Ode to Poo-Flowers

Yesterday I made a very happy observation. As I was walking around outside I noticed trees bursting with pink and white blossoms. The sun was shining. Bees were buzzing. BYU campus was a beautiful sight and I couldn't help but feel that popcorn actually was popping on the apricot tree(s).

But there's a catch.
Along with the buttery, luscious blossoms that ARE apricot-slash-other-types-of-blossoms comes a terrible stench. I haven't ever been able to fully appreciate the kernel-like blossoms that grace springtime because the overall smell of the season reminds me of, well, poo.

And there's another catch.

Pollen.

Pollen, pollen, pollen.



Pollen has been my arch nemesis since before the days of poo-flowers. That means forever.

In lieu of my hatred of pollen, I decided to educate you a little bit about my bothersome, nettlesome, provoking, galling, irritating, plaguy, troublesome, annoying "friend" that is Poky Pollen (not to be confused with Corny Collins).



Grain of pollen: microscopic part produced by the anther that serves as the male agent of fertilization in flowering plants.
Thickening of cellulose: fibrous thickening.
Exine: outer layer of a pollen grain.
Intine: inner layer of a pollen grain.
Nucleoli: control centers of cellular activity.
Pore: small hole.

Please note that a grain of pollen is, "[the] microscopic part produced by the anther that serves as the male agent of fertilization in flowering plants".

The male gender is the general root of my problems.




Okay so maybe I am overreacting a little bit. The thing is that pollen, just like poo-flowers and males in general, is somewhat mystifying, intriguing, and demands a closer look. But even though these things are pretty, they are really annoying and shouldn't be touched, inhaled, or tolerated. The fact that they get under your skin and make you itch all the time is pretty hard to overlook. I just made that connection in my head. I'm glad I did.

A Breakthrough

So I wore high heels yesterday.  First time ever.  I mean, I have tried them on before, practiced walking around the house, and worn them to look in the mirror and feel cool, but yesterday I actually wore them.  This was big.  For a long time I had kind of an "anti-heels" thing going, then it turned into serious "flat pride", and then it turned into a habitual avoidance of purchasing them slash learning how to walk in them.  Anyway, yesterday my skirt was just screaming for Rachel's ridiculously high yellow shoes.  It seriously wasn't even a question.  So I sucked up my pride and wore them.  OF COURSE I got a million compliments, including, "those shoes are amazing", "you are amazing", "those shoes are pretty sassy", and finally, "hey, will you model for me?  I've been looking for someone who can strut their stuff just like you.  Here is my number, 1-800-PRO-MODL (not to be confused with the Prada and D&G offers I got while walking out of sacrament meeting)".  Anyway, I'm glad I finally did it.

I rock.

PS - I forgot to mention my star moment.  I was walking down to Ben and Aaron's apartment and my heel (guys these weren't just any heels, we are talking 4-5 inches of pure madness) and the heel caught on the stairs that are serious death traps and suddenly I was in a blunder falling forward.  i didn't really have anything to grab onto so I flung my arms to the right of me and literally HUNG by the railings ABOVE me for a few seconds.  I just sat there screaming.  Glad to be alive.  Then I knocked on the door and Homeless Handsome Jeff answered.  Awkward.

Thanks, Pablo.

Picasso is cool.  Particularly because he said this:

"Most people can today no longer expect to receive consolation from art.  The refined, the rich, the distillers of quintessence, desire only the peculiar, the eccentric, the scandalous in today's art.  I myself, since the advent of cubism have fed these fellows what they wanted and satisfied these critics with all the ridiculous ideas that have passed through my head.

The less they understood the more they admired me, through amusing myself with all these absurd farces I became celebrated --- but when I am alone, I do not have the effrontery to consider myself an artist at all.  Not in the grand old meaning of the word, Titian, Rembrandt, Goya --- they were great painters.  I am only a public clown.

I have understood time and have exploited the imbecility, the vanity, the greed of my contempories.  It is a better confession of mine --- more painful that it may seem, but at least and at last it does have merit of being honest."

The Blog Clock is Wrong

I just wanted you to know its really 3:00 am.  

Not 2 or whatever time the blogger said.

(I really do need to go to bed).

A Makeover

Okay so I lied.  I didn't really get a makeover.  

In fact, I was talking about my "blog" (hereby named "Madras", I think that we can all be on a first-name basis with...it).  

Anyway, I went through all these templates trying to pick an appropriate new do for Madras and I...I just...I just couldn't get rid of the polka-dots.  Maybe sometime in the near future I will go through ALL of the templates and take notes, write the pros and cons of each on a sheet of paper, and slowly eliminate them as I realize their dumbness.   

But I seriously need to go to bed.  

(And if they tell me that I didn't do a good job cleaning that dang shower, I'll feed them to the wolves).

Thanks, Bob.

Autumn Arabesque 

© Robert Marshall

Tonight as I pursued a random train of thought I came across a devotional talk given by one of my art professors, Robert Marshall, in 2003.  The entire talk is beautiful, but I found one thing to be particularly so:

"Bless yourself with quiet, uninterrupted, reflective moments when you can reaffirm how very fortunate you are and how beautiful life is.  Many times there is so much pressure in the quest to accomplish that we forget to value the need for meditative moments--and yet they are essential.  Protect them."

That's just what I needed to hear.  

Thanks, Bob.

Finally

Well kids, finals are over. It’s done. I’m graduating. I spent the past two weeks performing, critiquing, turning in projects, studying, and this morning at 11:00 I took my last undergraduate test.

Just kidding. Now I am free to finish making up the three classes I have had to take “incomplete” grades in over the past year. Then I have a year solid of classes left in my undergraduate degree. Then I have pre-requisites for graduate school. And then, from the looks of my recent (well, recurring) obsession, I have at least three years of graduate school after that.

But graduating was a fun idea, too.