By George I've Done It!

i am joining the world of sad saps who own cell phones. i got one yesterday. i am extrememly excited and satisfied with myself. if you would like to call me... ask me for my number. i will give it to you and we can be fabulous.

The Noble Work of the Pants Press

I am doing what is asked of me. That is all. I will tell you about my new job at BYU Laundry. I have now been working there for two weeks. It is okay.

Basically, I get on the bus at 2:10. I arrive at the WILK at 2:30. I saunter the half mile to the laundry while dumb teenage boys whistle and yell at me. By the time I get there it is still only 2:45 and I don't start working until 3:00. So I find myself a shady little place on the grass on the side of 9th East and sit. I drink from my Dasani water bottle and I read my National Geographic. Perhaps I nibble on some mini pretzels. This continues for approximately 10 minutes. I then go into the laundry.

I strap my mp3 player to my right arm. Then the fateful decision: what to listen to? Hip hop? Pop? Rock? Do I want Bjork? Dave Matthews? Soundtracks? Mystikal or Mary J. Blige? It is difficult but I do choose. Today I will listen to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Tomorrow I will listen to She's Like the Wind by Patrick Swayze on repeat. I begin. Yes, I pull the pants off the rack. I lay them gently on the press. I push buttons, I pull levers, I kick pedals. Occasionally I must use the hand iron. Steam billows around me as I work. The industrial size fan blows my hair into my eyes. They counteract eachother quite well but I still have to remove my sexy cardy in order to accomplish anything without collapsing from heat exhaustion. I am at this for 2.5 hours until the clock strikes 5:30 pm. I can swipe my ID and run for it. I walk the half mile back to the bus stop and wait for 10 minutes. I ride the bus and arrive home at 6:15-ish. Yes, this is my day at work. Isn't it entertaining?

Now think: what would all of the obscenely obese men who work at BYU do without me pressing their workpants? They would be walking all over campus with only their garment bottoms on. Thank your lucky stars that I am doing what I am doing each day.

Da Da Da Da!

NEW POST! I just read the first chapter of the new Georgia Nicholson. In case you don't realize, it is called something like Startled by His Furry Shorts. Now, you are wondering who's furry shorts she is referring to aren't you? I don't know. However, I can make guesses. Is it Angus? That doesn't make much sense because he is already covered with fur. But then, nothing Georgia says makes any sense. Could it be Sven? As you all recall Sven is the only one who has ever worn furry shorts. At the teen wolf party. Massimo? HE couldn't. He is too Italian and gorgey to do something so silly. Dave the Laugh then. He would definitely do it. Especially if it meant he could snog Georgia again. And if I were Georgia... I would go for it. Perhaps the Sex God came back wearing pants made out of wombats? I will close with this sentiment: WHO designed the book cover? It is wrong. I need the obnoxiously bright plaid to signal that it is more confessions.

What happened to my hilarious self-confidence?

And so, dear readers, I was cleaning out my backpacks today. And yes I mean backpacks. Plural. I still have not emptied my backpack from senior year. While I was going through it I found my Provo writing assessment. I read it and it is hilarious so this post is my paper. Read it and come to realize how funny I am and how dumb teachers are for giving me full points on it. I very obviously prove myself wrong multiple times in it. Perhaps they felt bad about my made-up 10th grade love.

-Can you keep a secret?
-Yes.
-Well, so can I.
Never has such a statement been so hurtful. Is secrecy a good thing? Should others expect us to keep their secrets? What deep psychological and physiological effects does secret-keeping have? I will answer these questions and more. Firstly, no. Secondly, no. Thirdly, secrets have a profound affect on personal well-being; just look at Raskolnikov in Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment.
There are so many instances when telling others secrets are helpful. The woman who is being abused, the man who is two-timing his girlfriends, the child who wets the bed. All three have a secret. All three would be better off telling the truth. The woman could stop being bothered. The girls could dump the man to leave him to a life of pathetic bachelorhood. The child could be teased by his/her peers until they decide on a good medication or rubber sheets. The man looking at child porn on the library computer could be a budding sex offender and your tattling has just gotten him safely locked away. It may shatter personal lives but they were sacrificed for the common good.
There are many ethical questions behind secret keeping. Is it going against federal privacy laws to share secrets? Is it injurious to lead a smear campaign in politics? No. The fan magazines are bursting with the "secret" lives of celebrities. Are they getting sued? Well, yes. But who is coming out on top? They get publicity! They sprung the story first! It is their right to reap the fruits of their labors. They get financial backing for the secrets they spill. That can't be a bad thing. What is the harm of a TV voiceover yelling, "He lied to us! He DID go to Woodstock!" While negative pictures of condidates roll? So polls in his favor may go down a little bit. Nothing so monumental as to lose an election over a little bit of fun in the sixties will happen. Who DIDN'T have fun in the sixties? It was a blast! The voters have a right to know if their elected officials have run around a muddy field in the nude. It makes them more approachable.
Now consider the ghastly effects of secret-keeping. Rodya, in Crime and Punishment had just killed an evil pawnbroker and her sister. He did a good deed for humanity. He tells no one of his deed and begins to go crazy. He blabs on about a bloody sock, he dreams about bloody, dripping axes, he passes out multiple times. When he confesses and is put to work in Siberia he is truly happy. By spilling his secret he opens up the door to the possibility of love in his life. That is fantastic! Now, if he doesn't die in hard labor, he can live with his love--all thanks to giving up his secret. Another example of this is in Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Mr. Wickam is a horrible womanizer and gold-digger. Elizabeth knows this and yet, does not want to injure Mr. Darcy through a series of long-winded and complicated events, and so does not reveal the truth. Because she kept this secret her stupid and frivolous sister, Lydia, eloped with Wickham and cost Mr. Darcy dearly. And so, she injured him anyway. Fabulous.
Finally, a personal example. In 10th grade I was in love. I thought the boy loved me too. I was wrong. Through a sad twist of fate I discovered he was cheating on me. He scammed on everything and anything in a skirt. It was a very painful time for me. If only I had known the truth I would not have dated him.
Secret-keeping is hurtful and wrong. At the very least, by sharing secrets, entertainment is a guarantee. Remember what our dear friend Mr. Bennett says, "What do we live for but to make sport for our neighbors and laugh at them in our turn?"

I hope you enjoyed this waltz down memory lane. I certainly did.