Mm Mm GOOD

This weekend I found home in a sandwich.

For those of you who might be doubting or mocking, cease and desist. It is perfectly possible for a home to be a sandwich, and I am telling you. I experienced that this weekend.

This Saturday I ended up in Davis County, a little tired from a baby shower for my sister-in-law and a little worried from a hospital visit. And I was also STARVING. Before heading back to Provo, I decided to drop by an old favorite, a place of food and comfort I haven't been to in a while.


Can I quickly laud my great decision making? Because sometimes, it's so amazing I surprise myself. Stopping at Spanky's might have made my week. Seriously, everything seems so hopeful, so achievable, and I think it is because I kicked it off with a glorious sandwich.

Why is a Spanky's turkey sandwich, on white, with provolone cheese, lettuce, tomato, pickle, salt and pepper oil and vinegar one of my homes? Well, we go way back, me and this sammich. In fact, I think it might of been the first sandwich I ever had, and by far the most delicious. It's tradition. It's soft bread and warm smell and white chocolate macadamia cookies. It's ritual-- the ritual of putting potato chips on top and sticking the toothpick in the lid of my Fresca-filled cup. It's a sign of love and a job well done. It's something I can only get at home, and only with family. The sandwich IS family.

I can't express it. Home is many things, and for me, for this moment, it's a sandwich. This weekend, I was home. And oh boy, did it taste good.

Step Onto My Soapbox

Today, I was walking to school, dragging my feet as usual, when I suddenly looked up. The wind had started, and red orange leaves were rustling across the street in waves, spiraling, their colors glistening like scales. Time, cars, people, everything stopped as the road became covered in fall foliage. I stopped, my view obstructed by my own wind-whipped hair and the orange symphony around me, and I felt joyful. I felt completely, inexplicably happy, and I couldn't stop a giant and genuine grin from covering my face.

And this was miraculous. Because lately, I haven't felt anything. This semester has been challenging, not just because classes are hard, work is constant, and it feels impossible to be caught up, but more because I couldn't muster even an ounce of motivation for anything. I just didn't care. And the sad part is, I still don't. But at least it isn't affecting every part of my life. Before, there was no light and no end of the tunnel. There was no goal I was working toward, and life was just a long slog of endless work and apathy until I died, most likely at a young age from fluorescent light poisoning, or something equally mundane.

Luckily, this first started to change when I went to see Waiting for Superman. Aside: everyone, SEE THIS FILM NOW. Carrying on. While seeing this, I finally felt some stirring of emotion. I remembered what I was working for. I wasn't working because I had no other options, and it wasn't just because there's nothing else you can do with an English major. I'm becoming a teacher because I care about the youth of America. I care about the education system. I'm becoming a teacher because I honestly want to help students realize that they have potential, that knowledge is important, and that they are worth something. I want my students to see that laziness is not an option, and that all they need to succeed is an ounce of imagination in this creatively bankrupt world. I want them to trust themselves, to learn self-reliance, and most importantly, to have confidence. I want them to be better. I want them to do things my generation can only dream of, and to do them with grace and assurance. I am becoming a teacher because I want them to know that someone cares about their future. I won't be nice. I won't be an easy grade. But I will push my class to notice the world around them, and to want to change it.

Sorry. That got off track and rather preachy. But this is important to me. Right now I am incredibly disillusioned with the education system, not just the public school system (even though that is a main one), but also with any and all institutions. Ray Bradbury said "I don't believe in colleges and universities. I believe in libraries." Right now, I agree with him wholeheartedly.

At this point, I have one more real semester of school left. In looking back over my college career, I have had good experiences, classes I am thankful for, but I also sometimes want to cry. I feel like I was a more intelligent person when I graduated high school. Sure, my knowledge is much more specialized and in-depth on certain topics, but overall I feel like I've lost something. And even in those specialized fields, I don't care anymore. I don't know if this is my three and a half years of non-stop schooling talking, but I am tired of school. It holds no excitement, no passion, and absolutely no interest for me. If I had a choice at this point, I would drop out for a while, but with one semester left, that seems like a poor decision. But classes? Hour long increments where I feel my life force being sucked out. That's right, in this scenario, school= DEMENTORS.


I honestly feel like I would be a happier, more beneficial, and more educated person if I added up those hours and hours I am spending writing worthless papers and listening to the opinions of worthless classmates and just spent them in a library, devouring books and journals as I saw fit. Maybe after a few months of that, I would feel ready to join the ranks of academia again. After months of that, I could return to writing papers, because this time they would be fueled by passion and interest rather than deadlines and lifeless, forced theses.

For now, there's nothing left to do but stick it out for five more months. After that, I'll be fine. I'll spend four months recharging, and I'll face a classroom with vigor and enthusiasm. And I WILL endure these next few months. You know why? Because I am a good teacher. I need to be out there, practicing my craft. I need to have a purpose in life, something that the endless monotony of college has stolen from me. And I will hang on, because I can't stall. I'm going to move forward. I am going to embrace my life, and the meaning it has.

All these thoughts came at once, while I watched the leaves, then continued towards class. But now it was with renewed vigor. I focused on how awesome the Scott Pilgrim soundtrack is, especially through headphones set at full volume. I remembered that my jacket always makes me feel a little like Bob Dylan, and adds a sixties-rebellious swagger to my step. I felt the wind toss my hair, and was alive. If I can keep these things in mind, I will be OK. I can make it.

For those of you who suffered through that long, slightly ridiculous blog post, here's a treat for you, in the form of a quote.

"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the universe."
- Albert Einstein

Werewolf Bar Mitzvah! Spooky, Scary!

OCTOBER!

It's time for me to join the hipper masses and proclaim my love of Halloween. I just wish that school would sit down, take a break, and revel in the glory that is the autumn spirit (PUN!). Instead, they overload life so that I feel this month has flown by. Ah, well. Such is life.

I love Halloween--the spooky, the scary, the macabre. It all delights my naturally wuss-ish soul. I love dressing up and watching somewhat scary movies. But at my core, I am an English nerd, and so the best way for me to connect with the true mood of Halloween is to read. Surprise, surprise, right?

For the past five years or so, I've dedicated myself to reading spine-chilling works of fiction to get me in the mindset for All Hallows Eve. Last year it was World War Z, a truly addicting write-up of the zombie apocalypse. The year before that it was the works of Edgar Allen Poe, then Jekyll and Hyde, Dracula, etc.

This year, I was tempted to cheat and just re-read the first installment in The Walking Dead series (an awesome, never-ending graphic novel series that is premiering in TV format on AMC this Sunday), but in the end I decided to have integrity. And even though I won't be finished by my goal of Halloween, I am still dedicated to my choice.

I chose Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury as my autumn novel. Now please excuse me while I have a short geekfest about him.

Ray Bradbury is a genius! I always appreciated his talents in jr. high and high school, when I read The Martian Chronicles and the inevitable Fahrenheit 451. But it took a recent reading of his short story "August 2026: There Will Come Soft Rains" (found here) for me to become obsessed with his writing. The story was so well-written, so painfully beautiful it left me with chills at the end. I don't know how he was able to make me emotionally invested in a few short pages, pages that lacked an immediate human element, but he did. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why he deserves all the awards heaped upon him.

Also, I think his stance on technology has been one of my most-quoted bit o' news in the past couple of months. Long live Bradbury. And bless you, dear man.

Anyway, have an enjoyable weekend my dear friends. Find some way to celebrate that resonates. Commune with the dead, revel in childhood, and have fun. Because let's face it. We deserve it.

Jimmy Page is a Golden God

But seriously. He is. And I just thought everyone should know that.

Every time I watch this clip from It Might Get Loud, I get chills.



What a genius! Sigh.

In other music news, I finally buckled down and bought the new Miniature Tigers album, Fortress. I've loved Mini Tigers since I first saw them opening for (and completely upstaging) Bishop Allen. I found Charlie Brand and his teddy bear sweater incredibly endearing, and their album Tell it to the Volcano quickly became one of my all time favorites. ALL. TIME.



Strange music video, but I can't help but love it. And what a song! Infectious beats! Sick guitar! They are so simple but soooo good.

So far the new album is pretty ok. It's definitely different, and I'll see how I feel about that. Tell it to the Volcano had a strong central theme of getting over unrequited love, and a super Pinkerton feel that I dug. It sounds like Fortress steps away from the total stripped down Weezer-ish chords and goes for a more trippy, Sgt. Pepper feel with heavier synths and effects (not surprising, seeing how Brand cites Weezer and the Beatles as two of his influences).

Sorry for that last paragraph. It was boring, but necessary. For the .5 of you who might be interested.

The addictive sound is still there though. And as long as Brand keeps writing (and loving Lost... I already miss that show so much), I'll keep coming back.

In related Miniature Tigers news, the movie Easy A uses their song "The Wolf" in one scene. I may or may not have had a minor freak out, done a victory dance, and desperately whispered to my movie-going companions how cool it was that a band I loved had a song in the show. They did not care. In unrelated news, Easy A was a great movie. Same with The Social Network... hoo boy, was that a good flick. Well, now I'm completely off topic. If I even had one to begin with. And...

fin

The List

A few months ago, I wrote a lovely and enlightening post about my girl crushes. Well now, prompted by a viewing of Penelope and an undying belief that there should be balance in all things, I've decided to do a rundown of my favorite guys. You know, a la "The List" from Friends. Here's my list of men that make me swoon. While there are many I admire and love at various times for various reasons, these are the ones that reign supreme. Yes, I'll love them, always and forever.

-Andrew Bird

Oh boy. This man is a genius. He's an incredible musician, playing several instruments at a time, looping riffs and melodies to create a comforting blanket of sound I just want to curl up in. The fact that he's so appealing tall, nerdy, and pull off vests and scarfs with aplomb? Now that's just a bonus.

But it's hard to discuss Andrew's appeal without showing him live, as music is truly his element and where he shines.



Sigh. Also, for more proof of his talents, check out the blog he did for the New York Times. Is there anything Andrew Bird can't do? I think not.

-James McAvoy

Another man who is supremely talented in his field. What can I say, girls only like guys that have good skills. And while I thought he was cute as Mr. Tumnus (I'm not too proud to admit it), it took one viewing of his Macbeth for me to be completely, utterly, over-the-moon in love with him. Seriously, I have never seen Shakespeare done better. Yeah that's right, EAT IT BRANAGH.

But I digress. Great actor, Scottish, can perform pretty much any kind of role possible (Shakespeare, action, fantasy, romantic comedy, intense war drama). How can I resist?


And just because I think I'm legally obliged to mention this whenever I talk about James McAvoy, remember that time I saw him in three days of rain? And I met him after? And had a conversation? That might have been the single greatest moment of my life.

-Lee Pace

Two words: Pie Maker.


That role alone, plus seeing him in The Fall and his original Bryan Fuller show Wonderfalls, have made me a mega-fan. Beware of watching Pushing Daises with me, because there is a high probability of fangirl-ishness going on. He's just adorable. A tall, Converse wearing, delightfully bashful fellow who makes me pie? Looks and cooks? Let's just say, I love food, I love Lee, and that's all you need to know.

ZAPTACULAR!

Oh my ... oh MY ... there are no words.

"Drink of the Miracle Sauce. Rehealthify yourself."

You'll thank me later, I guarantee it.

MILKQUARIOUS from +JOE HURSLEY+ on Vimeo.

Why, merciful heavens, WHY?

So tonight, I saw The Last Airbender.

There are no words to describe the pain and devastation the entire movie experience caused. I was reduced to a facepalming seatwarmer, waiting for death to come with it's sweet, sweet deliverance.

It was BY FAR the worst movie I've ever seen. Wolverine? Better. Avatar? Better. Benchwarmers? Far better. Yes, I just said that a Rob Schneider movie was superior to this drivel. That's how serious I am.

Why is M. Night allowed to write/produce/direct movies? I propose that this is the breaking point. From this moment on, let us unite together in a sacred pact: don't support, don't encourage, and for heavens sake DON'T BELIEVE in Shyamalan. He is dead to me now. Always and forever.