feeling makes it that much more annoying when the entire movie is spent in the dramatic, often depressing, throes of love.
You find yourself saying, "Until he dies?" And hoping that's pretty soon.
Your prediction turns out to be pretty accurate. Most of the movie they're together and happy, though their happiness is always tinged with foreboding, or apart and dissolving into tears. Like when our main character's little sister (Topsy?) runs down and tells her mother, "Fanny wants a knife." When her mother asks why, Topsy replies, "To kill herself." It turns out Mr. Keats has written only a very short letter, after a long while of not writing any letter at all.
So when you get the urge to watch something good and Austin-y on Netflix, don't watch Bright Star.
As beautiful as it is, it's not worth the tears I--erm, you will, rather--shed when Keats dies and poor Fanny goes into convulsive sobs. Just stick with Austin. You might know all the endings... but the main guy doesn't die. And when the main girl breaks down in convulsive sobs at the end, it's because Edward isn't married after all. (Name that movie?)
Of course, I'm directly clashing with the New York Times in writing this, which feels a bit daring. It's the New York Times. Mark Bittman writes for them. And they're the only newspaper I read.
But I'm really against sad endings even when they're based on true stories and I'm against love that always has despair hanging over it... pretty much always. Anyway, I'm pretty sure no one from the New York Times reads this blog. So... Thought I'd give you a heads up. If you like this movie, I still love you. I just probably won't watch movie with you.
Over.
P.S.
I have now had an hour, a few games of Clue and a chapter of Hornblower to think this over and can view Bright Star with some complacency. While the plot was a bit circular and the characters a bit hard for me to relate to, I still think it was a good movie. I might even have liked it, had I had not been hoping for something a little more cheerful, at least in the beginning and middling parts. So, if you like this movie, I'll still watch a movie with you. But I get to choose the movie.
Dec 25, 2010
Christmas, Chocolate, and Other Good Combinations
It's what I saw this morning when I woke up. Mei woke up at three-thirty, but was kind enough to put off waking me up until an hour later. At which time I looked at the clock and told her promptly to go back to sleep. We emerged at seven, partially awake and covered in blankets. Because I am much more of a seven o'clock person than a four-thirty person. Four-thirty isn't even really morning. It's night. An ungodly hour of the night.
I know I haven't posted in two (and a half?) weeks. This wasn't because I forgot about it. The first week I was suffering and stressing (and every other distressing verb starting with a S and most other letters) under finals. I decided to actually write essays instead of getting on and complaining about them. (You're welcome.) The week after that I was lazy. Also, nothing was going wrong, which made it strangely difficult to write. It is slightly depressing to me that my writing abilities extend only as far as my ability to complain, but I have a hard time feeling sad that there was nothing to complain about this last week.
It is gratitude that now prompts me to break out the haze of laziness. This morning I unwrapped many beautiful presents. My grandma sent me several gifts, but high among them is a 100 year old poem book by Henry W. Longfellow. Grandma, it's beautiful in every sense of the word. Thank you.
Some of the other gifts I received were mentioned mentioned in my letter to Santa (as seen below). So, to Kelsey and Aunty Kathy, thank you very much for my scarf, drivers-licence and very generous transcript.
The scarf, combined with a jacket and sweater, compliments of my parents and Mei, are sure to prevent me from freezing at college next year. My drivers-licence is also much appreciated. I plan on using it today since I see it expires tomorrow. The transcript is lovely and the comments are full of half truths and blatant lies. Like, from my math teacher, Mr. Graph, "She can add like nobody's business." Not only is this in itself not true, but it totally neglects my unfortunate interactions with the evil generally referred to as geometry. Thank you so much. I'll mail it out Monday.
But you know, Santa, I'm still waiting to be accepted to colleges. Thank you for the end to my long-winded sickness, though, and also my A in IPB. Especially the A in IPB.
(A short bragging moment: Dr. Ford, who gives A's about as rarely as my dad, gave me a 96.8% on my final essay. Can you see me jumping up and down? I did right after I got the grade, and (because I'm a actual clutz as well as a social one) injured myself on a chair in the process. Getting A's on essays in IPB is especially satisfying not only because they're difficult to get, but also because I make such a dork of myself in class. It's nice to be able to show that, no, I'm not a total idiot. And, yes, coherent thoughts do take place in my brain, even if they rarely come out of my mouth.)
As long as we're talking about my Christmas gifts I have to mention that I have, at long last, gotten a food processor, which only leaves scholarships and enlightenment left. One down, two to go. I also have a beautiful new cookbook called Baked Explorations.
It is full of chocolate and sentences like, "In recent years there has been an explosion in salt sophistication."
I love it. So much.
Last night my family went around and counted the Christmas lights in our little village. This is a tradition which my mother, Mei and I take part in full-heartedly. My dad participates by driving us around, but finds it all a bit hypocritical because we're disappointed when our Christmas light regulars neglect their colored, glowing duty, and yet we never put up any lights ourselves. In case you were curious, our count was 201 houses with Christmas lights or some other significant decoration, such as inflated Santas of giant Christmas bulbs.
My dad also thinks that opening one present on Christmas Eve, one of our hallowed family traditions is not so great. Bad, in fact. He thinks it's a transgression, if not a sin and refuses to have anything to do with it. He says a man must stand by his principles in controversial situations like this.
Controversial situation my foot. It's one present! It's Christmas Eve!
I love Christmas Eve even more than Christmas day, I think. Christmas day I'm often tired and sugared-our (we've got this amazing hot chocolate... and regular chocolate... and cookies... and lemon curd... and whipped cream... and candy-canes.... and--you get the idea), but Christmas Eve is much more quiet. It's about carols, and cooking with my mom and Mei, and arguing with my dad about whether or not heavenly beings are angered by me opening a present before Christmas. It's when I realize how amazing it is that 2010 years after Christ's birth, much of the world is still celebrating his birthday.
Anyway, all I really wanted to say is thank you to my family for the presents and, to the rest of you, thank for your comments, and just being interested enough to watch my muddle my way through learning how to blog.
Merry Christmas!
Dec 5, 2010
Dear Santa
Dear Santa,
It's December and, because I'm a thoroughly considerate, non-procrastinating person, I thought I'd get a letter out to you now so that you'd have time to locate anything you might need to put under my Christmas tree.
1. I'd like to be accepted to college, please. A scholarship or two would be nice too, if you have the time. I just turned in my application in on Wednesday and didn't (!) weep or fall over with relief. (You would think that I would, and you haven't even heard about the unforgettable 2010 transcript drama. Suffice it to say: two hours, seven offices, all visited several times... But, you know all about this, don't you, because you see me even when I'm sleeping, which has always creeped me out a little bit, but the creepiness has increased since Twilight came out... I'm off topic again, aren't I?)
2. I would like a drivers license and to know how to drive. If you could put a green bow around this one, that'd be fantastic. I like green.
3. I would like a scarf. Because even though my aunt, who lives by the college I'm probably going to, says that I won't starve (which is a little too bad, because I was thinking I might take the opportunity to be a starving artist), she also told me it's almost impossible to get a job at that college. So I'm thinking that I might be homeless, and it's cold there too, so I'm going to need a scarf. Please.
4. I would like to know where I should go to graduate school. Actually, my dad would like me to know, so could you address this gift to him? He asked me a few minutes ago. I told him I was going to Brown. "Hmmm... Where is that, anyway?" he asked. I said I wasn't sure, but I heard Emma Watson really likes it there.
5. Can I stop being sick now too? Please? My stomach kind of feels like it's eating itself which, besides being traitorous, is also a little bit cannibalistic. And I really don't feel good about having a cannibalistic stomach. So can I have a new one? Or maybe a new immune system, I think mine's been broken for a while now.
6. An A in IPB. I've worked hard in that class (cross my heart) and it'd be nice to get a sense of that on my report card. This is pretty high on the priority list. Like, before the scarf and the new immune system.
So that's all for now. I'm attaching a list of books/music/movies that I'd also like. Oh! And a laptop, please? I've been really-kinda-pretty good this year.
We have eggnog in the fridge and the Christmas tree is up, in all it's shining and somewhat tacky glory. (Mom has this thing about tacky Christmas ornaments. I don't get it, but I have developed some fondness for our pig angel/ballerina. And the sparkley, glorified fire hydrant with tassels is... No, yeah, I don't really have any defense for the fire hydrant.) Anyway, that means it's Christmas, so I know this is your rush time. Thanks for reading my letter--I figured that it would get it quickest to you over the internet, and since I don't know you're email I put it up on my blog. Hope that's OK.
Merry Christmas,
Marissa
Nov 23, 2010
I Cannot Go To School Today (Again)
(Marissa)
I woke up today and the light was already seeping under my curtains. I laid there for a while and felt guilty about waiting for my mom to come wake me up for seminary when I knew it was time. When I finally did get up I walked about half way down the hall and met my mom who informed me that I was staying home from seminary and school today. I went promptly back to bed and stayed there for an hour and a half.
Bless the mothers of the world.
My mom was tired of her family being sick, so she sentenced us all to a sick day. Ever since the cultural celebration my dad, Mei and I have been lazing around with various symptoms. Headaches. Throataches (it should be a word). Stomachaches. Heartaches. Any aches that will get us out of being functioning human beings, those are the aches we have.
Around this time of year, with finals approaching, months of studying behind me and the looming idea of Christmas shopping ahead, my body and mind have this annual conversation that varies only slightly from year to year.
Mind: We need to go talk to the people at my school's office about why four semesters of Chinese have somehow not managed to get onto my transcript, memorize Mozart's Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, which is getting truly annoying, and write three essays.
Body: I don't wanna.
Mind: We have to! If you don't apply for college you won't get into college and if you don't get into college then you'll never get a good job and if you don't get a good job then you'll have to work at McDonald's and then you'll eat their caramel sundae every day and get really fat.
Body: I don't care.
Mind: You should! I care. Come on. We're going.
Body: You act like you have the last word on this. Watch. Watch this. I'm just going to get sick. Now what are you going to do. Huh? Huh?
The conversation deteriorates from there. I'll spare you the worst of it. In any case, the argument generally ends with Mind pushing Body for several weeks and Body crashing at the end of it in retaliation. This usually comes around Christmas, but the cultural celebration knocked me over the edge early this year and here I sit in my flannel pajama bottoms, trying to six weeks in China into two hundred words for the admission's office.
Even just doing that my body is rebelling. It takes me several hours to get anything done. I sit there, waiting for inspiration to strike, for energy to appear, for my mind to clear, but no. Waiting does not help. I'd like to just be sick without having to do anything, but I'm either too responsible to let the opportunity be wasted, or too much of a slacker to ever be that far ahead.
Over.
I woke up today and the light was already seeping under my curtains. I laid there for a while and felt guilty about waiting for my mom to come wake me up for seminary when I knew it was time. When I finally did get up I walked about half way down the hall and met my mom who informed me that I was staying home from seminary and school today. I went promptly back to bed and stayed there for an hour and a half.
Bless the mothers of the world.
My mom was tired of her family being sick, so she sentenced us all to a sick day. Ever since the cultural celebration my dad, Mei and I have been lazing around with various symptoms. Headaches. Throataches (it should be a word). Stomachaches. Heartaches. Any aches that will get us out of being functioning human beings, those are the aches we have.
Around this time of year, with finals approaching, months of studying behind me and the looming idea of Christmas shopping ahead, my body and mind have this annual conversation that varies only slightly from year to year.
Mind: We need to go talk to the people at my school's office about why four semesters of Chinese have somehow not managed to get onto my transcript, memorize Mozart's Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, which is getting truly annoying, and write three essays.
Body: I don't wanna.
Mind: We have to! If you don't apply for college you won't get into college and if you don't get into college then you'll never get a good job and if you don't get a good job then you'll have to work at McDonald's and then you'll eat their caramel sundae every day and get really fat.
Body: I don't care.
Mind: You should! I care. Come on. We're going.
Body: You act like you have the last word on this. Watch. Watch this. I'm just going to get sick. Now what are you going to do. Huh? Huh?
The conversation deteriorates from there. I'll spare you the worst of it. In any case, the argument generally ends with Mind pushing Body for several weeks and Body crashing at the end of it in retaliation. This usually comes around Christmas, but the cultural celebration knocked me over the edge early this year and here I sit in my flannel pajama bottoms, trying to six weeks in China into two hundred words for the admission's office.
Even just doing that my body is rebelling. It takes me several hours to get anything done. I sit there, waiting for inspiration to strike, for energy to appear, for my mind to clear, but no. Waiting does not help. I'd like to just be sick without having to do anything, but I'm either too responsible to let the opportunity be wasted, or too much of a slacker to ever be that far ahead.
Over.
Nov 21, 2010
Crazy, In The Best Sense
(Marissa)
This weekend was crazy, in the best sense of the word.
Mei and I were involved in a cultural celebration for the rededication of our temple. Last night we preformed for our prophet, earlier that afternoon we preformed for half the town, the night before that we were practicing until eleven and the previous two nights we practiced until ten.
Last night when I got home I sat down and, still sitting in my mom's wedding dress which I'd worn for the closing (on a side note: there are reasons people don't wear wedding dresses every day) I opened my email and found this:
This is a photo taken from Brother Ford's phone on Friday night. I'm not sure what time it is, but I assure you that I was asleep, despite the noise of almost screaming their heads off in support of Tonga, Samoa, some awesome dancing with brooms or just in an effort to say something to the person next to them. Loud.
I'd show you pictures of the celebration but I don't have any. I don't really know what to tell you about the production. It was amazing what was pulled off, the leaders rocked and the kids did great. I'd never been with that many youth before. I stood maybe two feet from the prophet.
It went well and I'm happy to resuming a usual schedule which involves me going to bed some time before ten and being able to go to the Harry Potter film whenever I want. And, somewhere in between sleeping and movie seeing, I hope I'll manage to make a lemon tart for Thanksgiving and finish applying for college.
Over.
P.S.
Mei, mom and Elle just finished reading Wives and Daughters and aren't sure what to read next. Suggestions? Anyone?
This weekend was crazy, in the best sense of the word.
Mei and I were involved in a cultural celebration for the rededication of our temple. Last night we preformed for our prophet, earlier that afternoon we preformed for half the town, the night before that we were practicing until eleven and the previous two nights we practiced until ten.
Last night when I got home I sat down and, still sitting in my mom's wedding dress which I'd worn for the closing (on a side note: there are reasons people don't wear wedding dresses every day) I opened my email and found this:
This is a photo taken from Brother Ford's phone on Friday night. I'm not sure what time it is, but I assure you that I was asleep, despite the noise of almost screaming their heads off in support of Tonga, Samoa, some awesome dancing with brooms or just in an effort to say something to the person next to them. Loud.
I'd show you pictures of the celebration but I don't have any. I don't really know what to tell you about the production. It was amazing what was pulled off, the leaders rocked and the kids did great. I'd never been with that many youth before. I stood maybe two feet from the prophet.
It went well and I'm happy to resuming a usual schedule which involves me going to bed some time before ten and being able to go to the Harry Potter film whenever I want. And, somewhere in between sleeping and movie seeing, I hope I'll manage to make a lemon tart for Thanksgiving and finish applying for college.
Over.
P.S.
Mei, mom and Elle just finished reading Wives and Daughters and aren't sure what to read next. Suggestions? Anyone?
Nov 14, 2010
We NEED A Little Christmas
(Marissa)
The universe is conspiring against me.
Dramatic? Me? Nah.
In any case, it does seem like people, nature and commercial industries are doing their utmost to make me think that it is already the Christmas season.
For example: My dad has been playing Christmas music since he got back from Boston. And not just every now and then. Every day. Every time he sits down to his computer up comes the youtube fireplace, complete with crackles, and Pandora radio makes it's appearance. Christmas classics, (often annoying) country, (almost always annoying) pop... So far, no Bing Crosby, though. That's is where I put my foot down.
It's also raining. Pouring actually. The drops are big and they come down hard, greying up the sky and letting the air de-humiditize. (I can make up words if I want to.) Where I live rain is kind of equal to snow. Not completely, of course. We get rain in the summer and everything, but winter here is the rainy season. And this is winter rain.
Last but not least, commercial industries have once again demonstrated their inability to read the calendar. I've been seeing Christmas decorations up in stores since before Halloween. In Ross yesterday Mei and I got into this huge argument about reindeer vs. snowman. (Back me up here, guys, reindeer, right? See, Mei? My blogger people from Germany think so too.)
Just as I was about to move on to other topics my dad sat down and started suggesting movies to watch. Among them White Christmas, The Bishops Wife, and Miracle and Thirty Fourth Street...
I don't want to be a partypooper. I like Christmas as much as the next girl. Maybe even more. I am way, way ready for Christmas. If it were Christmas I would be making lemon curd. I would be done applying for college and would be trying to appease the scholarship gods instead. I would wear socks because my feet were cold without feeling absurd. I would not be worrying about my grade in IPB. I would be shopping for Christmas presents, playing holiday music myself and decorating Christmas trees. I want it to be Christmas too, but it's not and that's it. Let's just let it go. Move on. Wait and be patient and...
Oh, whatever. If you can't beat them join them, right? I've got a proposition. Why don't we just make it Christmas? Couldn't tomorrow be December 10th? We can do Thanksgiving, finals and applications after the new year. I think this pretty brilliant. Who do I appeal to? Is this a presidential decision?
We need a little Christmas. Right this very minute. So I'm going to finish up and wish you a
Don't be surprised when you wake up tomorrow and it's December 10th. Anyone know the White House's phone number?
Over.
The universe is conspiring against me.
Dramatic? Me? Nah.
In any case, it does seem like people, nature and commercial industries are doing their utmost to make me think that it is already the Christmas season.
For example: My dad has been playing Christmas music since he got back from Boston. And not just every now and then. Every day. Every time he sits down to his computer up comes the youtube fireplace, complete with crackles, and Pandora radio makes it's appearance. Christmas classics, (often annoying) country, (almost always annoying) pop... So far, no Bing Crosby, though. That's is where I put my foot down.
It's also raining. Pouring actually. The drops are big and they come down hard, greying up the sky and letting the air de-humiditize. (I can make up words if I want to.) Where I live rain is kind of equal to snow. Not completely, of course. We get rain in the summer and everything, but winter here is the rainy season. And this is winter rain.
Last but not least, commercial industries have once again demonstrated their inability to read the calendar. I've been seeing Christmas decorations up in stores since before Halloween. In Ross yesterday Mei and I got into this huge argument about reindeer vs. snowman. (Back me up here, guys, reindeer, right? See, Mei? My blogger people from Germany think so too.)
Just as I was about to move on to other topics my dad sat down and started suggesting movies to watch. Among them White Christmas, The Bishops Wife, and Miracle and Thirty Fourth Street...
I don't want to be a partypooper. I like Christmas as much as the next girl. Maybe even more. I am way, way ready for Christmas. If it were Christmas I would be making lemon curd. I would be done applying for college and would be trying to appease the scholarship gods instead. I would wear socks because my feet were cold without feeling absurd. I would not be worrying about my grade in IPB. I would be shopping for Christmas presents, playing holiday music myself and decorating Christmas trees. I want it to be Christmas too, but it's not and that's it. Let's just let it go. Move on. Wait and be patient and...
Oh, whatever. If you can't beat them join them, right? I've got a proposition. Why don't we just make it Christmas? Couldn't tomorrow be December 10th? We can do Thanksgiving, finals and applications after the new year. I think this pretty brilliant. Who do I appeal to? Is this a presidential decision?
We need a little Christmas. Right this very minute. So I'm going to finish up and wish you a
Don't be surprised when you wake up tomorrow and it's December 10th. Anyone know the White House's phone number?
Over.
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