Oh please don't go! We'll eat you up, we love you so!

Note: This my super biased, slightly smug review of the new film Where the Wild Things Are. If you don't like reviews that give away the plot, do not read this, because I give away pretty much everything. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I don't like Spike Jonze. To be fair, I don't hate him either: I have seen one of his skate movies, as a matter of fact (Thank you, skater brothers) and I like the work he's done with the Beastie Boys. However, this is mostly because in my view, the Beastie Boys can do no wrong. But that's neither here nor there. Especially since I've changed my tune in the past twenty four hours.

Anyway, when I heard that Spike Jonze was slated to direct a film adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are, a brilliant book with a strikingly relevant yet minimalist plot, I along with the rest of humanity knew that this film could go one of two ways: beauty and heart wrenching, or unadulterated suckiness.

Sleep well, dear children. It's an awesome movie.

The movie starts out with some tidy backstory, and this may well be the first time mere exposition in a film has made me cry. Max (Played by the seriously-is-that-a-pseudonym-or-what Max Records) is an imaginative, rowdy kid who chases the family dog around in the first scene, and is then shown building a snow fort in a generic New England-ish cul-de-sac. Most of the film is shot at Max's eye level, using hand-held cameras, which helps you see Max's universe the way he sees it: the entrance to the snow fort isn't just a hole in a pile of snow, it's a sanctuary. The fence is a row of disobedient soldiers. The actor who plays Max was apparently only nine years old at the time, and he is so beautiful I actually did want to eat him up, a little bit. He has dark, intuitive eyes, and in general broke my heart.

The part that made me cry initially was when Max tries to get his older sister to play in the snow fort with him, and she completely ignores him. Max is meant to be sort of an everykid, and the film manages to evoke the way everyone has felt at one time or another: wanting someone to imagine with. Claire, who has maybe seven minutes of screen time, if that, isn't a villainous older sister, as portrayed in many movies about sibling relationships. She doesn't sneer at or abuse Max, she just ignores him, and it evoked in my mind every single time I ignored my brothers, and when I saw the look at Max's face of longing and disappointment when she rejects him, that's when I lost it. In the end, this movie isn't about a kid who travels to a monster island and wreaks havoc with animatronic robots from the Creature Shop to the strains of indie music. It's about the universally felt need to be appreciated.

A Good Day

This morning I had a midterm for which I was not well-prepared. Luckily, my friend Betsy offered to meet me on campus at 8:30, one hour before class, and help me get caught up on some of the stuff I've missed from the lectures. I keep missing this class for some reason.

Not that it's a mystery. I know the reason.

Anyway, I woke up at 8 and went into the bathroom to get ready, when I discovered that someone was asleep on our bathroom floor. This person's head was right by the toilet and he/she was snoring loudly. I came in and realized I simply would not be comfortable peeing with another human's head so close by.

Nor could I, obviously, shower.

I went into the kitchen and brushed my teeth, but when I emptied out my retainer case my retainer went down the disposal. I got it out and washed the eggshells off. That was a low point.

And yet, I'm going to see Where the Wild Things Are. Tonight.

It's a good day.

Demi Moore is turning over in her grave

I used to really hate old people, but now I think they are OK.

Tonight when I was working at the temple, I did initiatories with an 80 year-old woman named Neomi. When our shift was almost over, she turned to me and said, in all her adorable old-lady-ness, "It was a pleasure working with you tonight."

I smiled back and said, "Ditto."

However, it occurs to me now it is quite possible that Neomi does not know what the word "ditto" means and was completely confused by my response. Perhaps she wondered if she had misheard what I said? Maybe that happens a lot, because she is old.

I am only 75% sure that conversation went as planned.

Scattered thoughts in two parts each

1a. I have started training for a half-marathon in the sometime future and it makes me feel like a whole person. I love running so hard that my lips tingle. I love feeling sweat on my neck. And I love how I feel for hours after. Post-running euphoria got nothing on drugs.

1b. That being said, it was very disheartening today when, while I was running on the indoor BYU track, I was passed on the left by a midget.

2a. I missed General Conference last weekend because I was in Arizona for the wedding. However, it's kind of nice to catch up on General Conference talks on my iPod while running and have every talk be absolutely new.

2b. I can't help but notice which GAs have Utah accents and which don't. Thanks a lot, Dr. Baker.

3a. I hate baseball.

3b. But I love baseball movies.

From Smoke Signals, one of my favorite movies

How do we forgive our fathers?
Maybe in a dream.
Do we forgive our fathers for leaving us too often, or forever, when we were little?
Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage, or making us nervous because there never seemed to be any rage there at all?
Do we forgive our fathers for marrying, or not marrying, our mothers?
Or divorcing, or not divorcing, our mothers?
And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness?
Shall we forgive them for pushing, or leaning?
For shutting doors or speaking through walls?
For never speaking, or never being silent?
Do we forgive our fathers in our age, or in theirs?
Or in their deaths, saying it to them or not saying it.

If we forgive our fathers, what is left?

----Sherman Alexie

Jesus gets it.

“The Lord knows who we really are, what we really think, what we really do, and who we really are becoming.” David A. Bednar

Tonight was the start of Yom Kippur, the Jewish high holy day which I can't even begin to hope to celebrate in any sort of legitimate way, seeing as I am 1. miles from any synagogue and 2. unwelcome at all but the most loose of all reform synagogues anyway. As James so eloquently wrote, I too put the "-ish" in Jewish. However, I can observe the spirit of the holiday, being one of forgiveness and atonement, things appropriate to be celebrated by anyone. Even if today were not the eve of Yom Kippur, I think this subject still would have been on my mind.

First of all I would like to publicly announce that today I attended Sacrament Meeting in a ward in Tooele, Utah, where the ward choir stood and sang the oft-maligned dirge (Kidding!) "I Believe in Christ" written by one Bruce R. McConkie, may he rest in peace. I would be lying if I were to say that this hymn is anything but my least favorite. But today--and I think it had something to do with the humility and love manifest in the members of this ward who sang this song for my friend who is leaving on a mission, because it is her favorite--I listened to all four long verses, and didn't feel irritated at all. I think I'm getting righteouser.

Here are some obscure references to things I am working on atoning for (Sort THOSE prepositions out, Athelflad!). Feel free to guess at what you think they are referencing. I think you may be pleasantly surprised!

1. There's a bag in my closet containing some small toys, a men's size 14 CTR ring, a "NO SMOKING" sign and some dish towels. None of these items were purchased for myself. There was also some candy, but I ate it.

2. Two things I wish were in the freezer aren't, nor should they be, but I still want them there.

3. Three numbers are bugging me. Two of them are wrong.

4. It's tempting for me to take a sharp utensil to all the pieces of fruit that don't meet my expectations of deliciousness. However, I must remember that even the mushiest pomelo belongs to somebody. Even if that somebody ain't me.

K, that one was actually pretty obvious.

5. Here's another obvious one: I need to set my phone for earlier, so I can read and run and study and pray and meditate earlier/at all.

6. I am not as awesome and flawless as I sometimes think I am.

7. Keep them feathers in the pillowcase.

8. Keep those words in the Bible where they belong.

9. I owe some people some quarters.

10. It's time to go go go before I slow slow .... oh no.

11. Three ghosts.

12. Bleach to the ceiling! Bleach to the sky! My things that needs bleaching piles a mile high!

13. G-g-g-gIRLfriends, on the phone, twice a day on the deity telephone.

14. Bring poetry back and sexy. Bring it all.

Man I am hilarious. Happy Yom Kippur, everyone. Or rather, I wish you a solid, introspective holiday, as mine was. Indeed.

Tonight I said to Brooke while walking: "I should never love anything ever."

This post has nothing to do with yesterday's post, for the record.

So I love our neighborhood because it has a really nice mix of families and college students (Being, you know, a whole six blocks from campus). And the families are nice and chill, not the uptight ones you see on Hot Mom Day at Costco. It's also pretty diverse. For Utah. There is a small apartment complex down the street from us that houses mostly Hispanic families. Fairly recent imports from Mexico, with Dads that bike to work (Awesome!) and kids that speak Spanish to each other, English to me. They love our house because we have two dogs.

Some of the kids in the aforementioned complex come by every once in a while and ask if they can take Sego for a walk. They used to come over and just play with him in the front yard, but because I know them and they are ten or eleven and have proved themselves to be responsible, I now let them take him out for a while when they ask. They usually go to the park and then bring him back. Such a nice little slice of real community life.

Anyway, today the little sister of one of the kids came by with one of her friends and asked if she could take Sego for a walk. She was younger than the kids that usually take him, but I figured it would be fine. This is a really safe neighborhood. I remember asking as they left, "Are you two going to be OK on your own?" She said yes. Two hours went by.

It was eight now and starting to get dark, and I got a little worried. The kids never keep Sego out after dark. So I walked down to their apartment complex. They weren't there. So I walked to the park. They weren't there either. I went back to the apartment complex and asked some of the older kids if they knew where they were. They said they had no idea. More walking around the neighborhood. Panic ensued. Luckily at that precise moment I ran into Brooke, who went back with me to the complex to see if we could talk to their parents. Tangent: I really really need to learn Spanish.

We found out which apartment the girls lived in and knocked. No one was home. So there were several possibilities at this point.

1. The girls were out somewhere with Sego at nine at night by themselves. What parent lets a kid that young run around any neighborhood after dark? I don't care if it is Provo.
2. The kids were out with their parents somewhere and had taken Sego with them. What kind of parent lets their kids take a strange dog in the car to another person's house on a Friday night? That also does not make any sense.
3. The girls had lost Sego or something bad had happened and they were afraid to tell me.

Because 1 and 2 seemed so illogical and I was already in a panicky mindset, my mind immediately jumped to number 3. My panic changed to near hysteria, but luckily Brooke was with me for support. A couple of nice boys from next door heard me crying and asked if I needed help. They actually rode their bikes around the neighborhood for about twenty minutes and looked for him to no avail. That was so nice of them and I was too preoccupied to get their names. I salute you, Bicycling Knights.

Anyway, obviously this story has a happy ending, but chronologically, it didn't happen for a while. The truth is we walked around the neighborhood for another hour and a half asking everyone we saw if they had seen two little girls running around with a black dog. Most people assumed we were looking for the kids, and I didn't correct them.

Here are the emotions I was feeling during this ordeal, if you care:

1. Guilt. I felt guilty for letting my dog into the hands of incompetent six year-olds where he had surely met some awful harm. I chided myself for not telling them what time to bring Sego back. I also felt terrible because a few months ago Sego lost his tag with my phone number on it and I hadn't bothered to buy him a new one.
2. Paralyzing fear. Every time we saw a lump on the side of the road (Remember, I don't have the best vision) my stomach lurched with the possibility that it might be Sego's body.
3. Rage. I wanted to kill those girls for letting something happen to my baby.
4. Embarrassment. I felt a little stupid about getting this worked up about a dog. If you've never had pets and/or aren't an animal person, I'm sure my reaction sounds completely irrational. That's cool. I understand. But I say unto you, I was NOT acting upset because I wanted attention. I was truly, genuinely hysterical--the exact same kind of hysterical I was when my little brother went missing for a few hours when he was three. Maybe even a little MORE hysterical, actually (No offense, David) because Sego is my responsibility alone.

To make a long story short, we returned home and Sego was there. The girls had brought him back and, finding no one home, left him inside. I have never been so happy to see a dog in my life.

In conclusion:
1. You know how sometimes people say they don't want to love anything because the possibility of getting hurt is too great? They're right. I seriously considered never loving anything or anyone ever again during this ordeal.
2. However, when Sego and I were reunited, I forgot about all that and remembered why I love that darn dog in the first place. Why I love him more than a lot of things. Possibly you. Just kidding! Maybe.
3. This experience made me remember that someday Sego is going to die and I am going to be completely devastated.
4. However, likely as not he will die old, safe and surrounded by people who love him, including the children I hope to have ten or twelve years from now.
5. Maternal instinct? That shiz is LEGIT.
6. Something about eternity.

Happy birthday tomorrow, Sego. You better know I love you.