Writing Exercises

I need Legitimate feedback.
Let's give it to each other.

Also, opportunity to be published for us all?

check it out:

Poetry doesn't have to rhyme?

I am taking a poetry class this semester. When asked to list off poets that we were inspired by I found myself totally at a loss. Up until that point, my exposure to poetry was Shel Silverstein and whatever Maya Angelou says when she's a guest on the Oprah show. So for this last assignment I chose to work with a medium that I have more experience in. Choose your own adventure.

Tear me to shreds, please:

Figuring It Out

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about sending my work out. To, you know… potentially be published. I’m confident in my ability to write, revise, etc—the problem being this fear that my family will read and be offended by my interpretation of the truth. Joan Didion said, “Writers are always selling somebody out--”

check-up

Does anyone ever look at this page and quietly think, "someone really ought to post something new"?

Jack In Four Acts

Act One- He is strong. He is security. He drives a Jeep. He is from Oklahoma. I am in love. I am sure. I am engaged. I buy a wedding dress. I plan a wedding in Oklahoma. I smile all the time. I sell my car. I give up my apartment. He meets my parents. I smile when it is done. We workout. He was engaged once before. He offers to buy me a different ring. I like this one. I am sure.

Act Two- I am confused. I am concerned. She contacts Him. He reassures me. He promises me. We workout. He will never leave me. He will always love me. I am sure. He changes his mind. I cry. He wants to still be friends. I collect my things. I cry. I give Him the ring. He decides to marry Her. I cry. He leaves. We will not be friends. I will not let this happen to me again. I am sure.

Act Three- I am alone. I have lost my friend. I have lost my future. I cry. I spend the last of my money on a new place. I cry. I workout. I sleep. I cry. I workout. I sleep. I sleep. I cry. I sleep. I cry. I workout. I don't talk about it. I workout. I look for a job. I sleep. I sleep. I cry. I don't let people know my pain. I move into my new place. I cry in the shower. I workout six days a week. I get a bike. I am going to be fine. I am sure.

Act Four- I am determined. I accept any offers to socialize. I hate to be alone. I workout. I cry. I joke when people ask about Him. I never stop thinking. I distract myself. Then one day I don't cry. I don't always think about it now. I can't forget him entirely though. I am ready to begin again. I workout and go to a job interview. I pick up my wedding dress and I don't cry. He does not control my life. I am happy. I am sure.

Urban Diamond

On the corner of a busy urban city, lies the twinkling light of a finely polished diamond. If I were Audrey Hepburn, I would be wearing a black satin gown designed by Givenchy and an elegant necklace would hang snugly across my neck. As I would chew on my warm pastry and sip on my steaming coffee I’d admire the diamonds and hope that someday they would be mine. Although I am not Audrey Hepburn as you may have guessed, I am also standing outside the windows at Tiffany’s.
“When I get a degree those diamonds will glint across my neck, and not on a mannequin in the window.” I think to myself. “When I get a degree, I can wear jewels and dress in Givenchy.” When you get a degree, you get a future. And while we might not all be able to buy designer duds, we can be confident that a secure future is probable. Diamonds are like the best universities in the country. If you’re going to buy something that sparkles, you don’t buy a pearl, you buy a diamond. The University of Redlands is like those Tiffany diamonds; sparkling, beautiful, and full of promise. When you get a degree from the
University of Redlands, you are investing for a future that you deserve. Humans are all like unpolished diamonds. But when you get a degree from the University of Redlands, each year you spend, and each class you take, you become a little more polished. Until that final moment when you walk in your cap and gown and graduate; it is then that you will sparkle like the inside of Tiffany’s.

A Short Story

This is my ploy to secure an A for my online literature class, English 257.

Prologue.
This is short story. Sometimes a very difficult task when long stories are generally needed. Being the skilled wizard of words that I am, it is possible only for some. When I say this is a short story, I really mean short. Why? Because I have something very important to do and the self evaluation for this class is due tonight. This is not to say that my short story is any less important to me than the other important thing mentioned above. This is the story of how Idaho came to be.

Chapter 1:
Zeus was lonely one day, atop his mighty mountain Olympus. Hera was on vacation in Mexico with her three girlfriends from the city, because one of her girlfriends was just left at that alter by her boyfriend of ten years called Mr. Big. I know this sounds a lot like Sex and the City, and your right, this is exactly what happened in Sex and the City: The Movie.
Since Zeus had no one to talk to before he went to bed that night, he decided to create a state filled with beautiful gems that would sparkle from deep below the earth. He would call this state, The Gem State. Zeus really liked vodka as well, so he made this land bountiful with potatoes. He would call this new Vodka, Spudka.

Chapter 2:
When Hera returned from Mexico she was really pissed because Zeus had made a bunch of gorgeous native women and she found them lying around the Mount Oly Resort topless. Hera was jealous of these women and so she sent white settlers to move them off their land. Zeus cried because he loved these women, and blessed them with beauty and many buffaloes for generations to come.

Chapter 3:
Zeus and Hera consider getting a divorce. Marital troubles. They fix their issues and decide as a celebration of their renewed marriage to build a learning institution for the inhabitants of this beautiful land. They call it the University of Idaho.

Chapter 4:
Zeus really likes this young woman named Liz Sandoval and bestows upon her the gift of story- telling. Zeus comes down and invades the mind of her English 257 professor Rick Fehrenbacher and gives Liz Sandoval and A in the class because she is so funny.

Epilogue.
Liz Sandoval remained happy and told many more stories to the people of the gem state. She remained forever grateful to Zeus and Mr. Fehrenbacher. She then received a Grammy Award for best narration of an audio tape for this story.

The End. *Applause. *

Cinco de Mayo

Happy 5th of May!

"Cinco de Mayo" stands for "the Fifth of May" in Spanish. It is a holiday held on May 5 that commemorates the Mexican army's unlikely victory over French forces at the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862. While Cinco de Mayo sees limited significance and celebration nationwide in Mexico, the date is observed nationwide in the United States and other locations around the world as a celebration of Mexican heritage and pride.

I have numerous friends that are Mexican here in Moscow, and all of them insist on significant amounts of drinking during this holiday. My friends and I typically play drinking games on Cinco de Mayo, accompanied by watching recorded wrestling or fighting videos. Last year, we played a drinking game called "asshole," which is a card game. The loser is designated asshole, and has to deal the cards and remove them suring the game when the piled is cleared (the rules are highly complicated to explain in text, so I'll spare you). However, my friends and I always create an "asshole hat" that the designated asshole has to wear. It is typically made of s beer box and cans of the chosen drink. We also like to wrestle, box, and have a BBQ consisting of chicken, hamburgers and hotdogs and a warm fire. I love living in Idaho at times because it means being able to have a firepit in your backyard and loud music because most of your neighbors are just like you, Nine times out of ten, your neighbors hear the commotion next door, and instead of calling the cops, they come over and join you for a few beers and a celebration of just living another day.

I Still See You're Shining Today?:Soft Shifts of Lovelies

His knees prayed for a battery that would last

Her knees wondered if that bump in the dress was just fabric

His knees shifted and balanced and went over speeches

His knees bent and shook while he walked her down to meet them

His hands pushed and clicked and focused and apertured

Her hands held little boys shoulders to keep from floating

Her hands caught single tears that formed in dark slits

His hands had to let go.

Its eye remembered things most didn't see

Its breeze collected the soft lovelies around them

She whispered, "Should I try to hide the way I feel inside?"

He whispered, "I can tell the way you smile."

Last Thursday they began again

Leaving worried knees and fluttering hands behind

This Thursday they barely remember

Their eyes were so focused on the other

that they married.

"The Way I Feel Inside"-The Zombies

My Last Minute Blog

So... It is my turn to blog again. I have to be honest and say that I have not thought about what to write until the moment I sat down at the desk and opened my scratched and beaten Toshiba laptop a few minutes ago. I then proceeded to think of the ridiculously self centered things that I could tell you about. I do not dillude myself with the idea that anyone out there actually cares what I ate for breaskfast, whether or not I am getting good grades, or my opinion on political or local events.

I do not think there is someone reading write now who actually cares that I was up until three this morning watching an opera with subtitles on TV-or that I was both intrigued by and mocking of the magnificent costumes, giant stage, and lady in her late forties who was playing the lead (male) role, kissing a woman in her mid forties who was the lead soprano (female) role. You are not interested in the fact that I was up to three, wondering about the history of cross dressing in theatre, because I have insomnia, or that I have insomnia as part of a condition called post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

Your life would be fine without knowing that in my Creative Non-Fiction Writing class a guy named Mountain ripped a page out of a brand new book to write a question to the author of said book, and thought nothing of it. Why would you care that I think Mountain is an amzaing name, even if that makes me a little hippie-ish, or that this action disturbed me. You have no way of knowing that when I was a child I stayed up until three in the morning most nights, sitting under the window in my bedroom for starlight, or hiding under the bed with a flashlight I stole out of the emergency kit, to read, or that this reading was the way I escaped the causes of my PTSD.

There is no point in telling you that my hardest assignment this year was to rip, tear, cut, glue and reinvent a perfectly good book as an art project, because most people would not see why this is difficult, why this felt like I was destroying a best friend. I can not explain to you that the only way for me to spend four hours doing this was to create a piece about my Fiance and I, and I can not explain why this made it acceptable to me because I was turning it into another testament of hope and a witness of the protection and safety that Jack represents for me. You might laugh if I tell you that I cried when Jack placed it next to a picture of us as the second decorative piece of "us" in his bachelor pad living room. It is almost as cool as his pink flamingo neon light. It would be foolish to think that you, my fellow reader, have an interest in my life, and I would be surprised if you are not reading this because you are in my english class.

But maybe you do care that I watch opera in the early hours. Perhaps you are reading this because this is the way you express the basic human need of connecting with another human. It is possible that there is universality in each person's experiences and you know exactly what it is to stay awake until three because you will not-you can not-fall asleep. It is possible that you know what it is to love books and all that they represent in the form of safety and escape and hope and stability-that they represent something missing from other parts of your life. It is possible that you care, but it is more likely you are getting graded on this. If that is the case, I more than understand. I wouldn't want to read what I have to say.

Let me first start off my saying: Happy Belated 420!
That being said, I hope everyone had the chance to swing by East City Park two weeks ago for the annual Hempfest.

Big Dog Syndrome

Have you ever seen a mini dog like a wiener dog or a toy poodle that thinks it truly is a big dog? These dogs always make me laugh. They go out of there way to try and yank their owner to the side while they charge the "big" dog, and try and show it who's boss. I always find myself thinking that big dog is going to squash you pup!!

I think the little dog syndrome has something to do with seeing the bigger dogs. You see big dogs all around you all the time, and you think well I must be a big dog--dog's don't have mirrors to constantly look at, just dog bowls full of water.

My family just bought a puppy last summer--and by family I mean my mom--we came up with a bunch of names, but my mom settled on Kangaroo. We now call her Roo, Roo Dog or Roo-Roo. My brother calls her the terrorizer. She is an Airdale Terrier (think a Jack Russel but black and brown and a whole lot bigger). She weighs 120 pounds of muscle and is barely a year old. The thing about raising Terriers and especially Airdales is mastering them--Roo is our 4Th Airdale-- they have a tendency to do what they want, and when they want to do it.

Airdales back in the day were bred to be a bear catcher--they have a square jaw that truly locks into place--, and somewhere along the line someone thought it would be fun to try and domesticate them. In Europe because of how big and strong they are, they were bred to be police dogs. In the movie Titanic you can see an officer get onto the boat with two of them.

So imagine our surprise when this huge dog who can pretty much destroy anything and everything turns out to be a complete wuss. She has big dog syndrome--she thinks she is a small dog. Roo now only thinks that she can fit onto your lap, and she will try. She doesn't just try and get on your lap while your watching TV or eating something, but when you're doing homework or just sitting outside.

Roo although she she stands with her head coming up well past my hip cannot jump onto the bed or the couch. Now of course she can pretty much walk onto the couch. Her operation of getting herself onto things is to stand on her back legs and stretch her paws as far forward and dig her claws in and try and hoist herself up--sort of like climbing-- She doesn't realize she can jump.

Even more wierd is that when you've gotten tired of hearing her moan and whimper, and help her up onto the bed...she can't get OFF the bed. If dogs could be afraid of heights I would think she was, but it's more than that. She jumps fearlessly off the deck, big rocks, and trails. She doesn't THINK she can. She will scoot herself to the edge and slowly tip herself towards the ground--those big paws stretching to reach the ground before her face does. When she gets close she usually backs up and sits herself up and whines and moans at you--hey it worked before--to try and get you to help her off.
After a long battle she finally will get too much momentum going and her paws will reach the ground before she has a chance to pull up, and she's free! You can see the relief of it on her face-- the accomplishment-- as she runs towards you only to knock you down with her excitement.
I know that little dog syndrome and little man syndrome are closely related, but I don't think I ever want to meet a man who has big dog/man syndrome. Getting Roo on and off the bed is bad enough.

I have included 2 pictures of Little Miss Roo Dog.. She was only 8 months old....

Why?

I am the luckiest person in the world. Which is a lie. It seems that whenever somebody gives me a paper or item they want me to hold onto and not lose I lose it. I put it in a safe spot and think "oh I could never lose this" Wrong. I am dead wrong. I can, will, and do lose the item in question.

"Fuck" I'm irritated. I've been searching for three days through papers I shouldn't even have kept just to find the draft of my essay for my science class. "Where is it?"
I ponder knowing I saw it Saturday and that I put it in a spot I wouldn't lose. The only question now is where was that spot?

"Shit" I am a sailor. The bars of soap in my my bathroom cupboard are cringing and wishing they could wash the foul words from my mouth. I'm flipping through a notebook filled with math I know I won't find this paper there. Oh well.

"Jesus I swear I'll go to church more often, and I won't curse." I look at the knots in my wooden ceiling, "If you'll just let me find my paper." This is a useless tactic. I know that I'll find the paper when I don't need it. Probably tomorrow after I've turned in the essay and all of its steps.

My luck with finding lost things totals to:
*Car keys. Lost and found multiple times
*One snake, found two weeks later lying in the hallway waiting to be found and to terrify me.
*papers after I've found them.
*My missing hamster Pockets who ran when his cage was left open.
*My cellphone
*An overdue library book also put in a place where it will be "safe"

Thirty-one cent ice cream: the ploy to make us all fat

What is the crazy motivation behind Baskin Robbin's 31 cent ice cream day? They know that we lard-loving Americans crave the comfort of a cold, creamy chunk of sweetened dairy. We can't resist the allure, even on the chilliest of days, when it only costs the change we found hiding in the gummy recesses of our car seats or couch cushions. Clinging to our pennies, nickels, dimes, and maybe even an occasional quarter covered in old pop or gum, people waltz into Baskin Robbin's by the dozens. Taking a few minutes to mull over their 31 or so flavor options -will it be jamocha almond fudge, rasberry sherbert, or chocolate chip cookie dough?- the customer will slide into line to wait their turn to hand the cashier their grimy 31 cents. In return, said customer will recieve a sweet or rich ball of creamy or chunky goodness. Complete with a delicious styrophome cake cone or a crunchy sugar cone. The rest of the day for this customer, you would think, would be nice as their attitude would be significantally happier due to this cheap dessert. But instead many of these helpless people are pursuaded to buy more ice cream, mainly because of the sheer low price. If you didn't buy more it would be like not taking free ice cream... because 31 cents these days seems almost free. Especially when you can find it in places, like your couch cushions and back yards, where you didn't even know you had money. And no one can turn down free ice cream! So the customer gets sucked into an endless cycle of ice cream buying that never ends. And before the day is over Baskin Robbin's has made a ridiculous amount of money off of you and you have gained ten pounds.
I'm glad I have a fiance that tells me I don't need things just because they are cheap and I don't need more than I want, or this would be the story of my day.

tweet.

So there was this thing called Myspace. In fact, it still exists. But mainly it was huge when Jr High and High School hit and everyone was all over it. Uploading pictures, creating your own web page with your favorite song playing in the background, friends posting on it. Everyone and their mom knows who Tom from Myspace is. And if you don't..you might be behind on technology.
Next came Facebook. Some first discovered this for college while others have been using it for ages. Regardless, it is a toned down and more mature and faster way of using Myspace, with extra features like networks, gifts, games, and more. The only thing it lacks is the song playing, but who needs that? It is a social networking website to get straight to the point.

But the latest? The latest is Twitter. I just discovered it this past week, while my roommate rambled about Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt's posts on their Twitter. So why in the world would I even go to Twitter? It is a whole different world. If you haven't been on it yet, definitely take a gander. It's new and it's hip. The only thing that makes it different is the way it posts constant status updates with nothing else to offer except the latest gossip, celebrity gossip. You can "follow" whoever you want, and they can "follow" you too.
@ creative writing class, does anyone use twitter?
In fact, all it is, is a constant update of simple thoughts and opinions.
Tweets.
Kind of cute.

Here are also some facts to think about. With the fastpaced change of this computer based world, here are some crazy thoughts:

1 out of 8 couples married in the United States last year have met online
There are over 200 million registered users on Myspace
If Myspace were a country, it would be the 5th largest in the world (between Indonesia and Brazil)
We are living in exponential times
There are 31 billion searches on Google every month
Today the number of text messages sent and recieved, exceeds the total population of the planet.
Predictions are that by 2049, a $1000 computer will exceed the computational cabilities of the entire human species.


Times are changing, till next time, tweet tweet.

A Small Town

She has moved approximately thirty times in the forty years that she's been alive. Nearly all of her moving has been confined to the small town of Moscow Idaho. Three attempts have been made to escape the stigma of people saying, "You've lived HERE your whole life?" A large majority of young people that live in Moscow are college students, just here for a short time to earn a degree. They come from all over, a good many from other small towns throughout Idaho. Some dream of getting out and doing something different than what their parents did, moving on to better things not yet realized. College students and young kids finishing high school often express their eagerness towards leaving--how they can't wait to get out of this place. As if "this place" is a dirty word and to stay would mean death or worse yet, settling.

The first attempt at leaving was rooting in fleeing from what she had always known; the same people; the same drunken nights of boredom; family; old boyfriends; and dead end jobs. Fleeing a whole eight miles away, yes, you guessed it--Pullman Washington. A person could argue that this was not really escaping, but if you don't own a car, it makes the eight miles seem like a hundred. You are transported to a new world, one that you never really got to know through the years of only being minutes away, but instead, just passed through to get to somewhere else more exciting. The second attempt was a more concrete move to Tacoma Washington, (so near the big metropolis of Seattle) so many cars, more clubs, and a place to stay that included a swimming pool. No sooner had she finally gotten up the courage to drive in this fast paced new city, when it began to rain. Giant drops of rain that fell harder than she had ever seen in her life--it felt like the car was being pounded with tiny balls, and the windshield wipers couldn't swipe away the river of water pouring down. Pulling over and waiting the thunderstorm out was the only option as she couldn't even see to drive. She lasted just two weeks and was quickly running back to the safety of good old Moscow. Her third breakout was a little less of a challenge, only thirty-eight miles south of Moscow to Clarkston Washington (It seems interesting that all of these flights have been to the state of Washington). Clarkston, and the bordering town of Lewiston Idaho, share the unfortunate smell of the paper mill that employs most of its' inhabitants, along with being ten degrees hotter than Moscow. Locals promise that you will get used to the smell, but you know if you do, you will never get out so you complain every chance you get.

The last time that I tried to get out of Moscow for good was nearly sixteen years ago. I'm drawn to this place with the rolling green and brown hills, with fluffy white clouds that looks as if they should be in a painting. The smell of the land when they burn to turn the soil; walking through town seeing familiar faces; businesses that have been here for years, and concerts in the park with people dancing to their own tune. A place that people feel comfortable enough to leave their doors unlocked at night, where you can go to town for ice cream and be eating it within five minutes. I've come to love this place that I've called home for so long, a place where people are born; pass through; stay for just a little longer; retire; decide they love as adults; and those who just can't leave--even though they thought they despised it as children.

Call of Duty and Steve Almond

Before we begin on a diabolical narration on something ridiculous that my mind has inevitably dug up from the reservoirs of my memories, I would like everyone to know that Steve Almond has agreed to marry me. I know that this is tough for you guys to hear, but just deal with it, I win. I am the winner. I am victorious. I wonder if I should invite his wife to our wedding? Or would that be weird? I want a house in the Upper East Side New York, a little dog I will call King Louie, and a ferret that I shall affectionately name Steve after his father. Beyond the fact that I hope he never actually reads this in fear that he might find me creepy or strange,as a precaution I will inform my readers that I am simply joking. I actually intend on marrying that one guy from Avatar and Clash of the Titans. I know most of my blog post are not what one would ever classify as 'deep' but I feel this is more like a diary for me then a collection of pieces worthy of being in the New Yorker. There are times when heart warming insight is necessary but I think I'll save that for later. Peoples lives aren't always a bag of joy and so to spare people from having to mix their non bags of joy with mine, I'll keep this blog light and fluffy like that weird marshmellow spread my sister used to love.People love a lot of weird things, but loving Call of Duty is oh so very hard.
It is the one game I cannot play.Actually who am I kidding, its one of the numerous games I cannot play. My guy friends will wake up at 5pm on a Saturday, make some weird chili concoction, and then plug into Xbox live. By the time I come over they are still in their satin pajama bottoms that their girlfriends left over, with a keystone light and its 10pm. "We are leaving NOW!" I'll say after having been there 45 minutes. "We are going to a party." I tell them, "Well alright..." they say. But that isn't the weirdest thing to me, the fact that they don't want to go to a party with real live people. The weirdest thing is that they would rather stay and talk to 12 year olds on some shooting game. These children swear worse then sailors, and by golly its appalling. I voice my concern, "So don't you think its sort of weird that your wearing your girls satin pajamas and talking to little boys?"
"Yeah its super weird."
"So...why are we still here?"
"Cause I'm winning."
"God."
"These kids are actually really annoying which is why I don't usually use the head gear. They are always singing Lady Gaga and saying 'take that bitches. I tell them to 'Shut up kid!' and they say, 'so mute me bitch.'It is very strange."
"So then we can go now...?"
"Yeah after this games done."
It's midnight now.

Guest Blog: Steve Almond on "Rock and Roll Will Save Your Life"

Last week in class, we discussed Steve Almond's smart, poignant, and highly entertaining new memoir, Rock and Roll Will Save Your Life.  We lucked out: Steve was generous enough to field a few questions from the class about music, Drooling Fanaticism, and writing.  Read on to hear Steve Almond (a.k.a. "Drooling Steve") on writer's block, critiquing famous people, and not taking yourself too seriously:

Dress Your Family: Because you seem good at this, is it possible to, as a writer, not take yourself too seriously?

SA: Of course it's possible. Please. It's easy. Just Get Over Yourself! Realize that You're Just Not That Into Yourself. My thing is: we're all basically idiots who do dumb shit constantly and feel self-conscious and embarrassed and lame and rather than trying to deny that, I'm just like: Yep, I'm an idiot. Here's why and how and when. And the funny thing is, readers really appreciate that kind of honesty, because -- super high-level trade secret! -- they FEEL THE EXACT SAME WAY.

Personality: A Seasonal Disorder

I might have four different personalities, but it’s hard to tell. I recognize this statement can be interpreted in a couple of ways: 1) That I’m trying to attract attention through the construction of mysterious attributes; 2) I’m actually crazy. Neither is true. I have simply noticed that annual changes in my character correlate with the movement of our planet. As the earth tilts towards and away from the sun, certain predictable patterns follow its path. Living in Moscow, far north of the equator, is just the environment in which these traits are best expressed. As is the case with nature’s seasons, my largest transformations occur at high latitudes.

At the moment, spring has decided to stick around. It may disappear under a few inches of snow tomorrow, considering that this town uses sunrays as a tormenting device, but at least I have felt its effect. My coffee consumption has decreased and my mood has been uplifted by the sounds of life. It’s like God turned up nature’s version of Stevie Wonder and now every critter feels like it’s baby making time. I also am beginning to care about each day again. I’m not a nihilist in winter, more like a bear. I simply hibernate and growl at whatever disturbs my hibernation, especially school, but that season is long gone. My blood has started to flow again and I now feel awake, optimistic, and energized. When I walk around town it's with new eyes. My vision, with my thoughts, has expanded beyond just how to get from bed to school, to food, and then back again. I want to talk to people, be social, and express the revitalization that has occurred within me. Summer and fall will bring their own unique changes, but right now I’m content with Moscow while Moscow is green. I had almost forgotten what it is like to wear shorts. Enjoy it.

You Know You Live in Idaho If...

Forget Rednecks! Here we have Idahoans! Recently, I received an email "Idahoans by Jeff Foxworthy." Though I am not originally from Idaho, it seems that living here seven years has taken its toll on me. As I read this email, I couldn't help thinking how true some of these statements were. If you can't relate to at least one of them and presently live in Idaho...well...you are lying to yourself. "If you've worn shorts and a parka at the same" and "if you find 10 degrees 'a little chilly'" you live in Idaho. hmm let's see, this winter anyone? I saw several people on campus in shorts and a coat, never mind those that were in flip flops (guilty as charged). "If you measure distance in hours you live in Idaho." It takes me 10 hours to get home from Moscow. Do I know how many miles that actually is? no. "If you have switched from 'heat' to 'A/C' and back again in the same day." The last two weeks are a perfect example of this bipolar weather. Sun, rain, snow, hail, wind. Today for example, pouring rain in the morning and as of now (6:30pm) its sunny and warm. Dear weather, make up your mind! "If the speed limit is 55 mph--you're going 80, and everyone is still passing you" and "if driving is better in the winter because the potholes filled with snow" you know you live in Idaho. Back home, Ashton Id, we would get upwards of six feet of snow, and though the roads were icy and you couldn't drive on them most of the time anyway, when you could the ride was smoother because the potholes were gone. "You design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snow suit." I do not have a kid of my own, but I do have two little brothers. My mom and I would purposely by their costumes several sizes to big so that they could wear them with a beanie, gloves, scarf, snow pants, and a heavy winter jacket. "If 'vacation' means going anywhere north of Salt Lake City for the weekend." Facebook statuses prove this one correct with things like "I get to go to SLC for the weekend" or "Boise here I come". "If you know someone who has a deer more than once." Not to name names Mr. Hildebrand (high school government teacher). oh and my dentist who managed to hit a deer while on his motorcycle. "If you know all 4 seasons: almost winter, winter, still winter, and road construction, you live in Idaho." When you still have snow in your yard in June, it snows on the 4th of July, and you get snow in September, you live in Idaho. When the snow finally goes away in June, out come the orange hats, bull dozers, and "fine increase in construction zone" signs. Don't you just love Idaho? PS: Sorry this is late

Ala Steve Almond: 5 Songs that Saved Me

Which is not to say they are my favorite or even good, though I happen to think some of them are-- in their own sort of way. The fact of the matter is, as Steve Almond points out in his book, Rock and Roll Will Save Your Life, these songs make me feel and smell and taste the time in which I heard them. These songs are the songs that transport me, almost immediately, to another self.

The Best Time of Your Life

An incoming college freshman, driving with my parents to Moscow Idaho where I was to earn a bachelors degree or be thought of by my friends and family as a fool for not going to school, I complained aloud about having to pay lots of money for four years of misery. I had just spent the last twelve years of my life in school, why would I want more? and have to live there at that. Amidst this whining, my mother tried to explain to me that years at college would be the best years of my life, and so far, she has been right. Now that I am graduating, and am supposed to get a real job and go on with life, I, like most other people who are where I am at, don't want to grow up and live "real life." Now, my college career is supposed to be over, but I am now convinced, like my mother said, that college will be the best years of my life, and I do not want them to end. The schoolwork has been grueling however. I have always hated schoolwork, and still do. Due to this work, I have also had the most miserable times of my life in college. This I do want to end. However, I have found the answer to my dilema. I will take the best of both "unrealistic" worlds. I will return to college next spring, take some courses like "theater" and other nonsense (no offense to hard core thespians, I envy your career choices) classes for fun. I will reap the benefits of being a student (the rec center, free plays, concerts, seminars, discounted movies, intramural sports, etc.) without actually having to do anything. In the last four years that I have been here I have always thought, "man this lifestyle would be like heaven if it weren't for the schoolwork forcing me to waste my time away." Just one more month and I will be free from ever HAVING to do any sort of school work ever again. Besides the school part, being a college student is awsome, and I plan on being a college student that doesn't HAVE to do ANYTHING. That seems like the life. My mother also told me before I went to college that as long as I get a degree, after that she doesn't care what I do. Allright mom, I almost have a degree, guess what I'm going to do now, go back to school, because like you said, college is the best time of your life!

The Ballad of Mr. Freckles

Freckles has left, never to return.

Everyone misses him, the whole town and you.

Where he is at, is my main concern,

Mr. Freckles, my man, I bid you adieu.

*

I remember last December, when I wasn’t with you,

And then in July on my arm your tattoo.

Then the bb in your ear came out.

The bb, I have, and you I’m without.

*

It was said Mr. Freckles was a mean prick.

He was never seen twice, with the same chick.

Buy him a pack so he won’t steal your stash.

Freckles, you junkie, we loved you for it.

*

One day he went missing, my dearly loved cat.

Friend that I miss and pet I once had.

I looked in the streets, but you weren’t there all splat.

Freckles I hope you checked into rehab.

---

I miss my cat is all :-C

Common Near Death Experience of a Native Idahoan

It is March 2006, my dad and I are clearing brush two hundred meters up the hill behind our house. The brush is becoming a problem because it is about six feet tall and is so thick that you can't see anything more than four feet aways from you; mind you bushes should never be more than four feet tall. We are also trying to open up more room so we can plant trees, due to our shortage from the bark beetle attacks and the Tusic Moths that came through and ate almost all of the needles off of our trees four years back. The moths seemed to prefer the Douglas Fir but the Grand Fir in our region does not grow as hardily and therefore almost all of our Grand Fir died off during the Tusic Moth Caterpillars' reign of terror. My dad works as a steamfitter at Washington State University but we rely on logging to help pay the bills and buy groceries. We need all of the trees that the bugs have killed so we must replant. I also enjoy our local ecosystem so it needs repairing after the insects have damaged it so badly.

It is our second day of cutting brush in this particular spot. We have already cleared about five hundred square feet of brush. Now we are working our way up toward a large Rocky Mountain Maple, which is on a small bump in the hill. Rocky Mountain maples can hardly be considered a tree. IN some places they can, but in our region they grow to be about fifteen feet tall in a cluster of somewhere between eight and maybe twenty shoots per each "tree" making them more of a tall shrub. The brush that we have already cut is all over so we decide to make a new slash pile next to the small bump. The fire flares up as my dad inserts the propane torch and resumes cutting once more. While Pa is running the chain-saw I start piling more brush on the fire.

Under closer observation I find that the bump has a hole in it about two feet in diameter. I have seen holes like this numerous times before. There are no tracks around it so I figure it must be an abandoned coyote den. Rather curious I go in for a closer look. Crouching down I stick my head inside. Almost immediately two yellow eyes the size of bouncy balls are glaring right back at me. I pull my head out of the hole with a jerk only to have a large black bear poke its head out at me and snort. I hopped right up the hill to my dad.

"Pa, we'd better stop cutting because there's a bear in that hole!"

Bounding down the hill we come across my mom, younger sister and both of my younger brothers heading up the hill to bring us lunch. My dad says "We won't be cutting anymore up there for a while..." Giving a brief explanation to my family members on why they shouldn't go up the hill because we accidentally woke up a black bear from its long winter's nap by running a chainsaw and building a bonfire next to its den.

Most people don't get the chance to look into the eyes of a bear... or stand nose to nose with a startled black bear for that matter. Take my word for it, its a life changing experience... It will be years before I stick my head in a hole again.

Terror in the Water

"Alright," my coach says, "this afternoon we're going to be doing our first open water swim of the trip!" The team cheers with excitement as I sit glued to the bench, fingers wrapped around the metal as though my entire life depends on never letting go.

It's December 2007, the University of Idaho swim team has traveled to Kona, Hawaii for two weeks for our annual Christmas training trip.

I'm terrified of swimming in the ocean. There are scary things in the ocean. You can't see what's out there!

The tears start flowing freely as my body quivers and sobs erupt from my chest. About half the team, as well as my coach looks in my direction in confusion.

Did I mention that I'm terrified of swimming in the ocean?

One hour, that's how long until I had to somehow manage to pry my hands from the bench, make it back to the hotel room, change into my swim suit, walk down to the beach and force myself into the water, and hopefully not pass out of fear in the process. But maybe if that happened I wouldn't have to swim.

The hour passes much too quickly and before I know it I'm standing barefoot in the sand, my goggles slowing filling with tears and completely fogged up. Shaking in an unhealthy manner I inch myself towards the water knowing that I have no other choice. One of my teammates Sara is right by my side promising that she won't leave my side during the entire swim. Katsumi, our athletic trainer, apparently unaware of the situation at hand, looks back at me from the knee-deep water where he stands to laugh and say "Hey Aly-son, watch for sharks!" That does it, I lose it again. "Oh, no, no! So sorry, I'm kidding! No sharks!" he says.

Bawling my eyes out in near hysterics I stand on the beach not willing to take another step. Somehow Sara manages to convince me that I will in fact not be eaten alive. It takes nearly an eternity, but comes all too quickly. I'm knee-deep in water, I'm waist-deep in water, I'm swimming.

Stroke, stroke, breath, stroke, stroke, breath. Haven't died yet but still have a long way to go. I manage to distract myself by watching the fish swim by. This method works for a good while and somehow I find myself enjoying the swim. That is until I look down and suddenly realize all I see is blackness.

They say the number one cause of drowning is panic in the water. Well, that day I panicked. For those that have never experienced a panic attack, you lose all ability to think clearly, you freeze, your breathing increases, the only thought in your mind is that you're pretty sure these are your last moments and they're not going to be pretty. When you're in the middle of and open water swim you have no way of escape other than disappearing into the back of your brain and getting out of the situation.

"Alyson!" Sara says, "you have to keep swimming!"
"No...no...no...no..."
"I'm right here, you're fine, you need to get around the buoy and keep up with the rest of the team!"
"I can't...I can't...I can't..."
"You know the sharks eat the slow ones!"
And I was off.

Somehow we all made it back to shore unscathed.

It was the first of three open water swims we did during those two weeks, and each time we did one my fear slowly became less.
We rang in the 2008 New Year by doing the Kona Ironman swim, 2.4 miles, during which I experienced the most amazing thing in my life, swimming with wild dolphins.

It's about overcoming fears to get the opportunity to experience something extraordinary, but believe me when I say that I still avoid swimming in the ocean if possible. :)

The Disregard of Authority in Professional Sports

It's quite apparent that many young Americans grow up in places where professional sports aren't commonplace, especially here in Idaho. At early ages we grow disillusioned with athletes as being above the law that the everyday common man abides by. Viewing professional athletes in such a light is a mistake we all can make at times without the full realization and consequences of the law and those who break it. Over the past ten years in the realm of pro sports there have been a multitude of infractions of the law among many pro baseball, basketball, and football athletes. In Major League Baseball, steroids and the dealing of steroids has put America's grand sport under fire. Position players such as Barry Bonds, Mark McGuire, Roger Clemens, Andy Pettitte, and Alex Rodriguez have all been tied to the purchase and injection of performance enhancing drugs since the turn of the century, and all have lied about their past involvement in these scenarios. These men are among baseball's elite but not above the law of illegal substance abuse in any right. If an average person, such as myself, were ever tied to such allegations and illegal activity in our society and lied to a grand jury in Congress about it, my life would be wrecked. If I committed perjury under oath, lied to my friends, family and nation, I would never receive the treatment an athlete or one with massive amounts of money would receive. Last I checked perjury under oath is a felony offense but to an athlete the punishment can be as subtle as a slap on the wrist or a fine. The guilty parties involved in such a scandals and or crimes go about their business as usual at the end of the day whereas I myself would be heading to Leavenworth prison in a six by eight cell for five to ten years. Where's the fairness in that? Have our morals been depleted that much in glorifying the so-called chosen few of professional athletes? In the NFL, players like Tank Johnson, Adam Jones and Ben Roethlisberger have all been involved in multiple crime cases where each man was simply reprimanded by the law and their respective league and were able to play and practice as such. Tank Johnson, a former Chicago Bear's defensive tackle, was charged with illegal firearm possession twice and the worst thing that happened was a four game suspension during the season. Adam Jones was arrested five times in his first couple years in the NFL when his worse crime got him a trade to the Dallas Cowboys but not jail time. Jones walked into a stripclub with 81K in a briefcase and taunted the female dancers with it while ultimately assaulting a dancer by slamming her head on the stage as she lusted after one of the wads of green he produced. Quarterback Ben Roethlisberger has been accused by multiple women of sexual assault in different states. Although, he was never charged he constantly puts himself in these situations eventhough he is held to a higher expectation in being a pro athlete with millions of dollars under his belt. I understand getting away with one claim, but multiple claims seems highly suspicious when seeing his sense of intent and guilt through his demeanor but he'll play come Sundays in Autumn. Delonte West of the Cleveland Cavs in the NBA was caught last summer speeding excessively on a motorcycle with unregistered firearms concealed in a guitar case. West claimed he has bipolar disorder and it caused him to think irrationally. I don't buy it as money is what caused him to act in such a manner, and he is now playing on a team bound for the playoffs and a hopeful NBA title just months later. If that were me on the motorcycle with illegal firearms I'd be in San Quentin rotting for the next few years due to my less than affluent status. These over privileged men and athletes are supposed to be upstanding and productive characters of society, but seemingly forget that. These athletes are in the national limelight year round and show their immaturity and lawful neglect through their illegal actions. Being a role model and recognizable citizen among the commonplace means using your money and status wisely. Just because you have the power and money doesn't mean you need to exploit it through deviant acts. The morals and reasoning in pro sports is all but gone and we as spectators and advocates long for more athletes to step up and take responsibilty for their actions by acting accordingly with the law.

Accidental Accident

Soooooooooooo...
I forgot to post...
Forgive me all it was not what I attended to do, I just got side tracked a lot and now I'm here apologizing to you.
I don't really know what you people want from me. I like posting my poetry for you to read and tell me what you think, but no one tends to do that so I don't know where to start. I'll post one, but just one, but first there is a story I would like to share with you as to why I look at life the way I do now.
"OH GOD ONE OF THOSE STORIES!" I know I know but this is important to me because I myself almost caused the death of a couple people I had just met, and it was never my intention to do it. A car accident almost made me suicidal. A car accident broke me mentally and would leave me to stare into the abyss for hours just going through images and audio in my head. Scary how something so crucial can just take your life and turn it on you.
I had been recovering from a day of work in California when I had been given a job to pick up my coworker's girlfriend and baby from the airport as a suprise to them. An awkward meeting seeing as I had never met them before. After picking them up we were on our way back to the hotel the crew was staying at when we started conversation so things wouldnt be as weird for both of us. Talking about music and different songs I found out she was a fan of Eminem and I told her I had his new CD in the backseat if she wanted to reach around and grab it. Reaching around her baby started to make a fuss so I tried to make a face and grab his hand so he would be comforted and not start crying. I wasn't looking at the road...
Looking back I twisted the wheel to avoid another vehicle. Hitting my right side as I was traveling at 55 mph doesnt exactly keep you on all fours. We teatered onto the two left wheels and then back to the right as I corrected. I corrected again not wanting the truck to fall to the side the baby and mom were on, and let the truck go. We landed on the driver's side and slid 50 feet across the highway. Glass shattered in my face from the window. Trying to stay calm I knew I had to keep her calm.
"Unstrap your baby," I told her.
Her screams were hard to get over...
She did as I told her and soon after someone stopped to help us out of the truck. The top door opened and I can remember vivid detail of grabbing the baby by the stomach and lifting him from the car as glass slid into my arm. She as soon after pushing more glass into my head.
The rest is cop talk and hospital...
I was supposed to go home tomorrow...

I am now amongst those I judge!

It’s almost summer here in Idaho! Spring break is a sign of this. I’m in Sandpoint for the break and the warm weather is inspiring. Having pulled my bike out of storage, it’s time to retrain Jayda, my 10 month old yellow lab puppy, how to heel beside me as I ride. This is something she had mastered by the time she was 4 months old, but that was months ago. She picks it back up quickly and we start getting into a routine.


The first day we go for two short mile long rides and the second day about 2 ½ miles. The third day, having arrived in Sandpoint, I get a bit overzealous and take her out for 5 miles. She’s struggling some the last mile or so, but I attribute this to her being tired. Little did I know that the pads of her feet had just been worn completely down. I felt so bad I was nearly in tears. I never meant to hurt her and honestly, I had no idea that could even happen. After about 24 hours of guilt ridden nurturance to her poor feet, I take her to the vet. I walk in and say very seriously to the woman, “I need narcotics!”. Her expression is a cross between shock at my bluntness and annoyance towards my apparent drug seeking behavior. I then explain to her about Jayda’s feet and how I feel so bad that I just want to knock her out for a week while they heal. She laughs at me and says, “Honey, just give her aspirin!”


This is how my puppy came to get her first pair of shoes. Secretly, I have always judged those that dress their dogs up in clothing. I am now amongst those I judge! I’d like to think a distinction can be made though; made between pink dresses and black running shoes. They serve their purpose though, so laugh if you will!

A special PSA for our friendly climate change skeptics

Wikipedia's handy list of where the world's scientific organizations stand on the issue:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scientific_opinion_on_climate_change

A "start here" list of links to statements from NASA, the NAS, NOA, NSF, the AAAS and IPCC:
http://www.realclimate.org/index.php/archives/2007/05/start-here/

Many of those same sources, arranged in an outline of common objections to the AGW theory:
http://scienceblogs.com/illconsidered/2008/07/how_to_talk_to_a_sceptic.php

A quick summary of the history of the theory, going back 150 years:
http://www.aip.org/history/climate/co2.htm

An exhaustive review of the "climategate" emails:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/34392959/ns/us_news-environment/






If you aren't sure which link to pick, the first and third are probably the easiest to skim. The third is especially helpful because it will make you sound smart in front of a crowd.

Homies

Only in Idaho can you find homies like these.

In Idaho (and possibly numerous states), you and your homies - also considered your close friends - can go camping, bar hopping, shooting, hunting, fishing, etc.

When I first moved to Moscow, Idaho, I figured that everyone I met would be a sorority or fraterinty member, or a redneck. I've come to find that there are many different diverse people who live in this society.

The boys you see in this picture are (left to right) Avery, Vince, and Ralphie, who love to party, who love to chill, who love to do pretty much anything. When I was in high school, I had some friends... but going to college is a different ordeal. You meet all kinds of people with different interestes who spark a flame in your life. Avery taught me how to swing dance and belly dance (as weird as that sounds), and every time he visits me when he comes down from Spokane, he teaches me a new kind 0f dance. Now, every time I go to a bar or dance club, I think of Avery when I'm showin' 'em Mah moves!

Vince taught me how to meet people - he told me how to talk to people I have never met before... I'm generally a pretty shy person, but now I can open up to anyone I have a class with in college, I can talk to people about common interests or schooling... I can socialize with people at parties...

Ralphie taught me how to play hacky sack. I've beein playing since I was in eight grade, since I met Ralphie and his friends, and now I can do certain tricks, such as stalls. I have a record of hitting the hack with my foot 59 times in a row.

Life in Idaho is probably similar to everywhere else - you meet people you never thought you would, and you learn things from them. However, the homies you meet in Idaho stick.

Kosher on Easter

Last September I made the decision to follow kosher dietary laws.

Why?

The reason I like to give people is 'personal challenge'.

Though up to this point it hasn't really been that challenging- around 40% of items on grocery store shelves are certified kosher- so I can't eat ham? I wasn't that attached with it to begin with.

Yep, no challenge up to this point of...

You Can Come Home Again

When most people consider the distance between East and West Coast, they imagine a good four day drive, stopping at rest areas and cheap motels off the interstate. Cheap coffee and bagels in the morning, and hours and hours of driving. I think my sister and brother-in-law were quite happy to conclude that trip in two days.

The Wall

Walking through the commons on the University of Idaho campus, one may pass a wall which is packed with politically charged papers and posters, placed in this proximity to the classrooms undoubtedly to provide students with s proper excuse for postponing their preparation for, and even their attendance to, professionally presided classes. The content of this wall is regularly maintained with varying themes of political issues, parties and opinions that give me the impression that different parties vie for the coveted spot; I imagine they pay for slips of paper on which they write their names, toss into a hat and have a weekly drawing for who is next to bombard the student body with bias information (if the process in anyway represents most governmental procedure the hat is then tucked away while the thrid party hat owner then takes donations to fund the hat, awarding the next week to most helpful group).
This wall has been home to everything from "facts" about gay marriage to "facts" about conservatism. Reading the wall and discussing it with my Fiancee is probably the extend of my political involvement. Many people may claim that I do not care what happens to our country, or that it is unpatriotic to not be involved in the politics that, for better or worse, keep our country going. I am not against politics or people who choose to be intimately involved in the going ons of government, and I am not someone who refuses to vote and then complains about the president or legislature that is passed. I am against the wall.
I understand the goal to better inform the voting public of today about topics that are prevalent in our political system, such as the health care bill or the beliefs of various parties, but I feel that the wall is neither the proper place, or proposed information in which to accomplish this. First of all, the information is terribly slanted towards certain views and the bias opinion interferes with the objectivity and efficiency of "facts". Secondly, the posters are often graffitied by people with opposing views in slanderous ways, and then those remarks are responded to by students wishing to reposess the poster for its original purpose, so that they become less about informing and more about disagreeing and fighting over who is right. This leads me to believe that the wall is creating more of a division among who is republican or democrat or right or wrong then it is helping to unify our country under the banner of decency and respect for one another's beliefs. The last reason I am against said wall is because all students at the University of Idaho (the wall's target demographic) have access to the internet through campus computers, and if they really wanted to know this stuff they would research it themselves instead of believing an invisible group of people who are claiming to post fact. Anyone who uses the convenience of the wall to decide their politcal beliefs instead of figuring out the truth and their own opinion on matters might as well use the National Enquirer as a staple guide in their life. I advocate political awareness, but I do not condone the wall, the barrier that it is forming among students, or the unquestioned consumption of "facts" on brightly colored wall-paper.

Voice Mail Blues

I remember when I got my first cell phone I was so excited that people could call me that for the first week it was plugged into the charger every time one of the bars in the battery went away. The little voice mail man would glow in happiness that someone had left a message. I would check it right away.

This didn't last for long. My first cell phone was a virgin mobile piece of crap. The first real cell phone I got was a red juke from Verizon. I felt so cool flipping the phone up to answer it or read my text messages. The voice mail man was my new friend, my first job had a way to get in touch with me, and I could text anybody I wanted without any limits. I was a bad ass.

I know a few things about the person who had the number before me. Firstly, he was male. Second, he had a lot of debt. Third, or rather three times a day, or week if I was lucky, I would get a recorded message from a debt company asking the previous number owner to call them back and square away his debt. From November 2008 to May 2009 I would get messages for this unknown man, and to top it off I kept getting calls in the middle of my classes from my job.

Every time someone leaves me a voice mail I try to guess what they will say depending on who called me. If it's one of my jobs here in Moscow it goes something like this:

"Hi Melanee this is,_____ call me back when you get the chance."

It's a polite message. However, I have this problem where my imagination kicks in and I imagine worse case scenarios. Things like
"You're fired."
"You're client just died."
"You were supposed to be at work thirty minutes ago. Where are you?"
"You made a mistake on your time sheet. I need you to come fix it."
"Your insurance ran out today. I need you to come by and bring me an updated copy."

Just the thought of these problems happening to me makes my stomach act like it's a dryer on tumble dry. And the little man on the screen? The one I see in the middle of my classes looking at me with his smug little blue face and the two bars beside him as if he's telling me, "You're gonna get it." Each time a new taunt. I worry.

My favorite messages go like this:
"Hi Melanee this is ________ I need *insert reason for call* from you. Give me a call when you have a second." To tell me what you need is to save the remaining class time for learning rather than worrying.