The Great Outdoors

I decided to keep a Journal for my adventures this past weekend. If you want a closer look at the pictures, click on them.

Enjoy!

July 2, 2011

7:30

Jeanine’s in town this weekend. She decided to invite her in-laws and the Holladay family up for a camping trip in American Fork Canyon. Naturally, an invitation was extended to me as well.


Shots taken while coming out of American Fork Canyon. Hurray for me finally figuring out photography water settings. Pretty effects, no?


The ride up here last night was filled with such intoxicating alpine smells and visions splendor that I more than once lifted up the visor on my helmet to howl at the sun kissed rocks in the canyon. I must have sounded like a freakin’ lunatic.

The plan today is to descend the canyon and head south to Goblin Valley. I have a craving for some alone time, and I suspect I will succeed in getting it. On to the red rock!

13:30

I’ve made it to Price, UT—so I’m more than halfway. My arms are burnt to a bloody crisp. I know I should probably put some lotion on, but I stupidly left my supply inside my tied luggage.

The ride has been beautiful, if not somewhat uncomfortable. Such is life in the saddle, I guess. The sky and rock combinations have been very distracting: everything here looks like Maynard Dixon Painting wanting to break free.


Somewhere between Price and Goblin I encountered what used to be a gas station with a bunch of llamas in front of it. It was too funny to miss getting a couple of shots. Aren't those expressions priceless?

16:00

I’ve touched down in Goblin. It’s hotter than hell. I’ve spent the last hour looking for a way to sneak into the park. No such luck. Looks like I’ll have to pay the $7 to get inside.


The "Slot" I stayed in.

Despite this monetary setback, my surroundings are incredible. I parked the bike in a quasi-slot canyon, and the silence and shade are doing wonders for me. My arms are still bacon strips, but the fluorescent blue sky and red rock are magnificent. I hope to camp in this slot later tonight.

18:00

Life works out. I came into the park and there was no ranger at the entrance. Looks like I’ll get the shots I wanted for free. Sweet.









It’s weird seeing the “goblins.” They look slightly smaller than I remember them being. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been here for five or six years, and Jaime and Kami aren’t here to tell me tall tales and angsty stories to make the surroundings magically come to life and swallow me whole.

July 3, 2011

Sometime late night/early morning…

I waited out the sunset in Goblin Valley, and I got some pretty amazing shots. Then I came back to the “campsite,” and that’s when all the trouble began. (I thought it was a little too convenient that the perfect site, with the perfect pile of free wood, and the perfect view was available without any hassle at all.)




Pretty sweet set up, right?

I built a fire, started listening to some Brandi Carlile, and wrote a letter to Jaime (the kind I always used to write her when we were living together—chalk full of silliness, secrets and vows of friendship). It was getting kind of late—about 11:00—and I thought it was time for me to hit the sack.



As I started walking away from the dying fire, I heard what could only be described as the sound of an insanely rabid cricket beast thingy. Then the logical thought occurred to me, “That sounds a bit like a rattle snake. [Pause] Nah!” I grabbed a stick from the fire and walked over to my air mattress, about twenty yards away. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong, so I forgot about it.


The stick that saved my life.

A few minutes later, I set up my camera to attempt some star trails before I went to bed (this task was not as successful as I might have hoped). I turned out all the lights, and then I heard the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard in my life coming from a foot away. It was made very clear to me by my sense of self preservation that I was not dealing with a beast cricket after all. There was in fact a rattle snake slithering underneath my tripod, when I turned on my headlamp. Before he could properly coil, I grabbed the fire stick from the ground and aimed for his neck. I hit him as hard as I possibly could, and then I crushed his head for good measure.


"George" didn't make it.

Looks as though I’ll not be getting much sleep tonight. I really need to buy a tent.

12:30

I was correct in my prediction: I didn’t get much sleep last night. Between the burnt purple arms, the balmy warmth and the warranted dread of death by snake, I maybe got three hours of sleep.

I was then politely awoken by five hungry ravens this morning at approximately 5:30. They were busy picking off the bats that were flying directly above my head. It was a bizarre scene: bugs flying around, bats chasing them, and then ravens chasing the bats. Talk about observing the great circle of life first hand.


The sunrise as I left Goblin.

I made it to Capitol Reef a few hours later, and let me just say now, “What a freakin’ disappointment.” The ride from Goblin to the park was prettier than the park. Oh well.




The top two were in the middle of nowhere. The last is Capitol Reef.

It’s been a pretty eventful weekend, so I guess I can’t really be all that disappointed. Besides, there are many more adventures to be had before this summer is done. I'm so lucky to live in Utah!

Parting Clouds

1. First, please forgive my long overdue post. I’ve been suffering from what could only be described as a “life block.” Things are looking up, though. I’m not sure what has changed exactly (not the situation…that’s for sure), but I think having good people gently urge me to reengage with my existence has certainly helped (Jaime, Seth, Kira, Sarah, Sara Lyn & Sister King…I love you all).

2. I’ve recently taken up photography (see the pics above and below). It’s been fantastic. I’ve even managed to procure a pretty cool granola for a teacher. Poor thing (born in ’87) thinks the ‘60s were the best decade of the last century. Good decade for music, but bless her heart.







3. Speaking of the last century, I’ve been listening to a lot of '80s music as of late. I caught the U2 concert a month ago, and it sparked a frenzied return to all things related to the decade of my birth.

Thankfully, I’m not the only one. Jaime’s been in town for the summer, so I’ve had some great opportunities to really unabashedly praise and enjoy my favorites.

One song in particular has taken over. In fact, it was even recently covered by the beautiful Brandi Carlile and released on her live album this past April. She described what inspired the cover:

“Recently I was sitting around in the privacy of own home [. . .] learning “Eternal Flame.” I’m not afraid to admit it. I was learning it because I thought it was funny. I was also learning “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” And while I was having this guilty pleasure ‘80s reprise moment, I was reintroduced to a song that sort of broke my heart the first time I heard it without any instrumentation: “Forever Young.”


Brandi's Version


The Original by Alphaville

Lyrics:
Let us dance in style, let us dance for a while
Heaven can wait we're only watching the skies
Hoping for the best but expecting the worst
Are they gonna drop the bomb or not?

Let us die young or let us live forever
We don't have the power but we never say never
Sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip
The music's for a sad man

Can you imagine when this race is won
Turn our golden faces into the sun
But praising our leaders we're getting in tune
The music's played by a madman

Forever young, I want to be forever young
Do you really want to live forever?
Forever, or never

Forever young, I want to be forever young
Do you really want to live forever?
Forever young

Some of us are like water and some are like the heat
Some are a melody and some are the beat
Sooner or later we’ll will be gone
Why don't we stay young?

But it's so hard to get old without a cause
I don't want to perish like a fading horse
Youth are like diamonds in the sun
And diamonds are forever

So many adventures could happen in a day
So many songs we forgotten to play
So many dreams are swinging out of the blue
If we let them come true

Forever young, I want to be forever young
Do you really want to live forever?
Forever, or never

Forever young, I want to be forever young
Do you really want to live forever?
Forever, or never

Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever?


Does anyone have any incite on why this song affects me so?

4. Three more weeks and I’m going to Canada! For the past few years I’ve been planning a canoeing trip to the Bowron in northeastern BC. Looks like it’s finally gonna happen. Tickets are purchased, I have almost all of my gear, and I am so stoked!

5. I’ve written five new songs in the past two months. Impressive, no? Misery is a muse. Also, I’m trying to find a way to put samples up for anyone who’s interested, so stay tuned.

A Grief Observed

It’s been one week since I found out I didn’t get into the Southern Studies Ph. D. program at
UARK (University of Arkansas).

I think I’m ready to discuss it, now.

Day 1
It was late in the afternoon, when I received my rejection letter. I was on the phone with my sister, lamenting that I hadn’t yet received anything from the school. She tried to comfort me with words of false hope. “You may not get an acceptance letter, but you’ll definitely be an alternate.” Then I opened my email, while still talking to her, and I read this:

Later that night, I stared at my bedroom ceiling and prayed to understand.

I felt nothing but cold silence.

Day 2
I came into work the next morning, and my boss decided he was going to yell at me for something that hurt his exorbitantly large ego. After I escaped from his office, a chilling thought came into my head: “There is no escape for you, now. You are just like everybody else: stuck in a job that will slowly dull your senses and crush you ability to dream.”

Tears streamed down my face. I ran to the office bathroom, and turned the faucet on to muffle my sobs.

Day 3
I wasted this entire day. I didn’t do one lick of homework for my Spanish class. After all, what was the point of Spanish, now?

I then decided to get a little crazy with my credit card. I went to eBay and bought the following list of items:

1. IPod Touch (64gb)
2. An Optimus Nova+ (a white fuel backpacking stove)
3. Macbook hard drive upgrade and Ram
4. Keen Hiking Sandals

The IPod was actually a compromise. What I really wanted was an IPhone, but I couldn’t justify paying $100 a month for an effing phone. Next was the stove. I’ve wanted one of these for three years. You can use any fuel…ANY FUEL…with this stove. Then there was the ram and hard drive upgrade. I needed those in order to upgrade my OS (my computer was working on an OS from ’06). Lastly, the sandals. Let’s face it. Keen are kind of like a JEEP: they look pretty, they’re overpriced, and you can get them dirty.

Like I always say, “Nothing dulls the brutal ache of failure like blowing a bunch of carefully saved cash.”

Day 4
I sang “I Stand All Amazed” for the Easter program. It was pretty cool.

I took a four hour nap.

The iceberg started to thaw in my heart.

Day 5
A relapse of terror and anger caused an afternoon whine fest. I felt a profound conviction that I had somehow been robbed by having faith in my dreams and faith in God. What bothered me most was I had gone emotionally bankrupt betting on the one thing that you shouldn’t be afraid to bet on: yourself.

Day 6
With an upgraded Macbook and a spanking new IPod, I found a scripture and conference app made by the church. I started reading every talk given by Jeffrey R. Holland in the last 5 years.

Here are my favorites:
“Broken Things to Mend” April 2006
“The Only True God and Jesus” October 2007
“The Ministry of Angels” October 2008
“None Were with Him” April 2009
“Safety for the Soul” October 2009
“Place No More for the Enemy of My Soul” April 2010

The most important quote came from the first talk:

“I speak to those who are facing personal trials and family struggles, those who endure conflicts fought in the lonely foxholes of the heart, those trying to hold back floodwaters of despair that sometimes wash over us like a tsunami of the soul. I wish to speak particularly to you who feel your lives are broken, seemingly beyond repair.
To all such I offer the surest and sweetest remedy that I know. It is found in the clarion call the Savior of the world Himself gave. He said it in the beginning of His ministry, and He said it in the end. He said it to believers, and He said it to those who were not so sure. He said to everyone, whatever their personal problems might be:
‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
‘Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.’”

Day 7
Life resumes.

I began studying for finals. I also began to prepare for two trips to Canada. I bought my tickets, and began collecting the proper gear (another use for my soon to arrive white fuel stove). I even signed up for a university taught GRE prep course.

I don’t know what’s going to happen to me now, but I’m compelled by my will to keep fighting and keep seeking after hope.

Faith may be the one thing I get out of this whole copious mess of paper cuts and vinegar.

The Tragic Phantom

I really like this Antonio Banderas version. Who doesn't like a Phantom with a Spanish accent?



The original. Who can knock it?

I thought about including a Gerard Butler version, but it made my ears bleed.


I was twelve when I first read Gaston Leroux’s The Phantom of the Opera. I’ve been thinking a lot about this story lately, and I decided to read it again. My impression of it remains the same. For me, the Phantom was always the misunderstood hero of the story. Born deformed, shunned by society, captured by a traveling circus to be a freak show performer: the Phantom had an unforgivable childhood. When he grows older, he becomes a contractor for an opera house in France. There, he secretly builds himself a home in the foundations of the structure, where he lives for many lonely years.

One day, a beautiful chorus girl named Christine comes to work at the opera house. The Phantom is immediately smitten. He sees what no one else does, an incredible talent in the rough. So he begins to sneak to Christine’s dressing room under the guise of the “Angel of Music,” a completely fictitious ghostly apparition, so that he can teach her to sing. Christine, a saintly, beautiful twit, accepts this charade for two reasons. First, before he died, her father told her the story of the “Angel of Music,” a fantastical creature who teaches little girls how to sing; and since Christine’s the sort of person who still believes in fairytales, she’s convinced that she is literally being taught how to sing by this “Angel.” Secondly, Christine finds herself attracted to the Phantom and his musical genius.

For a time, the tutelage of Christine comes along grandly. Then, on the night of the old manager’s retirement, Christine performs and surprises everyone with her newly honed talent. Raoul , a childhood friend of Christine’s, sees her perform, and his affections are renewed.

Naturally and understandably, the Phantom becomes jealous and angry with this new competition. Not so understandably, he decides to abduct Christine, and he takes her to his underground home. Once there, she pulls the mask from his face, and she sees his true appearance. He is heartbroken and terrified that she will leave. He tries to keep her, but after two weeks, he realizes he can’t cage her. So the he lets her go with the promise she will wear his ring.

Once released, Christine goes to Raoul and they decide to run away together. However, Christine feels sorry for the Phantom, and she decides she will sing for him once more. The Phantom overhears their plans, and he is furious. He captures Raoul and another character called the Persian, and he locks them up. When Christine comes to the Phantom, he threatens to destroy the opera house if she does not agree to marry him. In order to save everyone, Christine makes the promise; then she kisses the Phantom. This gesture of kindness overwhelms him. He admits he has never been kissed before, not even by his own mother. He is ultimately softened. The Phantom then releases Christine and Raoul, and the story ends with the Phantom dying alone.

I imagine most people haven’t read this version of the story, which reads more like a less tragic version of The Hunchback or even Frankenstein. Nevertheless, I think it’s important to recognize the differences between this and the recent stage and film versions. In the novel, the Phantom is a dynamic character: he’s an incredibly dark creature, but he secures redemption by choosing to sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of another. Perhaps that is why I am so deeply disappointed with the musical. Its Phantom is a seducer, and he never learns his lesson. So while the music is beautiful, I think Gollum just about sums up my feelings on the Andrew Lloyd Webber adaptation: “Stupid fat hobbit. You ruins it!”

Inside the Actor's Studio with Rebekah [Insert Last Name]

While I await news from the University of Arkansas-Fayetteville (I spent most of December and January preparing materials for my application), I've watched a lot of Inside the Actor's Studio with James Lipton (Heaven bless You-tube. PS Watch the new Colin Firth episode). I like this show, because it takes a high brow approach to what is essentially a low brow interest: movie stars telling all. People Magazine eat your heart out!

In any case, at the end of every episode, Mr. Lipton asks his guests a series of questions. The questionnaire, as we are reminded every episode, was the brainchild of French television personality Bernard Pivot. In any case, I thought it might be fun to answer it.

What is your favorite word? Ethereal

What is your least favorite word? Tintinnabulation (tinkling)

What turns you on? Intelligence

What turns you off? Obvious, Stinking Mendacity

What sound or noise do you love? The sound of cicadas at dusk.

Which sound or noise do you hate? I adamantly dislike any erratic, grating, or jarring sound: i.e. clinking dishes, the sound of chewing/slurping, a jack hammer, sneezing, whispering during a lecture/meeting (especially, one I’m conducting), and loud explosions of any kind.

What’s your favorite curse word? (This one’s incredibly salty, so if you’d like to skip it, PLEASE do).

I like any combination or variation of the word “shit”, although I find I’m quite partial to “shite” (the UK variant) and “shiza/scheiße” (the German variant). “Oh, sweet shit in a bucket,” “shit for brains,” “great hurling shit balls,” “[he/ she] shit bricks,” “[he/she] is bat shit crazy,” and “I woke up feeling like a parrot shat in my mouth” are all favorites, though rarely, if ever, used by me.

What profession would you like to have? Professor

What profession would you not like? I would hate to be a door-to-door vacuum salesman or a personal assistant to a corporate banker/CEO.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? “See. I told you it was gonna be hard; but you insisted, and I obliged.”

The Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Ten

I know I’m a complete goober for not writing these past two months, but seeing as it’s the end of the year, I think it only fitting that I write a “Best of” list.

Top 10 (Quasi-chronological) Memorable Experiences of 2010

1. This past January, on my way home from the Mangy Moose Bar in Jackson, Wyoming, I saw my very first real life, in the flesh, bona fide moose. Well, actually it was two moose: a mommy and a baby. Also, when I was in Canada, this September, I saw an adolescent buck moose in a field. So, essentially, I saw the whole “family.” I am one lucky ducky.

2. This June, I drove 1,000 miles on my motorcycle to the Telluride Bluegrass Festival. I saw and met amazing artist, and I learned that Bluegrass Hippies really are the most gracious and generous bunch you’re ever likely to meet.

3. Most of the summer was spent writing my Master’s thesis. Then, this August, I successfully defended it.

4. I survived my first semester of Spanish, this fall (I know that doesn’t sound like much to the rest of you, but languages might as well be advanced O-chem to me).

5.I saw the Ice Fields, in Alberta Canada. I just have to say this: they are the most beautiful natural edifices I have ever seen (And that’s saying a lot, considering I’ve been to Yosemite, Yellowstone, Glacier, Teton, Redwood, Reiner, Zion, Bahia Honda, Arches, and Bryce Canyon US National Parks). Nothing I’ve seen in North America, thus far, has impressed me as much.

6.This November, I finally visited the Ozarks. They are beautiful!

7.My “bunny experiment” was a complete success! My does dropped nine healthy baby bunnies this Thanksgiving.

8.A few weeks ago, I graduated with my Masters.

9.Two Saturdays ago, I was licensed to carry police grade pepper spray (OC spray). That’s 18% capsaicin. Let me give you some idea about how hot that is. A bell pepper is rated 0 on the Scoville scale. A Cayenne Pepper is rated 30,000. Pure capsaicin is rated 16,000,000. In order to get a license, they spray the OC directly into your eyes, and then force you to perform tasks. I’ve included a video for your amusement. My sister has seen it at least five times, and she thought it was hysterical.

10. Favorite Five Films: Winter’s Bone, Hereafter, The King’s Speech, Easy A, Inception

Everything Has a Price

Eight years ago, I walked into my favorite English professor’s office and said with more enthusiasm than conviction: “Sir, I want your job! What will it take?”

At the time, I was getting a “B-” in his class; so he could just as easily have belittled me straight out of the room. Nevertheless, he kindly, but honestly stated what it would take. He gave me this list.

1. Acquire a working knowledge of a classic language.
2. Achieve acceptable GRE Scores.
3. Attain a stellar GPA.
4. Maintain an inexhaustible love for reading and writing.
5. Accept the unavoidable 6-8 more years of school after the BA.

After he gave me this helpful but seemingly insurmountable inventory of requisites, he expressed that he was less than wholeheartedly excited about my chances. Who could blame him, really? At the time, my GPA was in the toilet. I didn’t have a language. I was incredibly intimidated by the GRE and thought there was no way I could take it. And as much as I loved to read, my writing was in dire need of a coach.

Flash forward. I am now finished with my BA and MA. And after years of working on the list, I feel much better about numbers three, four, and five. Nevertheless, these past few months, dealing with numbers one and two, have been particularly heinous exercises in self-torture.

I hate Spanish.
I hate studying for the GRE.
I hate it when I can’t find my keys when I’m already 5 minutes late to work.


I wish the golden nuggets of knowledge in these areas would be given to me at the same speed everything else is.


In any case, I take my GRE on Tuesday. Pray for me my loved ones. Pray for me in my foolish aspirations.

(Like all things involving ambition, I must pay the high price to visit those heavenly stars.)