My father's long-lost brother, Zack Galifianakis

Beardism is rampant in our society. Any sturdy man with a dark beard is told that he is Billy Mays', Al Borland's, or Jack Black's doppleganger. However, I have a feeling that Zack Galifianakis and my father share more than just the ability to grow a mane of hair on the lower part of the face.

They share the same face.

Other pictures probably do the similarity more justice, but if my dad didn't have 6 inches on Zack, I would worry about being unable to distinguish the two.

Choose Your Own Adventure

Recently, I've been ever-so-slightly lamenting the course of study I've pursued in my collegiate education. It seems it would have been a lot more practical if I had just chosen some sort of professional track that led to a specific career. This dawned on me with particular umph as I realized I was jealous of those friends and relatives of mine who are in the first years of teaching. They are somewhere. Their education has yielded certain fruits. Specifically, a classroom over which they have dominion.

I guess I sort of had that professional-track thing going on when I was an aspiring journalist tearing up the editorial scene at BYU (by tearing it up I mean writing mediocre pieces and getting people's names wrong, that's a GFE, my friends, a gross factual error). But I didn't like that, I truly didn't. And I don't really look back on withdrawing from all my journalism classes part way through the semester with regret. In fact, I am kind of proud of those W's marring my transcript. Because for me, it took new insight and courage to realize that a piece of paper didn't matter as much as doing what really felt right for me. Blah, blah, blah. It was really profound stuff.

But now, I find myself with diploma in hand, thinking it will give me direction and realizing that it is not actually a map. Career counselors like to tell you that there is a wide berth of opportunities for enterprising young humanities majors to seize. But I remember the only employer advertising on the "Opportunities in Humanities" bulletin board the one time I looked at it was Enterprise Rent-a-Car, which is a nice company, my uncle works for them, but he was a business major. It was sort of a taunting flier; it seemed to be saying "So you looked at your paintings and read your stories, now come to the real world."

I'm sure a number of people who got their elementary education degree feel a bit like I do, like they don't know where they're going (despite their degree did provide some sort of linear progression, with a clear objective). I feel like I am in a choose your own adventure book. I read a couple of those back in the day, or maybe I just read one a couple of times. It's hard to be sure. I remember being a Japanese schoolgirl caught in the middle of some kind of samurai feud or something. But I remember dying prematurely, probably on a machete blade. I wasn't a good decision-maker. Or I just made dangerous decisions. But I don't regret them, it was just a book.

I guess this is just life. It's not quite as dramatic as samurai vendettas. So making the more adventurous decision, the one that strikes my fancy the most, won't be my death. And I mean, if I really want to see what life would be like being the supreme ruler of 30' by 30' space in some high school, I could go back and see how that storyline would progress. But for now, I'll continue to trudge through this because, despite that I have no idea where it is going to take me, I'm still thinking it will yield a better story.

red revival

Communism is alive and well in my heart as a beautiful ideal. This Halloween I costumed myself in the garb of a soviet-era Russian spy. The outfit was replete with accessories ranging from my bright purple bob wig (which inspired a deep love for wigs and an impulsive desire to chop of my hair and dye it a neon hue, but reasonableness continues to overpower my whims when I realize I am not a rockstar, nor do I live a rock-and-roll lifestyle) to my soviet-era soldier's cap. But I am not staving off sleep to blog about my Halloween costume.

No, the topic which inspired this burst of writing is even more--how should I put this--oh, right, vain.

As I compiled the pieces of my Halloween ensemble I thought nothing would say, "I want to seduce you, James Bond, so I can steal your government's secrets" like bright red lipstick. Thus, moments before I was due to work I ran into the grocery store to pick up some red lipstick.

The shade dubbed Red Revival.

I coated my lips with the stuff as part of my costume, and figured, "Well there's $5 frivolously spent, as I have no designs to make my lips so ostentatious on regular occasion." But I left the stuff in my apron pocket and my co-worker Mary convinced me to try it on again on November 1st. I mainly put it on to show how ridiculous it looked for everyday wear, but she told me she liked it. Moments later, my boss walked by and told me she was fond of my lipstick. My sister was also thought it looked quite good on me. So, I wore it again today.

I kind of feel like that Junior High girl that is finally allowed to wear make-up, so she makes sure the world knows it by ignoring the neutral tones and going for shades that make it obvious she is accenting her natural beauty with gobs of glittery blue eye-shadow and crazy lipstick.

But it doesn't look as good on the 14-year-old as it does on me, right?

Perhaps later I'll blog about the environment, or how female veterans are really passed over when it comes to care in VA hospitals, or how I am not mad at Barack Obama. But this is what you get today. Lipstick.