finals.

1. Ps. 107: 29
   29 He ^amaketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.

cup runneth . . . way over.

when i am most over my head in life, i feel good. my head doesn't want to believe this, but my heart knows it. i'm being vague, and maybe cheesorific, but this is true. what i am talking about is that when i feel like everything is overwhelming me, i can see the blessings i have been given, and i'm happy. still vague. i can't fight that.

i was thinking about the time i spent in southern utah, and how i love that place. this has correlation to what i am thinking about only in my head.

i was also thinking about God's love for me, and how He gave me just what I needed last Sunday. i'm talking about a talk that our stake president gave about making choices with the Spirit. i'm not going to go into details, but i am thankful for the trust that God puts in me, and the honesty and sincerity of good people.

and now george michael has come on again with that stupid song. last christmas i gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away. but i can deal with that. i even look forward to hearing it, because it makes me chuckle to myself.

i love christmas and i can't wait for it to come, to get me out of this mess of this semester. but then bring it on. it's good to be in the thick of it. hebrews 12:6 ether 12:27

feliz navidad

has to be one of the great 8. i mean, one of the great 8 christmas tunes of all time, or at least of the last quarter and first quarter of the 20th and 21st centuries, respectively. i don't know what the other seven are. i can attribute upwards of 14% of my bilinguality to the song "feliz navidad." i hope someday you can say the same.

be not fooled.

i don't care who you are: if you sing "little drummer boy" you sound like an idiot. pa rum pum pum pum.

listening to the byu-sanctioned music, which is coming up as "santa claus is coming to town" as performed by neil diamond. this is pure entertainment, but i still don't know how i feel about pure entertainment.

i could really go for some purple corn right now.

talking about agency yesterday in relief society got me thinking. sometimes other things get me thinking. one of those other things is purple corn. but it slipped out of my mouth that i wished that thanksgiving break could go on forever and that i could live in a perpetual state of thanksgiving innocence. then i realized: we couldn't progress if we lived in a utopic thanksgiving break for the rest of the eons. if we couldn't progress, then you know, the whole plan gets messed. so that brings me to this conclusion: satan wants us to remain in thanksgiving break forever. so as for me and my house, we shall be sitting here at work.

Rocky Raccoon aka Rocco aka Wolfgang aka Santiago aka Frank Lloyd Wright

The kitten slept next to my head the whole night. I had little kitten dreams and nightmares.

free, maybe fancy free.

paintings by astrid dahl

as to life, i'm for it.

even when homeworks and dead-lines wants to eat me alive.

bonobo

this is a classy monkey.


her name is panbanisha.


she would whip me in a duel of wits.

gushman's kwest

gushman now sports a pin that says "future missionary." sorry i don't have a picture of that. i don't know how i feel about him wearing said pin. i don't know if he will ever go on a mission.

why don't you get a life?

look, i've tried. i'm done with that. and i like whistler.

listen, i realize the last post was a cop out

this weekend, i think my mind went three degrees southeasterly.

un chupacabra

a mi me gustan las cabritas y animalitos chiquititos. soy un terror. gracias por tu tiempo.

feeling breathing depthing poetry

all i wanted was a stinking iPod. for free. and yes, i do know that in "the little mermaid" of disney fame ursula throats out, "you can't get something for nothing." but that had little to no sway on me, neither was it in my mind when i heard someone say that i could get a free iPod on line. i even saw the physical iPod someone else had gotten as proof to my skeptic's mind. so i myself got on-line to see if i could obtain the precious booty. it all looked easy enough. sign up for a few spam email deals, get 5 other people to do it, and get your iPod promptly in the mail. alot of things to sign up for required more than i wanted to give, so i tried to find the easiest ones to fill out. i came upon the poetry.com "please sign up here" page. another gimmick, yes, but easy. all they wanted was an original poem, an entry in a contest. i made up some complete heavy meaningless garbanzo beans, and went on my way to the next gimmick. in a minute or two i realized it was more involved than i wanted to be, so i quit, felt sad about the iPod, and swiftly forgot the whole thing.

fast forward a month. four weeks. 28 days. alot of hours. my mom calls me with the question, "did you enter a poem into a contest?" "No." was my quick thoughtless reply. Then she recited the words:

diagnostic doldrums
and pinkie finger nail clippings
wisecracking rhubarbs and the pies and their spies
never knew it
was only another far-flung hypocrisy
winging to the space of other-times faces
pretending it was never meant to be
only three
only three

had i written that? garbage? she told me that the poem came with a letter that said my poem had been chosen to go into a ridiculously expensive con-book, and that i was a lucky one, and that i should buy the book. it even had "excellent poem" written in a sorry-excuse-for-a-computer-font-wanting-to-look-like-real-handwriting scrawled near my great work. i guess i really AM deep, and that people really DO appreciate my work. i am neat. but i still ain't buying that book.

my roommate's hands.

my roommate's hands are unnaturally blue these days. we think that she may a circulatory problem or worse. the sad thing, is though, that she is a hand model with sally hansen hard as nails nail hardening and upkeep and maintenance campaign. So she will be fired shortly, i am assuming, and that will be tough days for all of us as we all live off her modeling revenue. or else however would i have gotten this computer or my fine diamond brizzle?

i got sidetracked. some like to say "off on a tangent." i like to say, "the last thing i said has no real semblance of truth except for maybe the fact that my roommate's hands, of late, are unnaturally blue." but the girl won't wear the gloves like a-dawg prescribed, so i can't feel too sorry for her.

speaking of being sorry, sometimes i do things that aren't so nice, and then i realize it later. sorry all. the blue hands aren't my fault.

our other punk'in

we threw it to the ground.

nose knows

i like crisp autumn. but perhaps what makes it even better is when i walk past a steamy scent of laundry doin'. there tain't nothing like crisp weather and the smell of fresh dryer sheets. my nose is hypnotized lately. after years of taking allergy medications, and realizing that it was just a upper-up government conspiracy to rob me of my sense of smell, i quit those meds that were holding my olfactories up and the nasal joint has let loose. cold weather smells especially nice. so does a cooking quesadilla. so do dryer sheets. one thing that does not smell fine to this nose of mine, however, is the bag of literal rubbish that is sitting in my entomology lab. the other entomology lab (the land lubbers) has decided to see how many bugs will be produced from leaving a bag of rotting materials in a none-too-tightly sealed black garbage bag. my nose repeals their judgement. but the delight that was the walk home, passing by laundry rooms and stepping on crunchy leaves, was a treat. i like autumn. probably always will.

blather.

i was at school for a long time today. that's not so bad, except when you are the most undiagnosedly add kid you ever knew. i know myself. it got to the point where i studied for spanish for a good long while, and when i finally took the test, it took me 6 minutes, maybe. i like school, i even love it. but i don't like people putting a quality grade on my soul. and i don't like soaking in and no doing. i like doing.

coming of age.

i think i may have come of age. i'm not sure just at what moment exactly it happened, but i recently realized that i am looking forward to sushi tuesday more than halloween. there could be a couple of reasons for this. perhaps i got my fill of halloween parties this past weekend. they were fun, no doubts allowed, but it is true that i saw more than my fair share of men wearing lingerie or speedos or depends. the guy wearing lingerie took me so aback that i think i shook his hand for a solid ten seconds before telling him my name when he introduced himself to me. it was too much for my faint-of-heart.

but maybe i haven't come of age at all. there is the possibility that the parties last weekend just partied me out, and i need a restito. more though, i just like the idea of sitting down with some friends, some crispy rolls, some edamame, some wasabi, you know, and some chop sticks. surely chopsticks are a sign of coming of age.

the return to innocence

my home teachers just left a few minutes ago, and now we are listening to "return to innocence" by enigma. home teachers are just like people like the rest of us but they keep tabs on you and teach you good gospel principles in the mean time. i think our home teachers may be a little creeped out. they saw my pet beetle, bing, and the questions started. "what does he eat?" "will it hurt me?" "where did you get that?" etc. and then of course, the topic of the black widow comes up, inevitably. this is where people generally start thinking we are weird. so i mainly blame the black widow keeping on amy, but i know in my heart that i love my beetles, and that the widow is pretty neat, but one of those deadly types of neat that makes one keep her distance. but the black widow really does belong to amy, so its not like i am blaming her, it is more like i am giving her total responsibility, and i hear that is good for the kids. and then we started listening to "return to innocence." this song is generally misunderstood by the masses. or should i just say that i don't understand it? they start out with some early nineties guy singing, throw in the native american chants, and then we are supposed to draw some deep meaning from it. are they saying we should go back to sacagawea's time? or the early nineties? i will admit that the chanting is fun to sing along to, or make up your own words. and its ok to make up your own words. ay yaay yay o why ay ay ya i i why o why. and its ok because not many understand those native american languages. those germans sure didn't in world war ii.

our pun'kin

for fhe the other night, as classically dictated by the season and lack of other ideas, pumpkins were carved. (which reminds me of this little boy who asked his mother in church how chipmunk was spelled and she said, "chipmonk," as if she knew, or was giving props to her time in the buddhist monastery) i got there late because i had a study group with some spanish class folks, and then i took a test. (which reminds me, as we were sitting in my dad's office, at about 7:10 pm, this creepy middle-aged man slowly opened the door, slithered his head around the door to see us, and then said, "you know, the lights will be cut at 8 o'clock." Creepsy.) Anyhow, i make a stop at fhe, and i see that people are doing intricate carvings of rumpshish plumpshish orange pumpkins. then i see my sister. she has cut two holes, about the size of the circumfrence of a shot glass, and a slit for a mouth. done. activity: accomplished. he becomes an instant celebrity and all try to talk to him. i left fhe, but a few minutes later i see his face coming up the stairs, wanting to talk to me. he was set on the bookshelf in the living room. yesterday, after about 5 days of sitting there, i went over to talk to him, look him over. i lifted his top. it was woven onto his skull with strands of gray-green mold. he's also developed an underbite and taken up smoking. i guess even pumpkins are mortal.

gushman aksed for this, but i can't help but feel like i am being led along by a waxen cord down into blog pergatory. so i guess this will be kind of stintish.