Hmm. Blogger has changed its "Create Post" page. It's a lot whiter... and reminds me of Microsoft Word.
So, to tell you the truth, I have actually forgotten what I was about to write about. All I remember are the words "satirical blog post," which could mean just about anything. I shall blame Google for the distraction of the new, white "Create Post" page. And try again later.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
I got it!
... Or one of them at least. I must have applied for ten or fifteen internships for summer (and later, after I gave up hope for summer, for fall), but I finally got one! On the Deseret News Mormon Times & Features desk, no less.
Suddenly I have a lot to do. Pay a deposit to Alta to hold my spot for fall and winter semesters, pack up and move back home for spring and summer, fill out all the paperwork to make this count for my final internship, talk to my current bosses at the Chemistry Department about what I can do to help them before I leave... in addition to finishing up my last two finals.
My only regret is that I'll be leaving behind the Alta pool- and Jennifer. :(
Suddenly I have a lot to do. Pay a deposit to Alta to hold my spot for fall and winter semesters, pack up and move back home for spring and summer, fill out all the paperwork to make this count for my final internship, talk to my current bosses at the Chemistry Department about what I can do to help them before I leave... in addition to finishing up my last two finals.
My only regret is that I'll be leaving behind the Alta pool- and Jennifer. :(
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Old pictures
Sara and Jen- waiting in line for Divine Comedy! We went with a group put together by my brother Graig and cousin Kayla
Cosmo likes chemistry. Do you like chemistry?
The card I drew for my brother Tyler when he turned 14 on March 6. (No, I did not trace it! I drew it!)
We built Sara this fortress of pillows one time when we were in the lounge. (Before Kelly's St. Patrick's Day party, I think.) She's pictured here just WAITING for some unsuspecting soul to try to sit on the couch so she can AMBUSH them...
Thursday, April 12, 2012
The ransom note from Mara
JESS
TEXT MARA OR
JOSH IF
YOU WANT
TO SEE YOUR
CAKE
AGAIN
P.S.
YOUR MOM
HAS CAKE
This is the story: Sara had made a cream cheese jello cake for Jennifer's birthday (which was actually the second week of March, but we believe in the phrase "better late than never"). It was Monday night and a ward Emergency Preparedness activity. Mara and Josh slipped out a little early and wrote this note on the sidewalk for me. When I saw it, I went and got another popsicle from the refreshments table at the ward activity and texted Mara: "I am willing to exchange a root beer popsicle for the cake."
Then I waited for Jennifer and Sara to leave the ward activity. I wanted them to see the note and get in on the joke, but when they finally came, they didn't even look at the ground- they were too confused by me, standing in the middle of the sidewalk with an uneaten popsicle in my hand. I ended up having to point the note out to them and then we walked into our apartment together, where I confronted the cake thieves and made the goodie exchange. The cake had not been harmed. We let them have a couple pieces after they'd finished their popsicle.
Monday, April 9, 2012
The post Graig's been waiting for
My second conference short story came to me in the middle of the night. That is to say, roughly 8:30 AM until 9:05 when “High Times, Hard Times” from Newsies, sung by my two younger brothers, entered the dream first as a whistle and then, as I began waking up, the song.
About the dream, the most important thing I must stress is this: it was vitally important that we win the game. It was The Game, after all, the only one that mattered: yelling out more synonyms of each particular word called out by the referee than the other team.
Let me begin.
I started out the day on my own. The first several tournaments were always held to weed out the illiterate and test the mettle of the survivors. From the beginning, the rule was: lose two games, and you are out. Everyone got one second chance. Only one.
As the morning wore on, I watched the friends I came with slowly disappear and drift off to adjacent rooms one by one, to continue watching the contest via its live, in-house broadcast some thoughtful higher-up had set up.
The individual rounds ended with me and five others coming out on top. Only six, out of perhaps two hundred that had contested.
“Pick your teams,” the referee said. “The final rounds will be played on two teams of three members.”
“The next few minutes are the crux point,” a woman’s voice said animatedly. The reporter and her cameraman had showed up for the last several individual rounds and had been annoying everyone ever since. “Who will take home the trophy for the Battle of Words 2012?”
Everyone ignored the camera as the cameraman panned our faces and the stiff, bored face of the referee. When the ref saw he was being filmed, he smiled – but only a little. And it looked false. It made unusual wrinkles in his forehead and cheeks that weren’t normally there.
One of the six left in the game was familiar to me and probably all the others in the group. He called himself Hammer, and he had won three of the past Battles of Words in a row. Two of the players, a guy and a girl, immediately flocked to Hammer, but I stayed where I was. I’d met him before, and it had only taken all of twenty seconds to realize he had an ego large enough to have its own gravitational pull and many moons with red-caked lips and high-pitched giggles that called themselves fans.
I would sooner lick a bathroom floor than be on his team.
“It looks like it’s going to be Graig, Billy and Jess facing down Tim, Tina and Hammer for the win,” the reporter said into her camera. “An unusual lineup; only Hammer has ever won the Battle trophy, and he’s done it now for three years in a row. The last few rounds today will determine whether that streak will continue.”
I exchanged glances with my new teammates. Graig gave me a smile. Billy just cocked his head sardonically.
There could be problems with that one, I thought, but there was no time to dwell on such thoughts, because the referee was pulling out a fresh thick stack of note cards. The final games were about to begin.
“The end tournament is best-out-of-three.” His voice was as flat as his expression. “It begins… now.”
So the bored referee had a sense of the dramatic flair. I didn’t have time to give that much thought before he called out the first word: clever.
Hammer began the round with the most cliché synonym imaginable. “Smart!”
“Witty,” I challenged.
“Intelligent!”
“Intellectual.”
“Brainy!”
“Bright!”
“Intelligent!”
A loud buzzer went off. The referee waved his arm to punctuate the end of the round. “Repeated word violation. First round goes to Graig, Billy and Jess.”
I barely had time to taste our success when round two was in full swing. Here Graig and the other members of Hammer’s team proved their worth, throwing out words as fast as each could think. Hammer finally stumped us with cinematic production, a pretty creative synonym for movie, considering who it came from.
Billy stood stoic the whole time with a half frown on his face. Before the referee could start round three, I quickly called a time out – teams were only allowed one – to find out why.
“What’s your problem? I saw you in the earlier rounds; your vocabulary is more than big enough to be competitive,” I demanded of our deadweight team member.
He shrugged, giving me an incredulous look. “We’re up against Hammer. We’re going to lose. Why even try?”
“Did you come to this competition to lose?” Graig asked. “We can beat him.”
“I didn’t really expect to get this far,” Billy began, but I cut him off.
“Lies! Listen to Graig. We can win this. But only if we work together.”
“Time!” the referee called. “Teams, ready.”
“Ready!” Hammer said confidently.
“Ready,” I replied with one last, stern glare directed at Billy.
“Ready,” I heard Graig and – this was a bit of a surprise – Billy repeat under their breaths. When I looked back at Billy again, he shrugged but sent me a hint of a real smile.
So the final challenge began. The culminating word was theatrical. Graig and I didn’t even have to say a word; Billy was ready with a new word each round, confounding the other team after about six back-and-forth passes between him and Hammer.
“That’s game!” the referee shouted. Graig and I hugged each other and patted Billy on the back.
“I knew we could do it!” Graig said.
The reporter’s microphone found its way to my mouth right under my nose. “You’ve just beaten a boy who won three years in a row,” the woman said. “How does it feel?”
“Great,” I said. It was all I could say. "Really great."
About the dream, the most important thing I must stress is this: it was vitally important that we win the game. It was The Game, after all, the only one that mattered: yelling out more synonyms of each particular word called out by the referee than the other team.
Let me begin.
I started out the day on my own. The first several tournaments were always held to weed out the illiterate and test the mettle of the survivors. From the beginning, the rule was: lose two games, and you are out. Everyone got one second chance. Only one.
As the morning wore on, I watched the friends I came with slowly disappear and drift off to adjacent rooms one by one, to continue watching the contest via its live, in-house broadcast some thoughtful higher-up had set up.
The individual rounds ended with me and five others coming out on top. Only six, out of perhaps two hundred that had contested.
“Pick your teams,” the referee said. “The final rounds will be played on two teams of three members.”
“The next few minutes are the crux point,” a woman’s voice said animatedly. The reporter and her cameraman had showed up for the last several individual rounds and had been annoying everyone ever since. “Who will take home the trophy for the Battle of Words 2012?”
Everyone ignored the camera as the cameraman panned our faces and the stiff, bored face of the referee. When the ref saw he was being filmed, he smiled – but only a little. And it looked false. It made unusual wrinkles in his forehead and cheeks that weren’t normally there.
One of the six left in the game was familiar to me and probably all the others in the group. He called himself Hammer, and he had won three of the past Battles of Words in a row. Two of the players, a guy and a girl, immediately flocked to Hammer, but I stayed where I was. I’d met him before, and it had only taken all of twenty seconds to realize he had an ego large enough to have its own gravitational pull and many moons with red-caked lips and high-pitched giggles that called themselves fans.
I would sooner lick a bathroom floor than be on his team.
“It looks like it’s going to be Graig, Billy and Jess facing down Tim, Tina and Hammer for the win,” the reporter said into her camera. “An unusual lineup; only Hammer has ever won the Battle trophy, and he’s done it now for three years in a row. The last few rounds today will determine whether that streak will continue.”
I exchanged glances with my new teammates. Graig gave me a smile. Billy just cocked his head sardonically.
There could be problems with that one, I thought, but there was no time to dwell on such thoughts, because the referee was pulling out a fresh thick stack of note cards. The final games were about to begin.
“The end tournament is best-out-of-three.” His voice was as flat as his expression. “It begins… now.”
So the bored referee had a sense of the dramatic flair. I didn’t have time to give that much thought before he called out the first word: clever.
Hammer began the round with the most cliché synonym imaginable. “Smart!”
“Witty,” I challenged.
“Intelligent!”
“Intellectual.”
“Brainy!”
“Bright!”
“Intelligent!”
A loud buzzer went off. The referee waved his arm to punctuate the end of the round. “Repeated word violation. First round goes to Graig, Billy and Jess.”
I barely had time to taste our success when round two was in full swing. Here Graig and the other members of Hammer’s team proved their worth, throwing out words as fast as each could think. Hammer finally stumped us with cinematic production, a pretty creative synonym for movie, considering who it came from.
Billy stood stoic the whole time with a half frown on his face. Before the referee could start round three, I quickly called a time out – teams were only allowed one – to find out why.
“What’s your problem? I saw you in the earlier rounds; your vocabulary is more than big enough to be competitive,” I demanded of our deadweight team member.
He shrugged, giving me an incredulous look. “We’re up against Hammer. We’re going to lose. Why even try?”
“Did you come to this competition to lose?” Graig asked. “We can beat him.”
“I didn’t really expect to get this far,” Billy began, but I cut him off.
“Lies! Listen to Graig. We can win this. But only if we work together.”
“Time!” the referee called. “Teams, ready.”
“Ready!” Hammer said confidently.
“Ready,” I replied with one last, stern glare directed at Billy.
“Ready,” I heard Graig and – this was a bit of a surprise – Billy repeat under their breaths. When I looked back at Billy again, he shrugged but sent me a hint of a real smile.
So the final challenge began. The culminating word was theatrical. Graig and I didn’t even have to say a word; Billy was ready with a new word each round, confounding the other team after about six back-and-forth passes between him and Hammer.
“That’s game!” the referee shouted. Graig and I hugged each other and patted Billy on the back.
“I knew we could do it!” Graig said.
The reporter’s microphone found its way to my mouth right under my nose. “You’ve just beaten a boy who won three years in a row,” the woman said. “How does it feel?”
“Great,” I said. It was all I could say. "Really great."
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Devil car
"Hey Jessica, will you go start my car for me?" Jennifer asked this morning while she was doing her hair for church.
"Sure."
"Now remember, when you turn on the car you have to-"
"I know, I know," I interrupted, and when Jen gave me the keys I dutifully went out and found her car. It's a stick shift. Jennifer has been teaching me to drive stick, so I knew how to start her car. What I didn't realize was I needed to step on the brake AND the clutch at the same time, or The Rice Rocket would start rolling forward. (There is no 'park' option in a stick shift, to park you only shift into first and turn off the engine- and put on the e-brake if there's a danger you'll roll.)
So. The first time I tried to start her car, I let off the clutch too quickly and it stalled. The second time, I let it out very carefully and was super surprised when it started ROLLING FORWARD! I hit the brake but was at a loss for what to do after that. How could I leave Jen's car running when it was in danger of rolling all over the parking lot? (Here, Becky from my ward walked by with some of her roommates and stared at me in Jen's car. "I've got it," I assured them with a smile while stamping on Jen's brake)
I decided I had to run ask her what to do. She hasn't taught me reverse yet, so after I turned off the car (and made sure it wasn't rolling anymore) I just had to leave it there, partway pulled out of the parking space. Jennifer was really confused when I came in saying her car was going by itself and how did I stop it.
"Jessica, you're supposed to put it in neutral after you turn it on," Jennifer said.
"Ohh," I answered, and ran back out to the parking lot. To my relief, the car hadn't moved an inch from where I'd seen it last, but when I turned it back on and shifted into neutral it started moving forward again! I couldn't figure it out. The car hadn't needed a brake when it was turned off, in first, why did it need a brake when it was turned on, in neutral? The parking lot wasn't on a hill.
I'm in the middle of the parking lot and there's an open space right in front of me, I thought. I know Jen hates backing up, but I'd rather make her back out of a parking space than stay here in her car in everyone's way. But my confidence with driving stick was shot, and I couldn't remember how to get out of neutral so I could pull into the space. I was stuck.
Right then, Jon Furner (also from my ward) and some of his roommates got in his car to leave. It was parked RIGHT IN FRONT and one space to the right of Jen's car. I sat there in that car which was halfway blocking his path holding the brake and praying he wouldn't hit me. I know he saw me, but he kept backing up until I was sure his car would start pushing Jen's back. (In fact, I'm pretty dang sure he actually hit her front bumper- but he was going slowly enough it didn't really matter.)
Jennifer FINALLY came out about a minute later. When I saw her, I slouched down as far as I could in the seat while still holding up her broken e-brake (she usually props it up with a laundry soap bottle, but I wasn't strong enough to wedge the bottle in good), making me look even shorter in her car than I really am (although even with the seat moved all the way forward, I'm still slightly too short). She stopped in her tracks and looked at little me in her devil stick shift car halfway out of the parking space and busted up laughing.
"Jessica. You just made my morning," she said when she got closer. "Now get out of my car."
"Sure."
"Now remember, when you turn on the car you have to-"
"I know, I know," I interrupted, and when Jen gave me the keys I dutifully went out and found her car. It's a stick shift. Jennifer has been teaching me to drive stick, so I knew how to start her car. What I didn't realize was I needed to step on the brake AND the clutch at the same time, or The Rice Rocket would start rolling forward. (There is no 'park' option in a stick shift, to park you only shift into first and turn off the engine- and put on the e-brake if there's a danger you'll roll.)
So. The first time I tried to start her car, I let off the clutch too quickly and it stalled. The second time, I let it out very carefully and was super surprised when it started ROLLING FORWARD! I hit the brake but was at a loss for what to do after that. How could I leave Jen's car running when it was in danger of rolling all over the parking lot? (Here, Becky from my ward walked by with some of her roommates and stared at me in Jen's car. "I've got it," I assured them with a smile while stamping on Jen's brake)
I decided I had to run ask her what to do. She hasn't taught me reverse yet, so after I turned off the car (and made sure it wasn't rolling anymore) I just had to leave it there, partway pulled out of the parking space. Jennifer was really confused when I came in saying her car was going by itself and how did I stop it.
"Jessica, you're supposed to put it in neutral after you turn it on," Jennifer said.
"Ohh," I answered, and ran back out to the parking lot. To my relief, the car hadn't moved an inch from where I'd seen it last, but when I turned it back on and shifted into neutral it started moving forward again! I couldn't figure it out. The car hadn't needed a brake when it was turned off, in first, why did it need a brake when it was turned on, in neutral? The parking lot wasn't on a hill.
I'm in the middle of the parking lot and there's an open space right in front of me, I thought. I know Jen hates backing up, but I'd rather make her back out of a parking space than stay here in her car in everyone's way. But my confidence with driving stick was shot, and I couldn't remember how to get out of neutral so I could pull into the space. I was stuck.
Right then, Jon Furner (also from my ward) and some of his roommates got in his car to leave. It was parked RIGHT IN FRONT and one space to the right of Jen's car. I sat there in that car which was halfway blocking his path holding the brake and praying he wouldn't hit me. I know he saw me, but he kept backing up until I was sure his car would start pushing Jen's back. (In fact, I'm pretty dang sure he actually hit her front bumper- but he was going slowly enough it didn't really matter.)
Jennifer FINALLY came out about a minute later. When I saw her, I slouched down as far as I could in the seat while still holding up her broken e-brake (she usually props it up with a laundry soap bottle, but I wasn't strong enough to wedge the bottle in good), making me look even shorter in her car than I really am (although even with the seat moved all the way forward, I'm still slightly too short). She stopped in her tracks and looked at little me in her devil stick shift car halfway out of the parking space and busted up laughing.
"Jessica. You just made my morning," she said when she got closer. "Now get out of my car."
Friday, April 6, 2012
On the creative side of things
One thing I like about my major is the room for creativity. I used to think all journalistic writing meant following an exact formula for everything, and to a certain extent, it's true we have standardized ways of writing news stories, features, obituaries, and reviews. But the best stories aren't told generically. Journalism is changing, and for once I'm not talking about the shift to digital media. We use the narrative style a lot more than we used to. Have you noticed? I'm glad for the change; I think that makes it easier for me to tell the story, and through me, to connect other people to the story.
It's still a far cry from what fiction authors do. They can choose to spend hours in interviews and doing research, but they don't have to. They can tell the story in an "hourglass" fashion or even a "newsy narrative" fashion, but most don't. Fiction is my first love. I think my love for fiction and my love for journalism balance themselves out pretty nicely; it couldn't have been better planned. Lately I've seen the balance in action as I literally go from writing the paper and final news article due next week (the last week of class) to writing the fantasy I started with some friends almost ten years ago, or a more recent tale I started with a different friend in California. It's a lot of writing, but I like writing.
I'm about to go to my last Friday class this semester. I have a lot going on next week. But life is good.
It's still a far cry from what fiction authors do. They can choose to spend hours in interviews and doing research, but they don't have to. They can tell the story in an "hourglass" fashion or even a "newsy narrative" fashion, but most don't. Fiction is my first love. I think my love for fiction and my love for journalism balance themselves out pretty nicely; it couldn't have been better planned. Lately I've seen the balance in action as I literally go from writing the paper and final news article due next week (the last week of class) to writing the fantasy I started with some friends almost ten years ago, or a more recent tale I started with a different friend in California. It's a lot of writing, but I like writing.
I'm about to go to my last Friday class this semester. I have a lot going on next week. But life is good.
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