Monday, September 27, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
Tied-dye shirts and the poof. I have had numerous experiences with both, but this post is dedicated to the poof.
If you don’t know what the poof is you must come visit. Northern Utahans (I just had to look up if that is really what natives of Utah are called, and we are indeed Utahans) love to sport the high volume poof in their hair. The style is simple. You take straight, beautiful hair and ruin it my ratting the under layers, destroying them (and possibly the atmosphere) with hair spray in a can, and then smoothing the top. Thus adding 4 inches of height.
I was talking to my roommates about the poof and Annie said “everybody poofs.” As if that statement alone isn’t funny enough, I couldn’t stop thinking about the book “Everybody Poops,” a childhood classic. I digress.
Anyway, I look around and it’s true. Virtually 80% of the girls up here are sporting the poof proudly. It seems unspoken that there is a competition and the one with the most poof has the most power. Poof=power. An odd equation, but one which the Loganites (I didn’t look up that name. I am choosing to believe they are called Loganites because it sounds fantastic) hold to. Sometimes I sit in class and look around at the poofs, because it’s hard to see the professor due to said poof, and I just think about how much work the poof is. The irony of it all is I spend all morning attempting to rid myself of my natural poof, a product of very curly hair, and am always a little disappointed with the inevitable remaining poof. In my world poof= girls with a inferiority complex whose fake nails are always too short for them and their Aeropostal shirts have been dried one time too many. But alas, there is the small voice inside of me that, for .5 sec thinks, I’m so glad I have natural (or any sort) of volumne in my hair.
I often wonder if the poof is natural though--or if they have invested in the ever classic tv infomercial of the bumpit. This invention, which comes in three sizes, allows for the unnatural look of the poof (sometimes referred to as the bump-hense bumpit) to be done in mere minuets. Thank you inventor--for further delaying the progress of women in Logan.
If you're wondering how a bumpit works I've added instructions.
The point of this post? To pledge to never intentionally poof and to keep a healthy perspective of how ridiculous the poof is. This could be a challenge because I am surrounded by it daily. Will you make the pledge?
Monday, September 13, 2010
My Ramblings in the United Kingdom
Sitting on the stain colored carpet in Bath, England the tears began to swell. I had just spoken with my brother about his second child, Marie, and had heard the phrase that we all knew was coming. She had passed away and her funeral would be the following week. That night, as I feel asleep, the song “When You Come Back Down” by Nickel Creek flowed through the white cord of my iPod into my mournful heart.
The lyrics told what I was unable to begin to think about “you got to leave me now, you got to go alone.” Marie, a child who hardly was able to experience the world, was leaving alone. And though I knew she was in pain, the thought of her death seemed incomprehensible. Leaving the arms of my brother was her only option, and the calming cadence of the song with the lyrics which said “I’ll be the other hand that always holds the line, Connectin’ in between your sweet heart and mine” helped me realize that our relationship still existed. She would not be forgotten. And now, having returned from living abroad, and with the passing years of Marie’s death, I still find myself listening to Nickel Creek and remembering Marie. The song “When You Come Back Down” has transformed from a song once easily neglected and forgotten, to a contemplative experience with focused thoughts on Marie.
Lyrics of songs have a way of helping to remove me from my life, and transport me to an experience and make it immortal. This has happened on numerous occasions when I listen to the Braveheart sound track. In a whirlwind of memories I find myself removed to a hike in Scotland.
After a long bus ride, where 40 of us were herded into a shaky double Decker bus, we were glad to be dropped at the base of a tall crag outside of Edinburgh. With this as my first experience in Scotland, I gazed at the rock face on the north side with respect and admiration.
This crag, detailed with golden bushes and thriving thistles, stood majestically as we began our ascent. Slowly, but determinedly, we rose with the swells of the wind toward the peak. As we approached the top, overlooking a scene previously only experienced in books, I was converted to the beauty of the highlands. Silently my gaze turned to the walled city and with the far distant hum of bagpipes, I fell in love with Scotland. The aged castle, with ivy and brush trying to take back the mark of man, stood in the distance. The guards were being changed. Scotsman dressed with their regalia, stood with pride while spectators watched. While absorbing the view, once claimed exclusively by my ancestors, my friend took me to the top where she and I listened to William Wallace’s “Freedom Speech” given to the Scottish Army as depicted in the movie Braveheart. Following the speech, we listened to the song titled “Freedom.”
This instrumental piece is intended to reflect the history of Scotland’s independence, with the crescendo’s matching the speeches arguing for freedom, and the almost forgotten bagpipes in the background representing the influence of Scotland. The song effectively creates a movement of passion and love for the Scotsman’s drive for their own freedom. The piece creates a surge of emotion and love for the land of the thistle.
When I reflect on my time in the United Kingdom I have a littering of memories. Some of these memories are vague and fleeting, but those that are associated with songs are captivating and create a picture that is as clear as yesterday’s memories. Nickel Creek helps me to remember the experience of Marie’s death, and experiencing the soundtrack of Braveheart in Scotland have allowed for more powerful memories which remain far longer than experiences not associated with music. The songs have transportive qualities, which allows for me to relive the experience, and over time I find myself appreciating the experiences more because of the interplay between the two.