Library

I had the most frustrating experience of my life today.

I have to write a research paper about a work of art that we have studied this past semester in Art History 201.

So I go to the library tonight to work on a Book of Mormon Paper when I check Blackboard and see that I have a rough draft due in Art History 201 tomorrow with a mandatory peer review! For those of you unfamiliar with the correlation between numbers and subject matter, 201 means "Ancient to 1500's" and believe me, there is a lot to cover. Needless to say I started freaking out. TOMORROW! I've never been a student that just blows things off until it's the night before it's due, but now I felt the pressure like I've never felt it before. My only consolation was that it was only a rough draft due and the final draft wasn't expected until the following Wednesday. Phew!

Back to the library. I soon start to decide what work of art I want to research. I eventually ended up narrowing it down to two and decided to pick the work that I thought would have the most information on it. At least the two I narrowed it down to were ones that I felt I had the most to say about them. Both were sculptures.

So I head to the reference desk, hoping that the little sign which reads "Need help jump-starting your research? Let the Humanities Reference Desk help you!" wouldn't let me down. A cute girl asked me how she could help and I asked her if they had any material on The Augustus of Prima Porta or The Tetrarchs. She answered, "Sure who are the artists?" "Uhh...they don't have artists? At least we don't know who they are. I can give you dates..." "How do we not know who the artists are?" "Um, they come out of the first century and we just don't really know?" So awkward. She obviously I was poorly equipped to start my research seeing as I didn't even know the basics. But I thought she was poorly equipped to be a reference desk helper. So I tried to further explain the assignment and what I was looking for. She lead me to a large set of encyclopedias on paintings. She explained that you can look them up by either artist or title of the painting "Okay" I thought, "Let's try this again..." They're sculptures. And the titles aren't definite. They are just names we call them. I don't think they're going to be in there? Sorry? Don't hate me for making you do your job?...I was scared of her. And we were both getting frustrated. "Alright, come back over to the computer" she said in a little huff. Sheesh!

Back at the desk she told me to pull up a stool behind the desk with her and she showed me how to search for things online. Well I could have done that. And the things she was searching for were so not going to find anything about what I was looking for. Had I explained things horribly? Or had she just really missed the mark? Whatever the case I ended up thanking her for her "help" and said that I'd figure it out. She wished me a very snide "Good luck" and I was back off to my table to mourn the early death of my research paper gone wrong. Actually, it didn't even have the chance to go wrong yet! It was like a stillborn in the paper world.

But I was set on doing one of the these. I decided that I'd just do the Augustus. There was NO WAY that the library didn't have information on this sculpture. I wanted to shake the reference desk girl when she said that and say "DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW WELL-KNOWN AND IMPORTANT THIS SCULPTURE IS?!?" But I kindly refrained.

I moved my stuff to the aisle with all of the art history reference books, took 10 - 20 books off the shelf, piled them on the floor next to me and started searching. What I was finding was scant, but I refused to believe that the dummy at the desk was right. So I got online, and tried searching that way. I had more luck with these. Then I searched for journals and articles written on it and looked that their bibliographies. Bingo! Almost every book they used the Library had. Jackpot!

Now the trick was navigating my way through thousands of books and trying to locate the one I needed. I was lead all over the library and explored the vast underground spaces like never before. I was led to the first floor, the bowels of the library, to some dark corner for the last book on my list about the Pax Romana. While running my finger along the spines and searching for the call number, I heard a giggle. And another, and another. It was completely incessant, and I was completely curious. I followed the sound until I found myself peeping through the shelves at this very preoccupied couple having a little make-out session. It was golden. The only thought going through my mind was that I had to get a picture for the girls as proof that I really saw this. (Sidenote: We made a pact just weeks before that we would make-out in the stacks before we graduate. The fact that I was witnessing one was just too ironic to not document). So I pull out my phone and begin to slowly reach my hand through the shelf to get a good enough picture. Then they saw me. I felt like an idiot but couldn't duck in time because my arm was stretched through the shelf so I just smiled and slowly recoiled my arm. They just giggled some more and flitted off to a more secluded spot. I followed them a little ways just to get a lame picture for reference, but it turned out blurry. Slightly disappointed but still excited to tell the girls about my encounter I surfaced from the underground floors and practically ran back up to our usual stakeout on the 5th.

I guess the library isn't SO bad after all. Only that reference desk girl...

Dictation

I've always been taught that art effects the viewers but it has been hard for me to grasp the enormity of the impact that art often has on cultures, societies, politics and etc. Taking Art History this past semester, I have seen how much of ancient art was propaganda, intended to infuse the viewer with a feeling of loyalty, hatred, change. . . Today I went to the Springville Museum of Art and spent much of my time there in the exhibit of Soviet Art in Conflict. I found it fascinating. It made me really come to terms with the fact that although art is a depiction of the times, it is often a dictation of the times as well. Artists truly have power.

Home

When I came to college I thought I was moving away from home. But in reality I was really creating a new home. I never thought that the cinder block walls would become a sanctuary, but after going "back home" for Thanksgiving, I realized that my childhood home isn't the same place to me that it used to be. Suddenly it's "my parent's house" or my "house house" but not really my home anymore. It's not a completely bad thing, just a different thing. It is a little bit comforting to know that I can feel at home in places that seem so completely un-homely. Being with my family is what makes me feel at home, and somehow, 5 girls have become a new family and support system. It's nice to know I have two sets of 5 people at my side through everything.

Machine

Super computer nothing! I just used probably the coolest machine at BYU. Maybe I'm just sheltered from the mystery and majesty of modern machinery miracles, but I think that the copy machine monster in the TMA office is amazing.

The girl who normally is at the front desk had to take a leave of absence until the middle of December, so the rest of us are having to cover front desk hours while she's away. My first day was today and it was nerve racking to have everyone asking me questions and making random requests. The worst was when a professor came in, dropped a 30 page packet on my desk, and said "I need 30 of these. Double-sided. Stapled in the upper left hand corner. Be back in a few. Thanks!"

What? 30 copies, of a 30 page double-sided packet, stapled...huminawha? How was I supposed to do this without a ton of fiddling, trial and error, and a few muttered cursings? Right then a lady in the office walked out and I asked her for the copy code. "Oh sure. What are you copying?" I recited, "30 copies of a double-sided 30 page packet to be stapled in the upper left hand corner." "Okay. Do you want to learn a trick?" I was expecting her to take out a post-it note, write "don't be lazy" on it and stick it to the front of the packet to copy and leave it for the professor to do herself. But instead she went over to the monster, put the stack of papers on a tray up top, pushed a few buttons, cast a magic spell, and out came double-sided, stapled packets! I was stunned. How does it know?! So I grinned a large grin, sat back in my comfy office chair, and blogged about it. Lovely.

Awareness

I saw a girl running today and my heart hurt for her out of embarrassment. She was wearing printed black and gray tights and a black cotton dress. Apparently she had somewhere to go because she was bookin' it out of Heritage, towards campus. When I first noticed her I looked at her face and smiled, then I glanced down and saw that because of her vigorous run, her skirt was so bunched up in the front, a few more inches and I would have been getting a little undies show. The worst part was that she showed no sign of self-awareness and just kept trucking it to class. Meanwhile hordes of freshman where making their way back home from class and this poor girl was like a salmon spawning up river, half naked. I hope that she learns in the future to be aware of unfamiliar breezes and learns that cotton on cotton means wear a slip.

Fullfilling

Thanksgiving is a holiday of glutton and games for my family. Having both sets of grandparents living here in Provo, it's a pretty intense eating marathon. A few years ago (before we all got older and wiser too) we used to do double duty on the infamous Thursday Thanksgiving Day of Championship Eating. Now, one side gets Thursday and we have a "Pre-Thanksgiving Stretching Session" the Wednesday before dinner on the official Turkey Day. Although I felt like I did a decent job at not completely going over board, all I wanted to do after dinner was lay on my belly and moan for digestion to come quick to help relieve the large amounts of food that I could have sworn were expanding in my stomach and up my esophagus. Do mashed potatoes expand?

Besides the discomfort and disgust at my lack of self-control, Thanksgiving this year was exceptional. I decided it very well may be my favorite holiday. To me, there is just nothing better than spending hours with family and basking all day in the warmth of each other's company. It makes me realize how grateful I am that my family lives so close and that we share such tight bonds with one another. Hopefully next year, however, I'll realize that I should hold off a little on the appetizers. . .

Omen

Last Sunday our oven went haywire. I was sitting in my room reading when I heard a familiar beeping, but it seemed so strange to be hearing this noise when it was unaccompanied by sweet, warm smells. I let it beep for a few minutes, lazily wanting someone else to turn off the oven because I didn't put anything in there. No one stirred. Bleh.

I got up, walked in there and saw something slightly out of place but didn't think much of it. F7 appeared where the temperature should be. Okay. No biggie. I pushed Clear/Off three times and went back to my room. Minutes later "Beep beep beep beep beep beep beep..." What? I thought I pushed clear? So I walked back in there, pushed Clear/Off again, and mosied back to read my book. Again. "Beeep! Beep! Beep! Beep!" Oh my. I was beginning to think our oven had am omen. Yes, an Oven Omen was stalking me and I was fed-up. After silencing the oven for a third time, I went into Roommates room and asked her if she knew anything about the oven. "Oh it's the oven? I thought it was someone snoozing their alarm! No that's annoying." While we were speaking The Omen returned and the incessant beeping started up once again. I wanted to die. I went in there with Roommate this time, and together we pushed all the buttons we could to try and make the dang thing shut up for good. We thought we did a pretty good job as it didn't start beeping right away and we talked in the kitchen for a bit.

My heart almost stopped when I heard the sound I had come to loath so fiercely start up again. "AH! What is your problem?!" I was shouting and an inanimate object. Yes, The Omen causes temporary insanity.

We decided to just stay in the kitchen, watch some Pride and Prejudice, and babysit The Omen. Well getting up every few minutes really is annoying, so Roommate and I fashioned a tool that enabled us to sit out the couch and reach across the kitchen to quiet the beeping. Our tool consisted of a broom, half a mop handle, two wooden spoons, a spatula and a plastic spoon, and loads of duct tape. Unfortunately it really didn't work all that well, but we got a kick out of playing with it.

Well, the oven still beeps and the maintainance guys are clueless. So until we move out and someone else is stalked by The Oven Omen, we keep the breaker off. It works for now.

Staring

The past few days have been surprisingly hard. In our apartment this week, we have instated a "No Treat Creed" and have sworn an oath to abide by it. It was my idea. I'll take the hits. But it was in response to the ABSOLUTELY EXORBITANT amount of desserts, treats, and other such sugary goods that are baked, created or otherwise made every day. Just last Thursday one of my roommate made cupcakes, Muddy Buddies, and sugar cookie dough (which is WAY harder to resist than cookies) in a single day. Times that by five, and I'm seriously in a bad way.

Therefore.

We are hereby swearing off treats for 7 days. It's day three. I'm still alive, but I feel like every chocolate morsel that graces every check stand in America is staring at me intently, prodding and teasing, "EAT ME." Never (or at least not until Saturday night when all bets are off.)

I think it's a curse. Every day thus far this week I have been offered birthday cake. Not just any birthday cake. Ice Cream Cake, Carmel Turtle birthday cake, and Mom's delicious white on brown, chocolate with vanilla frosting birthday cake (shout out happy birthday to Bryan and Andrew). But I have stayed strong. Even when there is no one around and temptation is at it's highest, I have resisted the urge to binge on chocolate for hours on end.

Honestly, it isn't THAT bad and it's an empowering feeling, but it's a disconcerting feeling to walk past the fudge stand in the bookstore and feel the big, brown, irresistible, chocolatey eyes staring from behind the counter, "eat me . . ." I really do wish the fudge would stop staring.

Servaholic

My sister is a servaholic. She thinks that I hate her for it. Maybe I do, but it's only because I feel completely inadequate when stacked up against her mounds of service. Maybe I feel like I'm never on the receiving end so I feel jealous? That's horrible, and I hope that I'm not that way.

The truth is, I think she's amazing and I wish I had her endless energy and ideas to be a do-gooder. Sometimes I think that she forgets herself too completely however. Everybody needs to spend a little time on themselves sometimes. Take a break. Recharge your own batteries.

Catch
your
breath . . .

andthengoontodoallthethingsthatyoudosooftenforsomanydifferentpeople.

Phew.