i absolutely love walking -in bare feet.

The first thing you should know about me-before we become friends-is that I absolutely love walking in bare feet.  I'm not exactly sure as to why, I just love it I guess.  Maybe it's the texture of cool grass or course cement that coaxes me out my socks-but then again, I've always hated socks.  Actually, this isn't exactly true.  Growing up I wore socks all of the time-wait, though never in the house.

Yep, it's settled, I've always loved bare feet, and always will.  Though, I know it's begun to take a toll on my left foot at least, but que será, será, we all live and learn.  

Of course, I can't always wander without shoes; and there are always places where I would hardly dare to-like empty allies, state parks, or county fairs.  So what do I do when it comes to places like these?  SANDALS! heck yes.  

Now, you may wonder, as to why exactly I'm explaining all of this.  I mean, what does it matter to our friendship if I wear socks or not?  Personally, I'm not so very sure either.  But I do know that this is one tendency that definitely defines me.  So, I thought that I'd just let you know.  

love

me.

Stereotyping.

I honestly cannot, can never, hide from the sociologist inside of me; that rare identity I never knew existed until I came across the course description in the BYU catalog two years ago. That weird little quirky side that can't help but analyze and contemplate every social class, group, or gathering. The people somehow thrown together, drawn to each other, inseparable, yet in spite of their perfect sameness so different as individuals they seem, --they are, rather. 

What brings these people together? 

I'm baffled a second time when I realize that stereotypes, no matter how close one may come to fulfilling them, can still be spotted on a random corner at anytime doing something completely ridiculous and out of character. Like the preppie relishing in a Star Trek re-run or the skater secretly stashing the rainbow collection of Express Polos in the back of his closet. I mean are we really what we seem to be? Are we truly what we're labeled as? NO. We're not. And I guess deep down inside, most of us definitely know that, but sometimes we forget. And most of us play to every crowd anyway...how can't we??

Blanks to spread the jam over

There's something I just love about the sound of cities and busy Provo streets. Is it the cars? The wind? The moon in her hazy glow...a honk, a shout of laughter, the smoke stack shooting steam off from campus while the Bell Tower chimes "come, come ye saints". A car door slams, breaks squeak, and the SWKT just glows. There's some kind of engine off in the distance. The air is warm, and I'm tempted to daydream until morning. This is springtime in Utah: a regular Washington summer. It's 8 months that I wait for these days: 8 months of school. And again, I'm only a week away from the BYU graduation ceremonies that often surround my birthday, or at least I was when I first wrote this--I'd like to graduate on my birthday. Today I reflect on that moment and realize how quickly summer has found me. I comforted a sudden shock with a simple weekly chart I scribbled down on some journal paper this morning-it was some sort of schedule; very basic: work, work, work, FHE, church, just the basic things; you can fill in the blanks from there. And you know, I think we really need those blanks in life, you can't plan every moment in my opinion. Where would be the room for spontaneity without blanks? The freedom to breath, dream, and live? I'm not so sure. We need the blanks to spread the jam over, or perhaps take advantage of as free moments to breath-"one hot minute" as my good friend, Camm likes to say. So I dive into summer; for that's what I like to call spring too (I can't be content with only 1 season). I live 8 months for these days, and I soak them all in-like a sponge. I love my life, and life is good.

Flat Bread

Indian food is amazing. I mean, I've known this forever now, but I secretly just want to shout it from the rooftops. That's a little crazy...so we went to India Palace tonight in celebration of Muriel's BIRTHDAY, and it really took me back to that time Cheryl and I went out to eat last summer in that one restaurant, what was it called? The one next to the 7-Eleven? They put those everywhere don't they? Man, I really miss Northgate and Meridian, holy toledo, I lived on Meridian Ave...I miss Green Lake, and sleeping on the balcony when it was super hot. Oh, but what tonight really brought me back to were those Arab dinners we made back in the day: Fatoush, Fuhl, Lamb Curry, Couscous, hummus, oh sooooo good.

I'm going to learn how to make flat bread without turning it into crackers like last time.
It's just divine you know?

And potatoes, don't get me started. There's something comforting in a potato; it just brings you home.

I miss Arabic and I miss Spanish.

Should have had the tuna: excerpts from a 2010 journal

11:08 am. I bought one of those egg, cheese and sausage bagels today; not because they're good, more out of sentiment. It's practically summer in my opinion and so that's why yesterday I cut off two pairs of holy jeans into shorts and immediately put them on. I'd like to comment that this bagel sandwich is slightly stale.

I drink Smart Water not because I think it makes me look or feel smart but because I think it's a clever bottle design. Probably an overuse of plastic, but I never was an extreme environmentalist.

I'm honored and excited to spend 12 hours this Saturday with 16 other groups of musicians at Guitars Unplugged-March 27th, $5 tickets @BYU info desk, 2 shows, on sale NOW-I once said, as a freshman in high school that I would die for the arts, and although I've certainly rearranged my priorities since then, I still save a special part of me for art. For the words, for the paint, for the notes, for the act, for the dance. I treasure it all.

There are many explanations for the ontology of man, and although I find agency to be a leading definition under that category, I wouldn't deny creativity of second place. Man's ability to create and express, to share and inspire, are is his own. Maybe in reality it's only comparable to the capacity for language in general...but all in all I love stepping into the minds of men through their art, be it whatever form.

I'm kind of sick of the sausage, egg and cheese bagel by now.
Should have had the tuna.

Aftermath: American Fiction

Aftermath: a song by American Fiction

It's about living and fighting life.  It's crazy, it's hard, it good, it's fantastic.  It's complete. 

To my father:

Thank you for showing me to revere, 

those warriors that fight for our nation;

even when they're own hearts are full of fear.

Here to my mother:

I thank you for pushing me to strive,

for things i never thought i could attain -oh no;

even while others plot and contrite. 

To my sisters:

I thank you for demanding I treat women right; 

cause so many men simply don't, 

and wonder why at night they sleep alone.

To Megan and Katherine:

You were the ones who always believed,

that dreams aren't just meant for conversation;

they need to be lived out and achieved. 

This is:

the apple of my eye

This is:

of eden's fruit 

This is:

the seeds from which i grew

This is:

what i've been through.

And to those: 

Who tried so hard to hinder my path, 

there will be no retribution no wrath; 

what's done is done there will be no aftermath.

For rhis is triumph,

of the dreams we've had!

Oh, this is triumph, 

raise your fist and stand!

For this is triumph 

the rest have over come! 

For this is triumph, 

the righteous have won!

And triumph, is what i've done.