Thanks James Brown

So this past week we've been studying feminism in my Brazilian lit class. I've actually really enjoyed the unit. In my past experiences, I have dreaded the theory portions of my lit classes, well they were usually all theory, so I just dreaded those classes. But this class has been different. I genuinely enjoy class. My professor is fantastic, I learn so much, and the class discussions are usually quite intellectually stimulating. However, Monday was different.

We were talking about Clarice Lispector and my teacher asked how the world would be different if we lived in a woman's world and not a man's. I won't get into specifics, but suffice it to say that there were a couple of boys in the class (it is a male-dominated field) made some really insensitive and really jerky comments demeaning toward women. I sat in shock as this was happening, not so much at the comments made, because, let's be honest, some people can be really stupid when they speak up about feminism, but more because of the comments that were not made. A handful of the men in class are married. I know they love their wives and respect women. There are a good number of sensible men in the class as well. I know they love and respect women. So why weren't they speaking up? In the end I was the one to make a comment in the defense of women, I'm glad I said what I did, but the whole class left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

This bad taste lasted the rest of the day and into the next. The song that instantly popped into my head as I was walking to my next class was James Brown's "It's a Man's, Man's World." It just kind of stuck with me the rest of the day. So because I'm not one to just sit around and get over something, I decided to write my next argument paper about the objectification of women in teen-oriented TV shows. 

However, after all of the frustration of this week, we had a lovely dinner last night. The elders in the ward put on a dinner for the women. It was wonderful. They had valet parking, they escorted us to our tables, they got our drinks, they got our food (three courses), they made the food in the first place, and they were so kind and so nice. Then the bishop gave some wonderful remarks about his appreciation for women. It was so healthy to hear, for all of us. It was the best possible timing to see the goodness of the men in my life and how well they treat the women around them.

Boy Scouts

Dear Boy Scouts,

I love you. I respect you. I think you're adorable in your little outfits. But please, please, please, tell your parents not to drive like crazies when I'm just trying to get off of campus.

Thank you,
Laura

Sitting on the Floor

I just had a really sad realization.

Right now I'm sitting in the back of the Harold B. Lee Library at BYU and I saw a man, not a young man, but an older man, sitting on the floor in a shirt in a tie. It struck me as very odd that he would be sitting on the floor. It just seemed unprofessional.

Then it hit me. Soon that will be me. Soon I won't be able to relish in sitting on the floor in public. Soon I'll have to find a chair and look "put together." Sad day. I've already experienced this sad truth: in Brasil and on my mission. Don't even think about sitting on the floor in public in Brasil, or on the stairs, or anywhere that isn't a designated sitting object like a bench, stool, chair, couch, you get the idea. I one time tried to sit on the stairs at a museum. I was so tired, we had been walking all day, and all I wanted to do while my friends were taking FOREVER, was sit down and rest my little feet. But no, we were reprimanded. Then in the MTC I was reprimanded for sitting on the ground. It wasn't professional and so I couldn't do it. I could buy that. So in Brasil and on my mission I refrained from sitting on the floor.

Soon, that will be my reality. That makes me really sad. I love sitting on the floor.

Brian Doyle

As far back as I can remember I wanted to be a writer. I would think about stories and even start a few of them, only to realize that I didn't know where I wanted them to go. I was an avid reader, finding the nooks and crannies of the houses I lived in so I could read in peace, presumably undetected by my family. (That theory was blown when I started finding books in my reading corners that my mom had put there. My bubble really was burst when I saw that. They had found me out.) During my childhood I had no idea that such a genre as non-fiction even existed, at least beyond biographies and history books. You see, I am not much of a fiction writer. I lack the creativity you need to be good at that. However, creative non-fiction is right up my alley.

Every week at BYU they have the "English Reading Series" where a guest author will come do a reading. I had watched a couple online for a class last year, but I'd never been to one. Well I went last week. It was fantastic. Brian Doyle came to town and read some of his pieces. He is an essayist and writes about things he's heard or experienced. His writing really affected me. I cried twice during the reading (and I am NOT a public crier) and I laughed even more than that. The way he captured emotion and made it real for me was so impactful. I want to be able to write like that some day. Thanks Brian Doyle.

It isn't often that you can say that your childhood dream is still alive and well, but I can. I never wanted to be a ballerina, or a firefighter, or a superhero. I always wanted to be a writer. And I always will.

The Plight of the Renter

So, I am obsessed with MLB baseball. I blame my parents. Every single time there was a game on we were either watching it or listening to it on the radio when we were driving home so that we could watch the game. Baseball has always been a big part of my life. I played softball every year until I got to high school.

Well, my team, the Texas Rangers, are FINALLY in the playoffs and I've been glued to the TV as much as I can to watch the game. So tonight I left work with just enough time to get home for the game. So I get home and get all settled and ready to watch my Rangers play. I turn on the TV and I see this: "We've detected an interruption in your service. Please contact Comcast at 1-888-634-4434 to restore service. We're sorry for the inconvenience." Really? Really? Right when I want to watch the game???

Being the proactive person that I am, I decided to call the above number. But, being a renter, I don't have any of the pertinent information that I need in order to get any help. So basically, I'm powerless and I can't watch the game.

Sometimes life is rough. Especially when the Yankees just scored and you didn't get to cry out at the TV because of it. Blah.

Physics--It Will Never Leave Me

Yesterday I learned an important physics lesson. I never liked physics and most of the time I was lost in the class, but some things have stuck with me. And they will not leave me alone. Here's what I learned for myself yesterday:

increased surface area = increased friction
increased friction = decreased velocity
decreased velocity = increased force necessary to maintain normal velocity
increased force = increased exhaustion
increased exhaustion = a tired Laura

Moral of the story: bikes with wide tires have an increased surface area. You do the math.

However, although I was huffing and puffing, while my friends were strolling along in their road bikes, the leaves and the canyon was absolutely beautiful. I was surrounded by views like this:



I do love Utah in the fall.

Freedom

Today I watched a Chilean see the light of day again. After three months of living in the shaft of a mine, holding on to the hope of possible freedom, he made it out. He got to hug his brother again. He got to breathe clean air and see the sun shine overhead. I almost started crying just watching for a few seconds. I can't even imagine how those miners must feel to be freed from what must have been the most harrowing experience of their lives--at least I hope it was the worst thing that they have had to go through. So here's to the miners and for the strength they had to hold on, and to the Chilean people for not giving up on them and giving them their lives back.