Metalic Gold Hair

I was thinking about the increasing awareness of body image in younger and younger girls. I tried to think back to see if I had had any insecurities about my looks at a young age. I was very pleased with my body, but I read in fairy tales about beautiful women that had hair as if it were spun from pure gold. My hair was already a golden hue, and it was shiny, but I wanted my hair to have a metalic sheen. At Christmas time, I would enviously look at the tiny metalic fringe of the tinsel on our decorations. I would steal the tinsel and wrap it around my head in a spiral and pretend that it was my real hair. I thought that having hair that was made of pure gold would give me money, too, as every time that I would get a haircut, I could sell my hair for a profit.

I also wanted a bowl haircut because I had seen a couple of girls with short hair and it looked so pretty. If my hair was also made of gold, how pretty would it be to have a gold-encrusted bowl haircut! I would be the prettiest girl in town, and everyone would marvel at my hair and how it shone, not like real hair, but like a metallic masterpiece.

I obsessed over this for a while, but by the time I reached the second grade, I came to the realization that my hair would never be metallic and that no one in the whole world had metallic hair. I began to appreciate hair with natural shine, and today it seems silly that I ever thought that I would someday have metallic gold hair. Now my hair is golden in color and even more beautiful than the tinsel on the trees. (And more natural!)

Sewing

I am finally finishing a shirt that I had been working on in the past. About a year ago, I finished the shirt and went to iron it, and burned a hole in the collar. I about have the collar back on, and I will actually be done with one project. I actually had a day off work and got snowed in...

Stuck in the Snow

Yesterday I was driving home from work, and the ice was packed in the shape of wheel ruts that were crooked. I lost control of the car (going at a speedy 25 mph), and slid directly into a snow bank on the side of the road. Before I could call someone on my cell phone, a family stopped to help and pushed my car out of the snow. This just goes to show that there are nice people out there, after all, and a lot of them are strangers.

I Would Like to Thank my Fans...

I would like to thank everyone who reads this blog--my parents, mostly, and my siblings. If you are new to this blog--welcome!

Surviving without Microsoft Word

During the holidays, I am surviving on a computer without a word processor of any type. My father does not think word processors are important, and Microsoft Word is the last thing to go on any one of his new computers. Being a person who writes often, this baffles me, but it won't do much harm, considering I am going to be working a lot during my two-week Christmas break. Who needs a word processor, anyway?

Christmas

When Christmas season starts, people are really nice, and Christmas music starts playing, and everyone is excited for the first snow to fall. People put names on tree ornaments and buy presents for needy families. By the time the twenty-second rolls around, people are practically driving with their middle fingers out the window and running over old ladies in order to get a certain item in a toy store. The "Spirit of Christmas" only lasts from December 1 through December 20. The rest of the month is dog-eat-dog.

Selling Plasma

I know this sounds like a stereotypical college student, but I sell plasma for a living. (until I get a real job, which is coming soon.) I decided to write about my first time selling plasma. I had to pee in a cup, and I fumbled and dropped the cup in the toilet, so I had to ask for a new one. Then, when I had my physical, the guy accidentally told me to take off my pants and not my shirt before putting on a smock for a short physical. I realized the mistake, then changed for the physical. I was a little surprised (but not really) that the "physical" was mostly checking different parts of my body for tract marks. The light at the end of the tunnel was getting a needle stuck in my arm.

After the plasma jug started filling up, I suddenly got naseous. I started to lose control of my eyes, and while they were rolling around in my head, I saw some man who worked there and said, "Hey, sir, I'm feeling a little light-headed. He took one look at me and called to another empoyee in an urgent voice. She came quickly with some juice for me to sip on, and both of the workers held a garbage can for me to dry-heave into. Afterwards, I felt fine, and I've donated plasma and never felt sick since.

Hair Dye Parties

Today, my roommates and I had a hair dying party. We do this every once in a while, and take turns dying each other's hair and washing the dye out. I went platinum blonde this time.

Surviving a Shell-Shocking Experience: Wayne Cooper’s Battles in World War II

I wrote the following about a man in my community, a World War II veteran upon interviewing him about his experiences in Germany. After he died, I gave copies to his family members who had never thought to inquire him about his experiences in World War II.

*****

Wayne Cooper was married with three children when he was drafted into World War II. The tail end of the war was approaching and the younger fathers were beginning to be drafted. From Idaho, Wayne was taken to Camp Roberts in Salt Lake City in September 1944. In March, Wayne had trained for the war and was taken to Mead, Maryland where he rode the Queen Mary to England. The first day at the battlefield, Wayne was placed in a group of 225 men. By the time Wayne went to bed, 125 men, including himself, remained.

The next battle was across the Rhine River in Germany. The Germans were on a hill throwing hand-grenades at the Americans who just crossed the Rhine River. Wayne said that they just had to pick up the grenades and throw them back, hoping they didn’t get their arms blown off. They captured five German Prisoners of War. Since Wayne had been out the longest (that didn’t take long with the rate casualties were going), he was appointed to take the prisoners to the boat on the Rhine River. He did not take his hand off his gun the whole time. He watched the prisoners like a hawk. That was the first of Wayne’s battles in Germany.

In most of the battles Wayne fought, he was the person in front driving the tank. He could see everything and did not like most of what he saw. One particular battle he was on foot, fighting beside a newly drafted boy of eighteen. The Germans shot a tree beside him and the impact from the explosion also blew up the boy’s leg. A few men carried him off to the ambulance and Wayne carried his leg. A couple of years later the boy sent Wayne a picture of himself in a wheelchair with only a stump of a leg. He had not been on the battlefield but a few hours and he had lost his leg.

As much of a tragedy as World War II was, Wayne still has pleasant memories of the war. Each soldier would receive a certain number of C rations and a certain number of K rations. C rations were heated cans of food and K rations were dry rations. K rations were candy bars and cigarettes. Wayne was not a smoker, so he traded his cigarettes for things he wanted. The soldiers who smoked would pay or trade almost anything for a cigarette. Wayne traded his cigarettes mainly for money and chocolate candy bars. In turn he traded his chocolate candy bars with the German families for eggs. Chocolate candy bars were a rare luxury for families all over the world during World War II. The German mothers were more than happy to give Wayne a few eggs for his candy. In the morning Wayne Cooper could have eggs for breakfast while the smokers watched and suffered. “It was really nice to have eggs in the morning,” Wayne said. “It was almost like being home.”

One night before a battle, the soldiers needed a place to sleep. The only place available was a windmill where they made flour. The next morning everyone was white and no one could recognize anybody.

At the end of the war, there was a rumor that the war was going to end, so everybody waited to hear about it except three soldiers who went to fight. A half an hour later, the war ended and a truce was declared. If the three soldiers had waited a half-hour longer, they would have lived.

On the way home, Wayne saw the concentration camps. There were a few people who were severely starved at the end of the war who could not be saved. They were lying on beds, covered with sheets. It broke Wayne’s heart to see the Jews who were covered so he could see their ribs and how skinny they were. The next day they all died. Wayne continued his journey to New York. The Statue of Liberty brought everyone to tears, including Wayne himself. Wayne Cooper had learned something very important from the war. “Freedom is expensive,” he said, wiping his eyes.

I am Legend

Yesterday I went to the midnight showing of I am Legend. I was amazed at Will Smith's acting ability. He was able to show a wide range of emotions while acting alone on set for most of the movie. I really hope that Will Smith gets some recognition for this part because overall it was not the greatest movie. The plot was interesting enough, but not great, and the people and animals affected by the roque virus looked computerized. I am not a jumpy person, but I definitely jumped in my seat a couple of times.

Why Religion Classes are a Bad Idea

Brigham Young University is a wonderful university that offers a variety of religion classes taught by professors of various departments. This is a wonderful opportunity for students to learn a variety of different ways to look at religion. For example, if your religion professor is also a professor of physics, then you will get test questions that look like this:

In Daniel 2:34, King Nebuchadnezzar dreamed a dream in which a stone which was cut without hands smote an image of gold, silver, brass, and clay. Suppose that this stone had to roll down a hill in order to reach the image that it must smite. Now suppose that this stone which was cut without hands was a perfectly round sphere weighing exactly 807.85 kilograms, and it started rolling down a hill that is a frictionless surface of a 0.15 gradient and there is a 25 mph wind blowing the opposite direction. Suppose that the stone started rolling down this 10 kilometer hill at precisely 10:46 p.m. What time will the stone, which was cut without hands, reach the bottom of the hill in order to smite the gold, silver, brass, and clay image in King Nebuchadnezzar’s dream?

Questions like these add richness to gospel concepts and allow students to contemplate the deeper meaning of the Old Testament. I cannot count the number of times that I was reading this passage of scripture and wondered just how long it did take for the stone which was cut without hands to smite the image of silver, gold, brass, and clay. Maybe the answer will be revealed to me in the afterlife. If only.

FYI

I just realized that many people are not familiar with the show Blue's Clues. Steve is a man in his early twenties who has a dog named Blue and other helpful characters made of felt that help him find clues about what Blue wants to do. Blue leaves clues around the house that are little blue pawprints over an item that gives Steve a clue. Steve lives alone in a two-dimentional house that seems to be made of construction paper. (I didn't want to say that he lived in a cardboard house; that would sound pathetic, but even so, it is a very colorful, pretty cardboard house.)

The Cast

Magenta is another dog that sometimes comes over to play with Blue and Steve. Shovel and Pail live in the backyard and help Steve dig in the sand box. Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper live in the kitchen and have a child named Paprika. They season Steve's food and help him find pawprints that are left in the kitchen. Steve speaks to himself, narrating his actions while a child's voice speaks from nowhere, helping him find Blue's pawprints. Strangely, Blue never gets punished for leaving pawprints around the house, but she actually gets rewarded when Steve figures out what she wants by drawing the clues in his Handy Dandy Notebook. Steve then has to sit in his Thinking Chair because he has trouble thinking anywhere else in the house. The child who speaks from nowhere helps him figure out the clues.

Steve's favorite time of the day is mail time. He sings a jingle every time the mail comes, and always politely thanks Mailbox for bringing the mail to him. Mailbox is a character that cranks in on a metal crank that strangely makes no noise. A male chorus in the background sings "mail time, mail time, mail time!" and Mailbox makes his grand entrance, wearing a white smile of pure construction paper, or felt, or whatever it is. Steve reaches out his hand in a grand gesture and a letter pops out, flies toward the screen and opens into a video of children telling Steve what they are doing, for example, "Hey, Steve, we are building a snowman!" Steve says that he happens to be doing the same thing; what a coincidence! (There are a lot of coincidences in this show.)

The saddest part of Blue's Clues is the So Long Song. Steve sings so long to everyone and the camera pans out, leaving the felt creatures and happy cardboard house completely out of view.

Joe is now growing on me, but Steve will live in my memory forever.

In Case You Were Washing Dishes...

Dishwashing is an arduous task involving various tools. Aparatus number one is the srubbie brush. This is an all-purpose tool that should be used with caution, especially if it has not been washed previous to the next usage. First, take the srubbie brush and turn on scalding water insert the brush into the running stream of water and move your hand back and forth. Various old chunks of food will fall from the scrubbie brush into the sink, unless they are stuck. If this is the case, insert your forefinger between the brisles and fleck off the non-descript food items. When the scrubbie brush is clean, you may begin the task of scrubbing the plate. Put the brush part down on the surface and move the apparatus back and forth on the stuck-on food. Do this under warm running water if situation demands. When the surface of the plate is smooth, wrinse it under water and insert the plate in between the pegs of the diswasher. Repeat.

Fishing With Bait

Dancing is like fishing. Some people are fisherpersons, and some people are dancers. I like fly fishing. I used to hate dances, but they’re growing on me, once I saw the practical applications. You choose your bait, putting on an outfit in the hopes of "catching" someone. If you don't "catch" anyone, you blame it on the outfit. "Oh, maybe I shoud have worn the pink dress with the ruffles." Likewise, if you don't catch a fish, you blame it on the bait. "Oh, I should have casted the green one with the fuzzy wings." The only thing is, you can't eat your "catch" for dinner like you can eat your trout. You can't even take him home and mount him over your fireplace. That's what men could be useful for, taxedermy. I could have a hot guy stuffed and mounted, and I'd be happy for years.

My friend, Monica, took me to the school Valentine's dance in eighth grade. I immediately made an Entrance, jutting my pelvis to the music. Monica elbowed me. "Stop, you're scaring the boys away!" she wispered vehemently. Of course this was my first dance, and I was familiar with the tradition that, on a person's first fishing trip, there is a definite Teacher and a Student. I was the Student. Monica was going to help me reel in a good 'un. Many dances later, I hadn't even caught a sucker.

Then Monica resorted to reeling in one for me, another first-time fishing experience. When a fisherperson fishes for the first time, they usually don't catch anything, so you have to help them out a little bit. First you get a fish hooked on the line, then you give the pole to the new fisherperson. They get really excited: "I caught one! I caught one!" only you don't tell them that you did it for them.

Monica was less discreet. "Hey, wanna dance with my friend?" she said not a few times before many guys rejected me to my face. Then she got smart. Ryan was afraid of Monica, and she knew it. She walked up behind him, gripping his shoulder. "Will you dance with her?!" she said in a nasty tone, pulling him and me together. The whole time, Ryan and I tried to stay as far apart as possible. I touched my fingertips to the fleshy part between his collar bone and his shoulder, and he touched his fingertips to my waist. We both tilted our heads away from each other and avoided all forms of eye contact. We just stood there the whole time, and Monica hovered by us, re-positioning my hands on his shoulders and repremanding me. "You at least have to touch each other," she would say. I finished the dance, threw him back in the stream, and went back to fly fishing.

Blue's Clue

“Can you help me find a clue?” his face close to the TV screen, pleading.

“Yes,” I thought, practically drooling. “I’ll do anything. Help you find a clue… Run away with you.”

Blushing, I glanced down at Patrick. He was looking as intently at the screen as I was before I broke my trance. Stupid me. I was paranoid enough to think that this young, innocent boy would know the true nature of my obsession with “Blue’s Clues.”

I looked back at the television screen. “We need our Handy-Dandy…Notebook…right!” said Steve, pulling the Notebook out of his pocket. His eyebrows furrowed in pure concentration as he drew the last clue. A man’s always sexy when he’s deep in concentration. I knew what would happen next… He would go to his Thinking Chair and figure out the clues. But this time it would be different--

I would help him figure it all out. That Thinking Chair was big enough for the two of us. Only I’d have to overlap him just a little and put my leg over his… Then I’d put my hand on his soft, boyish cheek and turn his face towards mine. I’d give him that same pleading look that he always gave me when he asked me to help him find a clue. Only I’d be the clue this time. Let him figure me out. If he was accepting, he’d slowly bring his head towards mine and brush my lips with his, a soft exploration of what I had to offer. I’d return the gesture with gusto. A few more kisses and I’d take the invitation to unbutton a few buttons on his green striped shirt, exposing the manly chest hair that he so carefully concealed from millions of innocent children who watch his show every day.

Suddenly, Steve didn’t look so innocent anymore. He wasn’t that same guy that sang mindless tunes about his ecstatically frenzied happiness to live alone with his dog. He needed someone. He needed me.

Steve got up from his Thinking Chair with a new look on his face, or maybe it was just my imagination. He began to sing the “So-Long Song,” and I was heartbroken. How could he do this to me? It was like nothing ever happened. Of course nothing had ever happened, but it seemed so real…

I went upstairs to put Patrick to bed. He was a surprisingly good kid and always went to bed when I told him to. I went back downstairs to do my homework, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Steve. What did he do in his spare time? In real life? I wanted to send him a letter on his show. He would sing that special song that he sang every time the mail came and then he would open the card, exposing the same video-recording-square-type-thing that he always got in the mail. It would be a video of me, wearing a slinky black dress.

“Hi, Steve,” I would say in a raspy voice. “I’ve been watching your show for some time now, and I think you’re sexy.” Okay. My fantasy was already sounding lame, but it was fun to think of how the parent viewers would respond to this had it been a real program. I always had this fantasy of offending everyone in the USA. Only then there would be no way to escape. I needed to get to my homework.

But the video tape was staring up at me from the table, the shiny wrapper gleaming over the picture of Steve and his trusty dog, Blue. Should I watch it again? No, the embarrassment would be too great. Patrick’s parents would come home and see me watching “Blue’s Clues” after all the kids had gone to bed. They would probably think I was just immature or developmentally delayed, but I would be even more embarrassed if they saw and understood the meaning of my flushed cheeks and half-open, drooling mouth. No, I had to get to my homework. But who cares about the Sons of the Confederation anyway? Twenty-five year old Steve stared up at me in pure childlike innocence. I resisted the temptation and reluctantly put the tape back on the shelf, sneaking a few more peaks at Steve in his green striped shirt. Patrick’s parents eventually came home, and I went back to my house and went to bed, dreaming pleasantly.

I told a couple of people about my new crush, but they just laughed at me. Were they blind? Couldn’t they see the sexy man through the guise of a friendly kids’ show? No, they were too shallow. I kept silent and had an in-the-closet crush on the Blue’s Clues guy for years. The crush got weaker and faded when I went to college and no longer babysat and watched “Blue’s Clues” reruns. Then an experience awakened my desire.

I was reading a bedtime story with my niece, and she wanted to read Blue’s Bedtime, an old book with the original Steve, instead of that ugly new guy, Joe. The feelings flooded back, and I realized that Steve was my one true love, and I could never accept Joe as a cheap substitute. There he was, smiling up at me from the open book, casually reminding me to brush my teeth before bed.

I could handle it no longer. That very weekend I went on the ‘net and did a search on Steve Burns to see what he was up to nowadays. I already knew about his premature obituary, the internet rumor that he had died of a heroine overdose. I read the actual news, which asserted that Steve was in good health and that he had started a rock band, something he had wanted to do his whole life. I immediately went to his website and found his music. I played it over and over again, and my heart beat wildly at the sound of his voice. Suddenly, I felt comfortable liking Steve. It was one thing to have a crush on the Blue’s Clues guy, but it was another to have a crush on a rock star. The second scenario gave me a sense of normality, like I could fit in with the world, for once.

I seriously considered sending Steve a letter about my feelings for him, and my friend did triple-dog dare me, so I can’t back out now. Only I can’t write anything so eloquent that Steve will fall in love with me. Maybe I can leave him a series of clues to find out who I am. But could the real Steve Burns figure those clues out without the help of Blue and his child viewers? Or would he want to, now that he’s a sexy rock star? I still dream about him, and although he may never know that I exist, the hope of tomorrow still hangs in the air, waiting to be strangled by reality. But who can help dreaming? Cinderella couldn’t, and neither can I. But these are two women in very different situations. Or are we just two women in different stages of the same situation?