Not all language classes at BYU are hellishly hard. I'm not saying this one is an easy A, because it's not--but the fun factor makes it the highlight of my week. Here is my translation of our second essay assignment:
You have a friend who is on a mission in Sweden. You have dated, but have never seriously discussed your relationship. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he/she proposed to you in a letter. Write back to him/her explaining why you have to turn down his/her proposal.
Requirements:
-In the introduction, reminisce about two nice memories you have of time spent together.
-Explain three reasons why you cannot marry him/her.
-Write a poem to comfort him/her.
-Summarize your points and make sure he/she understands clearly how you feel.
-Compare your relationship to an aspect of Swedish history.
Grading: Equal weight is given to these 5 criteria
-adherence to requirements
-clarity and kindness of your message
-grammar
-creativity
-quality of poem
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
hope after a frustrating day
Youtube is technically blocked at BYU, but this is the 3rd or 4th time in the past week that I have accessed it. When it is available, I almost always watch this video.
To be or not to be, RA edition
At approximately 1 a.m. this morning, while awake under the pretense of doing homework (and yes I did finish the assignment), I found myself browsing through housing and job information online, lingering over references to RA jobs. For some reason, the idea of being an RA appeals to me. This doesn't really make sense for several reasons, but I keep talking myself out of them:
1. Being an RA means going to dumb hall meetings and activities. Key word: dumb. Solution: as RA, I can theoretically make hall meetings and activities non-dumb. I mean, I'm in charge, right? Right.
2. Cleaning checks. Cleaning is no fun to do, and possibly less fun to tell other people off for not doing. Solution: be a super-cool friendly cleaning checker like my RA is, and offer no-cleaning-check passes as rewards for good behavior like she does.
3. RA's have to be shallowly social and learn everybody's names! I am terrible with names. Solution: what a totally awesome chance to improve my name-learning skills!
4. Being an RA means attending an all-freshmen ward, which means no RMs! Solution: look on the bright side: no need to look nice at church!
5. RAs have to do lame things like patrol duty, where they walk through dorms late at night in the scary dark all alone! Solution: flashlight?
6. RAs have to deal with tons of girl drama! I hate girl drama! Solution: declare the dorm a drama-free zone and/or learn conflict resolution skills!
Being an RA means improving social and leadership skills, getting my own room, free housing and meal plan, lots of little sisters. It means no need to search for housing (that might be my main motivation but don't tell anyone that apartment-searching stresses me so much that I practically want to tear my toes off.)
To be, or not to be?
1. Being an RA means going to dumb hall meetings and activities. Key word: dumb. Solution: as RA, I can theoretically make hall meetings and activities non-dumb. I mean, I'm in charge, right? Right.
2. Cleaning checks. Cleaning is no fun to do, and possibly less fun to tell other people off for not doing. Solution: be a super-cool friendly cleaning checker like my RA is, and offer no-cleaning-check passes as rewards for good behavior like she does.
3. RA's have to be shallowly social and learn everybody's names! I am terrible with names. Solution: what a totally awesome chance to improve my name-learning skills!
4. Being an RA means attending an all-freshmen ward, which means no RMs! Solution: look on the bright side: no need to look nice at church!
5. RAs have to do lame things like patrol duty, where they walk through dorms late at night in the scary dark all alone! Solution: flashlight?
6. RAs have to deal with tons of girl drama! I hate girl drama! Solution: declare the dorm a drama-free zone and/or learn conflict resolution skills!
Being an RA means improving social and leadership skills, getting my own room, free housing and meal plan, lots of little sisters. It means no need to search for housing (that might be my main motivation but don't tell anyone that apartment-searching stresses me so much that I practically want to tear my toes off.)
To be, or not to be?
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
cleaning checks
Today we got our job sheet for cleaning checks. Looks like my roommate gets the easy work this month: nothing!
Also, I have been being a problem student. I kind of got in trouble in my Swedish class today. The teacher is young and fun so I joke around a lot in class. Today the joking was so silly that I emailed a friend about it during class, and then I started giggling. Here is the slightly edited email:
I'm a goofball. It's your fault.
Here is part of the transcript of Swedish 202 today, translated into English so I can type it faster:
Teacher: Imagine that someone tries to steal your bike. I mean a bike that belongs to all four of you. A four-seater tandem I guess. How would you react? I mean, you're not just going to let him walk off with your bike, right?
silence.
Teacher: Catherine, you're smiling. What would you do?
CDU (Catherine den Underbara): I would say, "Go ahead!"--because seriously, who's gonna be able to ride a 4-seater bike all by themselves? And if he succeeded, I would probably yell "Hey! Bring back my limo-bike!" (my friend asked how you say "limo-bike" in Swedish. In class, I just swedishized it into "leemo-bajk")
5 minutes later
Teacher: Imagine that you see in the Daily Universe that BYU is going to reassign half of the student parking spaces to teachers. How would you react to that?
CDU: I wouldn't--who needs a car when you have a 4-seater bike?
cooking blog
Even though my cooking post attracted more attention than any other, I decided not to make this into a cooking blog because
1. I only cook two or three times a year and
2. My blog currently has no purpose and I like it that way.
My brother-in-law, however, has recently started up a fabulous cooking blog, featuring videos of him cooking Russian and Tatar cuisine as well as original dishes. His food is simple, fresh, and scrumptiously good; in fact, it is forcing me to reconsider my vegetarianism, because the way he cooks meat is almost irresistible even to this life-long meat hater.
Those of you not lucky enough to live 10 minutes from his house can enter his virtual kitchen here.
1. I only cook two or three times a year and
2. My blog currently has no purpose and I like it that way.
My brother-in-law, however, has recently started up a fabulous cooking blog, featuring videos of him cooking Russian and Tatar cuisine as well as original dishes. His food is simple, fresh, and scrumptiously good; in fact, it is forcing me to reconsider my vegetarianism, because the way he cooks meat is almost irresistible even to this life-long meat hater.
Those of you not lucky enough to live 10 minutes from his house can enter his virtual kitchen here.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Henry V
I spent the weekend in SLC and Idaho. In addition to hearing the story of Grandma and Grandpa P's courtship, learning to drive a snowmobile, and playing with airsoft guns, I had a great time with friends. This picture pretty much summarizes my weekend:
And this is what my weekend should have looked like:
Saturday, January 17, 2009
food storage essential: dehydrated water
Grandpa P. designed this a long time ago and tried to market it, but it was eclipsed from popularity by pet rocks. I think it's brilliant.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
dessert for dinner
Since coming to college, I have survived mainly on Amy's frozen meals, milk, cheese, bananas, nuts, juice, canned vegetables, chocolate, chips, salsa, and eggs. Eggs are pretty much the only thing I cook. Everything else gets microwaved or blended or stirred into edible states. I cook eggs because I don't like them raw, microwaved, blended, or stirred. Truth is, I don't like them much cooked either--but they are a great source of protein and some important vitamins, so I mask their taste with spices and cheese and eat them anyway.
Except tonight, when I needed something delicious and nutritious to get me through the evening and decided to get fancy. There's very little not to like about eggs prepared as pictured above. Served with raspberries and chocolate sauce, these pancakes are my favorite taste of Sweden.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
waiting for a prophet
President Monson came to BYU yesterday evening to speak at the CES fireside. I got in line at about 2:30. When I arrived, there were perhaps 20 people in front of me in line. By the time the doors opened at 4:30, the 20 had mysteriously become 60. Even so, the friends I was with got floor seating and I got 2nd row arena seating, which allowed me seat-saving privileges and an even better view than floor seating. This picture shows part of the line I was in at 3:30.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
twelve angry men
In Pen and the Sword on Friday, we watched the 1957 movie "Twelve Angry Men" which may go down as my favorite movie ever. This is significant because I don't like many serious movies, and I like even fewer black and white movies. This one was a masterpiece: art at its brilliant inspired best.
All but perhaps 10 minutes of the movie are filmed in a single small room where a jury of 12 men is gathered at a table, trying to reach a unanimous conclusion about the case of an 18-year-old man accused of murdering his father. Because it is a hot summer day in New York and the heat makes them impatient, the jury votes before discussing: 11 to 1, guilty.
The 11 are angry at the 1, who explains calmly that he doesn't know whether or not the boy is guilty, but feels that he deserves more than a minute of their time. Then follows a brilliant debate filled with heroes and hate. The acting is superb, the story convincing, the ending ambiguous. We are left not knowing whether the boy was innocent or guilty, but we do know that the jury's final vote revealed each member's their best efforts to be true to truth.
What I took away from the movie was this: first, we are each responsible to think and reason for ourselves. We must not go along with anything just because of peer pressure. Second, all knowledge is personal. Our personal history and our interactions with those we love influences all of our feelings and decisions. We learned a great deal about the men on the jury from the way they saw the case.
Seagulljaap's reply to my post "charity and proposition h8" was expected. We have been discussing this issue in detail and depth for several months. We were chatting when he posted his comment. We continued to discuss it for over an hour, and somewhere along the way, I realized that he and I are both right. We want the same thing: charity for all. Because of our personalities, experiences, and connections to others, we approach the issue from different angles and we express ourselves in different ways. I think we will each be able to help others--but he will help people I can't reach and I will help people he can't reach.
The Lord, the Church, the World all need many types of people. We need different personalities and abilities. From everyone, for everyone, we need charity: sometimes charity expressed through gentle healing, and sometime charity that warns, "sin no more". Occasionally, we may need charity with a whip. We speak of Christ, we preach of Christ, we follow Christ, we love like Christ.
Each in the way we are able.
All but perhaps 10 minutes of the movie are filmed in a single small room where a jury of 12 men is gathered at a table, trying to reach a unanimous conclusion about the case of an 18-year-old man accused of murdering his father. Because it is a hot summer day in New York and the heat makes them impatient, the jury votes before discussing: 11 to 1, guilty.
The 11 are angry at the 1, who explains calmly that he doesn't know whether or not the boy is guilty, but feels that he deserves more than a minute of their time. Then follows a brilliant debate filled with heroes and hate. The acting is superb, the story convincing, the ending ambiguous. We are left not knowing whether the boy was innocent or guilty, but we do know that the jury's final vote revealed each member's their best efforts to be true to truth.
What I took away from the movie was this: first, we are each responsible to think and reason for ourselves. We must not go along with anything just because of peer pressure. Second, all knowledge is personal. Our personal history and our interactions with those we love influences all of our feelings and decisions. We learned a great deal about the men on the jury from the way they saw the case.
Seagulljaap's reply to my post "charity and proposition h8" was expected. We have been discussing this issue in detail and depth for several months. We were chatting when he posted his comment. We continued to discuss it for over an hour, and somewhere along the way, I realized that he and I are both right. We want the same thing: charity for all. Because of our personalities, experiences, and connections to others, we approach the issue from different angles and we express ourselves in different ways. I think we will each be able to help others--but he will help people I can't reach and I will help people he can't reach.
The Lord, the Church, the World all need many types of people. We need different personalities and abilities. From everyone, for everyone, we need charity: sometimes charity expressed through gentle healing, and sometime charity that warns, "sin no more". Occasionally, we may need charity with a whip. We speak of Christ, we preach of Christ, we follow Christ, we love like Christ.
Each in the way we are able.
Friday, January 9, 2009
love for the lovely
Undeniably, I have praiseworthy grandparents. They are all four fantastic, faithful, loving, clever people and I love them each so dearly. Last weekend I had the chance to visit with both sets.
I spent Friday night at Grandma and Grandpa P's house after flying in late from Austria. It was close to midnight when I arrived, but Grandpa P was up waiting for me. He hugged me and offered me a late night snack and directed me to my room, where Grandma P had left warm rice pillows between the neat sheets of my bed. I did some geneology with Grandma P in the morning, and then sat and talked with Grandpa P. He told me about buying a computer in 1984 for $4,200 so that Grandma could do family history work on it. He demonstrated for me his knack for forging signatures, and told me about how he used to write notes excusing his high school friends when they came late to school, and sign the principle's signature to them. He never got caught--even the principle couldn't tell the difference between his own signature and Grandpa's imitation of it. He showed me that signature and his father's signature, which he said he once signed to a check in front of a bank teller. When the teller asked if that was his signature and Grandpa said no, the teller refused to cash it. "Well," he said, "I'll take it across the street and they'll cash it for me" and that's just what he did. Grandpa was a professional hypnotist for 18 years, and I asked him about that. He told me that he bought a book on hypnotism for $2.50 while in his teens, and started out by hypnotizing the chickens on his family's farm. Of course chickens couldn't take commands, but he could put them in a trance and they would wander around afterwards off-balance and cross-eyed. He told me about the power and the dangers of hypnotism and why he doesn't practice anymore. I was sad to have to go when Benj picked me up, but promised to come back to visit soon.
We picked up Becca and drove to Grandma and Grandpa C's, where we enjoyed a delicious dinner and then congregated in the living room for cheerful conversation. Grandpa C has a wonderfully gentle sense of humor, and Grandma C is an unparallelled story-teller. They are great examples of love and wit. On this particular visit, Grandma told us the history of her beautiful black cat. She is a delicate, long-haired variety who lived wild in the neighborhood until the wild cats were caught and taken to a shelter in another town. As I remember her telling it, it was a week later that the cat showed up again in Grandma's yard, covered in burrs and mud, and Grandma slowly tamed her and eventually brought her into the house. She is a sweet cat but quite flighty. One day she brought a little black and white kitten out from the bushes and presented it to my aunt, who later took it home to live with her. That kitten grew to be about 3 times as big as his "mother", and bears no resemblance to her in build or fur or personality. Grandma says "mama kitty" was never pregnant anyway, and that there is another stray cat around that looks just like the now-grown kitten and is just as large--so she thinks mama kitty is a kidnapper. :-) Whatever the case, those two cats are more attached than any others I have ever seen. They love to play and snuggle and groom each other. Thinking about that shy little cat stealing a kitten from another cat always makes me smile. Before we left, Grandpa spent a moment with each of us, holding our young hands in his large farmer hands that have become so soft over the years. He spoke kindly and told us each how much he loves us.
I'm grateful for these earthly angels in my life.
I spent Friday night at Grandma and Grandpa P's house after flying in late from Austria. It was close to midnight when I arrived, but Grandpa P was up waiting for me. He hugged me and offered me a late night snack and directed me to my room, where Grandma P had left warm rice pillows between the neat sheets of my bed. I did some geneology with Grandma P in the morning, and then sat and talked with Grandpa P. He told me about buying a computer in 1984 for $4,200 so that Grandma could do family history work on it. He demonstrated for me his knack for forging signatures, and told me about how he used to write notes excusing his high school friends when they came late to school, and sign the principle's signature to them. He never got caught--even the principle couldn't tell the difference between his own signature and Grandpa's imitation of it. He showed me that signature and his father's signature, which he said he once signed to a check in front of a bank teller. When the teller asked if that was his signature and Grandpa said no, the teller refused to cash it. "Well," he said, "I'll take it across the street and they'll cash it for me" and that's just what he did. Grandpa was a professional hypnotist for 18 years, and I asked him about that. He told me that he bought a book on hypnotism for $2.50 while in his teens, and started out by hypnotizing the chickens on his family's farm. Of course chickens couldn't take commands, but he could put them in a trance and they would wander around afterwards off-balance and cross-eyed. He told me about the power and the dangers of hypnotism and why he doesn't practice anymore. I was sad to have to go when Benj picked me up, but promised to come back to visit soon.
We picked up Becca and drove to Grandma and Grandpa C's, where we enjoyed a delicious dinner and then congregated in the living room for cheerful conversation. Grandpa C has a wonderfully gentle sense of humor, and Grandma C is an unparallelled story-teller. They are great examples of love and wit. On this particular visit, Grandma told us the history of her beautiful black cat. She is a delicate, long-haired variety who lived wild in the neighborhood until the wild cats were caught and taken to a shelter in another town. As I remember her telling it, it was a week later that the cat showed up again in Grandma's yard, covered in burrs and mud, and Grandma slowly tamed her and eventually brought her into the house. She is a sweet cat but quite flighty. One day she brought a little black and white kitten out from the bushes and presented it to my aunt, who later took it home to live with her. That kitten grew to be about 3 times as big as his "mother", and bears no resemblance to her in build or fur or personality. Grandma says "mama kitty" was never pregnant anyway, and that there is another stray cat around that looks just like the now-grown kitten and is just as large--so she thinks mama kitty is a kidnapper. :-) Whatever the case, those two cats are more attached than any others I have ever seen. They love to play and snuggle and groom each other. Thinking about that shy little cat stealing a kitten from another cat always makes me smile. Before we left, Grandpa spent a moment with each of us, holding our young hands in his large farmer hands that have become so soft over the years. He spoke kindly and told us each how much he loves us.
I'm grateful for these earthly angels in my life.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
picture the possibilities
My awesome brother Benj gave me his old digital camera. So far I have used it to take pictures of this super cool teddy bear (my Grandma's) and my super empty fridge.
Can you believe school takes preference over blogging every single day?
Controversy will be posted by Saturday.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
why I don't date
I was talking to a friend about another friend, and the first friend asked if there was something going on with friend #2 because we had been spending more time together.
"No," I said, "We're incompatible. His favorite video game is Grand Theft Auto IV, and mine is Wii fit."
That's why I don't get dates, I guess.
I've been working on a serious and controversial post, but school keeps getting in the way. I will post when I have time to finish it.
"No," I said, "We're incompatible. His favorite video game is Grand Theft Auto IV, and mine is Wii fit."
That's why I don't get dates, I guess.
I've been working on a serious and controversial post, but school keeps getting in the way. I will post when I have time to finish it.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
93
I have been on 93 airplane flights in my life. I just got back from the last two--I slept during my 4.5 hour layover at JFK and slept on the second flight as well, so now I am wide awake in the cozy basement of my grandparents' house near SLC.
The other day I was wondering how much time I have spent in airports and airplanes. I threw out a guess of about a month and made a mental note to do some quick calculations later.
Now it is later.
In an old journal I have a detailed list of where most of these 93 flights began and ended, and I could use that information to determine approximate flight lengths and average those to reach a more precise estimation, but that would take tons of time, so instead I abandoned accuracy and just chose conservative numbers.
I've been on many long international flights, but I've also been on a lot of shorter flights within the USA and between European countries. To be safe, I estimate an average flight length of 5 hours and average time spent in the airport for each of those flights at 3 hours.
5+3=8
8*93=744
744/24=31
31 days=as long as months get.
Seems I've spent at least a month of my life in airports and airplanes.
Totally cool.
I have a goal to reach 100 flights before turning 20.
The other day I was wondering how much time I have spent in airports and airplanes. I threw out a guess of about a month and made a mental note to do some quick calculations later.
Now it is later.
In an old journal I have a detailed list of where most of these 93 flights began and ended, and I could use that information to determine approximate flight lengths and average those to reach a more precise estimation, but that would take tons of time, so instead I abandoned accuracy and just chose conservative numbers.
I've been on many long international flights, but I've also been on a lot of shorter flights within the USA and between European countries. To be safe, I estimate an average flight length of 5 hours and average time spent in the airport for each of those flights at 3 hours.
5+3=8
8*93=744
744/24=31
31 days=as long as months get.
Seems I've spent at least a month of my life in airports and airplanes.
Totally cool.
I have a goal to reach 100 flights before turning 20.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
a post that allows comments
Good morning 2009! Come what may, I'll love this year.
Almost everyone I've given my blog address to has asked about allowing comments.
My first post was a poem. I didn't allow comments because if you allow comments on a poem, people might ask what it means, and I'm not telling. Worse, and more likely, they will feel pressured to say "great poem!" and "you are such a gifted writer!" It is a mediocre poem. I am saving the great ones for publication, sillies.
My second post mentioned my drug habits. While fluoxetine may make me smile, I feel weird talking about the fact that I'm on anti-depressants. (There! I said it!) Hence no comments allowed there either.
Next I announced my intention to give myself a middle name. Here I disallowed comments mainly out of habit.
Popular demand has led me to reconsider. So here's your chance, friends--comment! Tell me why you think I should enable comments or why you like the comment-free format of my first three posts. Feel free to also tell me how you feel about my blog. Is it too cryptic, or uncomfortably open? Does it bore you to tears or seem selfish or vain? Speak up--just don't say anything about my drug habits and poetry.
Almost everyone I've given my blog address to has asked about allowing comments.
My first post was a poem. I didn't allow comments because if you allow comments on a poem, people might ask what it means, and I'm not telling. Worse, and more likely, they will feel pressured to say "great poem!" and "you are such a gifted writer!" It is a mediocre poem. I am saving the great ones for publication, sillies.
My second post mentioned my drug habits. While fluoxetine may make me smile, I feel weird talking about the fact that I'm on anti-depressants. (There! I said it!) Hence no comments allowed there either.
Next I announced my intention to give myself a middle name. Here I disallowed comments mainly out of habit.
Popular demand has led me to reconsider. So here's your chance, friends--comment! Tell me why you think I should enable comments or why you like the comment-free format of my first three posts. Feel free to also tell me how you feel about my blog. Is it too cryptic, or uncomfortably open? Does it bore you to tears or seem selfish or vain? Speak up--just don't say anything about my drug habits and poetry.
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