Once upon a time, I threw a celebration for my close friend Caitlin.
See the lovely post my friend Jen wrote about it, including awesome photos taken by my talented friend Charla.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
my dream life
This is my most recent future life predictions, via my old time favorite, M.A.S.H.
You will live in a shack.
You will drive a pink bicycle.
You will marry Ryan Gosling and have 100 kids.
You will be a trapeze artist in Provo.
This sounds mostly perfect. Except for maybe the "living with 100 kids in a shack" part. But, you know... that Ryan Gosling and I just cannot keep our hands off each other!
You will live in a shack.
You will drive a pink bicycle.
You will marry Ryan Gosling and have 100 kids.
You will be a trapeze artist in Provo.
This sounds mostly perfect. Except for maybe the "living with 100 kids in a shack" part. But, you know... that Ryan Gosling and I just cannot keep our hands off each other!
Monday, April 9, 2012
riding bikes
My father was right. I probably should move to Portland.
How Bikes Make Cities Cool - Portland
Though, my roommate tells me that Portland has one of the highest unemployment rates in the country.
Hmmm.
Also, this reminds me of the time my brother and I rode the STP. I was 18 and he was 15. It was pretty awesome.
How Bikes Make Cities Cool - Portland
Though, my roommate tells me that Portland has one of the highest unemployment rates in the country.
Hmmm.
Also, this reminds me of the time my brother and I rode the STP. I was 18 and he was 15. It was pretty awesome.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Whitney.
Unrelated side note: I love coming home late in the evening to a home that is already warm because we have a programmable thermostat. It is the coziest thing.
Sunday night, I watched the Oscars. I am not a die-hard fan of the Oscars, or of Movies, in general, but I enjoyed watching them. Watching clips of beautiful movies, seeing and hearing people's speeches of gratitude, and the sheer joy and surprise on their faces at having won. The dialogues between actors, and seeing these many actors behave normally, naturally, and as themselves— instead of pretending to be someone else.
During the Oscars there is always a slideshow of any prominent people in film who have passed away over the passage of the year. One of those, this year, was Whitney Houston. Being that her death is pretty recent news, I feel like I am still processing the fact that it occurred. I feel a little silly at how sad her death has made me feel, but in thinking it through, I connect it to a story from my childhood.
My grandma and I used to hang out a lot. We'd drive around in her little maroon-colored car and run errands, and get an ice cream cone from McDonald's (and one for the dog, Bradley, in the backseat), and every once in awhile that one song by Whitney Houston would come on the radio. You know the one. Every time I would hear her smooth voice start in, a capella, on those first measures— my grandma would start in with the same story.
"I'll never forget the time," she'd say, chuckling to herself, "you were just a little kid. Maybe three years old..."
I'd smile and nod, knowingly, ready to hear the story. Always proud to hear it.
"You were just sitting there in that seat, the one you're sitting in right now..." she'd continue, telling about how I was just hanging out, not seeming to pay much attention, until that one drum beat. THE drum beat. The epic drum beat.
"... and all of a sudden out of nowhere, you were just belting."
"AND I......WILL ALWAYS, LOVE YOUooooOOOOOooooo..."
I always appreciated that story, for one reason in particular.
In a way, for me, it has become a vivid example of my inborn vigor, and enthusiasm. My "zest for life", as my grandmother always calls it. I've recently heard it called "gushing", which I think sounds about right. Overflowing and probably unnecessary excitement over some silly little thing.
And it seems that in some small way, I connect Whitney, herself, with that enthusiastic, overflow-y part of myself. When I heard the sad news, that story immediately popped into my head, and I felt a loss. A reminder that childhood doesn't last forever, and that life never stays the same (though some character traits can stick with you, thank goodness).
Sometimes, I just feel like it is so so strange to grow up.
Sunday night, I watched the Oscars. I am not a die-hard fan of the Oscars, or of Movies, in general, but I enjoyed watching them. Watching clips of beautiful movies, seeing and hearing people's speeches of gratitude, and the sheer joy and surprise on their faces at having won. The dialogues between actors, and seeing these many actors behave normally, naturally, and as themselves— instead of pretending to be someone else.
During the Oscars there is always a slideshow of any prominent people in film who have passed away over the passage of the year. One of those, this year, was Whitney Houston. Being that her death is pretty recent news, I feel like I am still processing the fact that it occurred. I feel a little silly at how sad her death has made me feel, but in thinking it through, I connect it to a story from my childhood.
My grandma and I used to hang out a lot. We'd drive around in her little maroon-colored car and run errands, and get an ice cream cone from McDonald's (and one for the dog, Bradley, in the backseat), and every once in awhile that one song by Whitney Houston would come on the radio. You know the one. Every time I would hear her smooth voice start in, a capella, on those first measures— my grandma would start in with the same story.
"I'll never forget the time," she'd say, chuckling to herself, "you were just a little kid. Maybe three years old..."
I'd smile and nod, knowingly, ready to hear the story. Always proud to hear it.
"You were just sitting there in that seat, the one you're sitting in right now..." she'd continue, telling about how I was just hanging out, not seeming to pay much attention, until that one drum beat. THE drum beat. The epic drum beat.
"... and all of a sudden out of nowhere, you were just belting."
"AND I......WILL ALWAYS, LOVE YOUooooOOOOOooooo..."
Baby Austin, third birthday party. Mastered the squinty toddler smile.
I always appreciated that story, for one reason in particular.
In a way, for me, it has become a vivid example of my inborn vigor, and enthusiasm. My "zest for life", as my grandmother always calls it. I've recently heard it called "gushing", which I think sounds about right. Overflowing and probably unnecessary excitement over some silly little thing.
And it seems that in some small way, I connect Whitney, herself, with that enthusiastic, overflow-y part of myself. When I heard the sad news, that story immediately popped into my head, and I felt a loss. A reminder that childhood doesn't last forever, and that life never stays the same (though some character traits can stick with you, thank goodness).
Sometimes, I just feel like it is so so strange to grow up.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
reflections on the VMs, so far
I do not think I was fully prepared for the powerful experience participating in the Vagina Monologues would be.
Gathering weekly with so many talented, passionate women, and rehearsing together these raw, poignant, monologues has been an absolutely beautiful experience. Several of us participating are not actresses, but regardless, I feel the room fill up with emotion with each monologue. And I remain in awe at the resilience of women, their power, their courage. The ability to hope through it all.
Yesterday, a friend with whom I have become reacquainted through the Monologues, shared her own personal experience explaining why this cause, that of sexual violence, rape, and violence against women, is dear to her heart. Read her experience here. All I can say is that I am once again shocked at how many people have been affected by this. How many people I know personally. Most of these cases don't make the news, but they shake people's lives forever.
Gathering weekly with so many talented, passionate women, and rehearsing together these raw, poignant, monologues has been an absolutely beautiful experience. Several of us participating are not actresses, but regardless, I feel the room fill up with emotion with each monologue. And I remain in awe at the resilience of women, their power, their courage. The ability to hope through it all.
Yesterday, a friend with whom I have become reacquainted through the Monologues, shared her own personal experience explaining why this cause, that of sexual violence, rape, and violence against women, is dear to her heart. Read her experience here. All I can say is that I am once again shocked at how many people have been affected by this. How many people I know personally. Most of these cases don't make the news, but they shake people's lives forever.
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