First Check on the Bucket List!

In a previous post I listed 24 things I wanted to do this year, crossing off two a month. As the weeks go by and school gets hectic and my resolve weakens I have been getting these thoughts that I would almost never get to any of the goals I had set, resigned to the fact that I was the most boring/dull person alive. And then today, right at the end of the month, I accomplished my first task.

I went skinny dipping.

I hadn't really planned on it, it just kind of happened. One of those serendipitous moments where you enter a certain environment and find that "hey, clothes kind of suck right now" and glorious experiences soon follow. I ended up putting off homework for the third day in a row in order to hang out with my good friends Matt and Jess who took me to the fanciest vacation rental that they look after just down the road from BYU-H. Having already referenced my experience last week in the 1200 a night home, let me just say I was under-prepared for this experience. In sheer number alone, this house rents for a minimum of 3,200 a night seeing a plethora of big name stars as its tenants, including Bobby Brown who was actually married here. Yes, might want to get a towel for the drool flooding your room now dear. It was pretty fucking fantastic.

                                            This picture doesn't even begin to do it justice.

After walking around in a most reverent air exploring the many rooms/bathrooms/kid coves/and kitchens we headed outside to be greeted by this beautiful view of an infinity pool backing right up into the ocean. I'm telling you, I couldn't design a house better if I tried. The hosue was a massive aphrodisiac of architectural splendor and interior design. So naturally being me my first thought in finding myself in such a place dripping of sensuality was to take my pants off. My thoughts had gone no further than this pleasure when Matt suggested that instead I try going for a full on skinny dip and embrace my inner shameless hippy.

Don't have to tell me twice.

While Jess and Matt skimpered off to one of the farther rooms to be productive adults I, bare as the day I came from my mother's womb, went skinny dipping in the glorious pool of a mansion on the North Shore in Hawaii. All the while I kept on thinking simultanousely "this is not my life" and "why does anyone ever wear clothes...like ever, seriously" as I enjoyed the sweet victory of knowing that yes, I was an accomplished human being and I had now formally begun my new years resolutions. I never thought that my first skinny-dipping experience would be in the light of day at a house of someone I don't even know, but hey, life never quite works out that way and spontaneity always makes for a better story. I just know that one day when I look back and tell my crazy grand kids about the good old days of my youth, I'm sure this experience will be one of the highlights.

First World Privilege

There are some weeks you hate life and some you realize just how damn good you have it. This has been a week of the latter.

On Tuesday I was able to hang out with some of my best friends here in Hawaii, Matt and Jess, who I rarely get to see now that he is graduated and she is in a different major. They are by far some of the most generous loving people I have met in my life and I always enjoy their company as they really are true intellectuals who like to analyze things in a variety of different ways. Also went and picked up another bestie here Elizabeth who sadly lives in the dorms and rarely gets the off campus freedom of being able to make these late night excursions. Together we make a dream team.

So one reason Jess and Matt are awesome is the fact that they are caretakers for several rental vacation homes on North Shore. The most luxurious of them all goes at a minimum of 1200 a night and is just stunning. I always think I have high morals and self respect but when I walk into that house I'm immediately willing to drop trough for some cashmonz. We made this our base camp for the night because, hey, life is always better chilling out in a mansion on the North Shore of Hawaii.

So the mansion had recently been rented by some people from the food network, who graciously left some leftover food in the fridge which I as a freeloader felt fully within my right to consume. It wasn't anything special but it was a) free and b) already made. Also decided to bake some delicious banana bread at the hosue [weird/delicious recipe including lime and coconut] followed by a much needed soak in the luxurious hot tub. Seriously, hot tub is top priority for my future house. Or a magnificent bath tub. Basically I want to wear no pants and be submerged in water at all times. Call it weird unresolved baby issues, but I love it. Talked about old t.v shows we grew up with before finally getting on the subject of super powers, thus giving birth to the M-JEMS signifying the members of our group [Morgan Freeman, Jess, Elizabeth, Matt, and Sydney].

You're probably wondering how Morgan got into all of this, but believe me, it was a very lengthy and heated discussion about who to bring into the group under what superpower. In the end we felt that Morgan had both the maturity and the suave to be admitted into the group, as well as bringing ethnic diversity and extreme intelligence. His superpower [reading minds and being able to alter emotions] we also felt complimented our shape-shifting [Jess], invisibility [Elizabeth], Time traveler [Matt], and Jumper [me]. Overall, we are going to kick some major ass when the time to come and defend the world presents itself.

After we finished with the hot tub we packed up again and headed back to their studio to watch 'Cloud Atlas.' The movie wasn't too bad, albeit hard to understand especially having started it at 11 p.m and I fell asleep 4 times. Apparently it was supposed to be brilliant, so I'll have to give it another go when I have more energy to focus on its themes and artistic merit. Overall that was the greatest night this week where I just kept sitting back in awe that this is my life sometimes.

Tonight then marked the beginning opening social for music club which I love. Although it was a sausage fest [hey, not complaining since I swing that way] there were a couple great female performers. It was my first time performing without Lisa so I was a bit nervous, but I ended up singing "Mother of Pearl" by Nellie McKay as well as another one I wrote titled "Sometimes." They were both really well received which was nice, especially since I am partially sick and so my voice is out of it and there was also the pressure of so many awesome/sexy men. Met a pair of twins in particular who don't go to school here but are merely passing through. They work extensively in the tourism industry for a couple of months out of the year and save up their money so they can travel and be wandering gypsies the rest of the time. Mainly they were there to freeload off the food but they were really nice. Love meeting those people along the way.

So overall a great week. This weekend will be kind of lame, but I suppose I need a bit of a lame weekend to get over this cold :/

Adventures in Being Social

It's rare that I find myself actually being actively social on a Friday night, but last night I decided to chart out into this unknown territory and go to a bonfire some friends of mine were throwing on the beach. I roped my good friend Elizabeth into going with me since I'm not very good with big groups of people, and generally prefer one on one interactions. Ended up riding with this BYU-H alumni in the Air Force who was very nice and had to carry this super heavy pallet up and down hills for what seemed like forever until finally we could decide on a spot on the beach that was decent for a fire.

While they set up camp, Elizabeth and I tried to be as out of the way as possible by taking a stroll down the beach and catching up on news that had happened over Winter break. Ran into some other bonfire people down the beach who kindly offered us a beer, to which we declined and soon headed back at the eery feeling their offering left us. Got back and the fire was almost made, laid down a little beach towel and continued talking about a variety of issues revolving around sexuality, womens' reproductive rights, and television programs. After being as anti social as possible in such a large group of people we integrated into the larger campfire atmosphere.

Ended up sitting next to this boy who I've known informally through the grape vine for about a year now through Arab club, but who also happens to be in my English class. I'd always kind of written him off as one of those peter-priesthood really obnoxiously christian boys because of his optimistic boyish demeanor and nicely pressed button up shirts. But as soon as we got talking I was just blown away at how smart, open-minded, and well spoken this boy was. Naturally, he also happens to be in the ICS and Peacebuilding programs same as me, which accounted for a lot of contributing to his worldview for sure. We talked about politics, social issues, life goals, and a myriad of other things that seemed to effortless intertwine to make a very well rounded and natural conversation. The man isn't perfect, but any man who's willing to casually talk about the feminist literature he's reading for fun while teaching himself Arabic and taking classes in Conflict Resolution is good in my book.

So he was a rather nice surprise to the evening, making my adventures in being social a success yesterday. Excited for the new season of SNL to come on tonight, coupled with what I'm sure will be a riveting game of Settlers of Catan with the ladies. Ftw.

Big

So I haven't accomplished much today except self loathing for not getting any homework done and lying around the house today watching old Lifetime movies with no pants on. I suppose the greatest thing that did come of today was when I finally convinced myself to go do some reading at the library and was hit by the inspirational writing bug. Sadly, not in an academic sense, but it did inspire this short story. And since this is my two-week deadline anyways to submit a short story according to the terms of my New Years Resolution, I suppose I made it just in time.

This story was in part inspired by a short children's book "Le Petit Prince" that we're currently reading in my French class. In addition I also went and found supporting images I liked on google to supplement the story which helped foster along the creative process, but I've added credit where credit is due with the links underneath the photos. Ran across a lot of really awesome artists in the process of "gillustrating" [making up words here, just flow with it] my piece so you should really take a little bit of time to check them out as they have some fantastic pieces 

Anyways, channeling my inner child I suppose with this one, but I hope that you enjoy it.

_______________________________________

"Big"
by Sydney Odell

My teacher says I need to be more concise. She says my sentences are too long and my words are too big. “All great writers can say what they need to in ten words or less,” she says.  But I am already losing. I cannot make my thoughts fit into the tiny space between the periods. Keep practicing, she assures me, and one day you will be such a great writer! I do not know how to tell her that I do not want to write small. I cannot fit the small words into my big mouth. They do not make sense, they are too blunt. Like a knife, they cut at my deeper meaning.  They drown out my voice, lodging themselves at the threshold of my esophagus. “No one says esophagus, Daniel. It is your throat” I hear her say. She does not mind that this brevity is consuming me. I think I will choke on these small words.

                                                                   click here

One day she decides she will rid me of my superfluous words. I sit down next to her at the table and she begins to teach me simplicity. The cat is black, she writes. Next to the sentence she draws a small picture of a cat. Here, she points to the drawing, my meaning is very simple and clear. Silently I think to myself that the cat is not black. It is ebony, charcoal, slate—the color of dark shadowy clouds on a stormy night. When I tell this to my teacher, she is upset. Daniel, if I say the cat is black then the cat is black! I do not know why telling the truth has upset her, but I do not argue using any big words. I swallow them in one gulp, allowing them to fill me up whole. She says that I make things unnecessarily complicated, that I must learn to condense. I nod and agree, but I do not really see what she means. The cat is not black.

lost this one and literally cannot find it again

Her second picture is of a giraffe. The giraffe is tall, she points out. She thinks she has won, she sees the description so quickly. I wonder if I can find the right words to match her lie. I look hard at the picture of the giraffe, its slender neck reaching high into the vast unknown. The giraffe is elongated, I venture a guess. The hiccup of my big word escapes from the depths of my overwhelmed stomach and I know she is displeased.  No Daniel, she sighs, the giraffe is tall—just tall. I do not think I like these lessons.

click here

Next she draws a picture of a dog.  It has a protruding round belly with thick pointed hair standing at a point, as if the dog is not really a dog at all but rather a porcupine in disguise. The dog is fat, she says. But the dog is not fat—it is obese, corpulent, bulging. The dog is as plump as a potbellied pig after its morning slop. Describe the dog Daniel, she orders. 

                                                                  click here

I know what she wants me to say but my lips remain frozen. The dog is fat, the dog is fat, the dog is fat. I cannot wrap my mind around this three letter word: FAT.  I try to think in small thoughts with small words so she will understand, but they do not come out. All I can hear are big words swimming around in my head with their big meanings, like a shark about to attack its vulnerable prey. But she cannot see these menacing sharks, and so I take the pencil and begin to draw.

                                                                    click here

She does not say anything, just starts at my drawing in silence. I think I have been too clear, that I have said too much without saying anything at all. My big words and big ideas she does not understand, and that is alright. She cannot fully see that I have silenced her with a small picture saying a thousand big words that she will never be able to condense. That her small words do not fit into my large gaping jaws. I have consumed her. 

Communicating with the Soul

When I was given my first introduction to poetry in Mrs. William's class in eighth grade, I immediately fell in love. As with most art, it touched me in a deeper place that transcended mere words on a page and spoke to me quietly in the language of my soul. Ever since, I have been enamored with the journey of seeking out those wisdom filled words on that path of metaphysical transformation and enlightenment in hopes that through their tutelage I would one day be able to give birth to my own happiness.

Many people have mixed feelings about poetry. They see it as complicated, with a lot of fancy words strung out in alternative ways all written by a mad person who is out of touch with actually articulating their meaning. And maybe in part people are right, because there isn't an exact right way to understand it. Poetry exists for itself, to be taken in as an experience and a reflection of a human experience and higher truth. And I think when I grasped that poetry wasn't beyond me but was me I truly began to foster a love for it.

Through the years, my poetry preferences have shifted. In my early indoctrination I could not grasp the idea of free verse. To me, it was not poetry. It was in rhyming that true creativity was found. In using words in a confining way that truly dictated it's worth. However as time went on, I slowly began to fall in love with deeper forms of poetry that transcended the rhyming scheme. The idea of using words in provocative ways to conjure up an an indescribable passion or image leaves me floored. How nothingness can become somethingness if you put enough energy into it, enough truth. The way that language can be used not to just reflect the soul, but to create the soul.

My dear friend Daryl recently expanded my view of poetry even more. I'd never much thought about poetry in different mediated forms outside of the written narrative, preferring my individualistic reading experience over other community gatherings. What Daryl showed me however has changed my perception about oral poetry readings, making me see the power in performance that you just can't get in the silence of reading. It's a visual learning, where the creator and the created are combined to make a truly inspirational reflection.

I've attached a few poetry readings here that I feel speak directly to me of the truth of the human experience. I can't wait to attend a poetry reading soon and begin the journey of opening up and letting people into my soul's composition. I hope they touch you in the way they have me and that you give poetry a chance. I promise you, it is life changing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ylq7yiyD5u8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQ57ODLopWU

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DK8Y2mtSa_8&feature=plcp

Ice Skating Revelations

Last Saturday I had the lovely opportunity of going ice skating with my favorite couple ever who, to me, embodies everything that is beautiful about our generation--international, interracial, and homosexual. I literally cannot get enough of the two, even if their perfectness [yup, its a word now] makes me want to occasionally vomit up rainbows. One day I hope to have their kind of love.

Anyways, I digress. So I went ice skating with Alex and Kevin. I'd been wanting to go during my entire three week vacation back in Washington but never did due to lack of funds and enthusiasm on the part of friends and family. However, it being my last day in Washington for who knows how long, I had a bit of leverage over my last-day activities. So we headed out to the sportsplex after a chilled morning of watching netflix documentaries and braved the ice.

To no one's surprise, Kevin was skating laps around us. I suppose being a Canadian, it's in your blood [...eh?]. In the beginning, I was super excited. I have always loved rollerblading, and am actually pretty good at it. However every time I go I seem to get the two confused and overshoot my capabilities on the ice, and after years of no practice I was definitely far from my professed skill. So as soon as we stepped out onto the glacial surface all those memories came back and I felt fear flooding back into me. I was trying to balance on motherfucking ice with sharp knives attached to my feet.

Of course, having talked up my enthusiasm for it so much I couldn't very well back out now. And so I began skating, albeit at a slow pace with an almost rhythmic pattern of obscenities. One of my greatest fears, however ridiculous, is that I will one day fall and knock out my front teeth. There are literally few fears more terrifying to me than this. So you can imagine my being on that ice, with its many indentations and suicidal maniac children skirting about, as a hotbed for my teeth-loosing paranoia.

I let that fear guide me for about the first 10 minutes. And then, as with most everything I do in my ADHD state of mind, I let my thoughts wander. Soon after I found the gentle gliding not so daunting, and the children actually quite cute and innocent. It was then that I had my ice-skating revelation.

They always say that in skating on thin ice, your safety is in your speed. For all intents and purposes this remains sage wisdom. But the fact is, whether you're skating on thin or thick ice doesn't always matter because either way life is a precarious ice block.

It's scary as hell, but often we get so clouded up by fear that we disassociate ourselves from any potential pleasure we may get out of that experience. I lost precious moments of being with friends doing an activity I had been waiting years to indulge in because of my preoccupation with the fear that I might fall. Ironically enough I never did, but it was in my moments of deep concentration and fear that I most found myself wobbling. In the end I performed the best was when I had faith in myself and essentially accepted the fact that I was in a dangerous clusterfuck of circling terrorists. When I accepted that the ice was there, I was there, and falling was probably inevitable but a central part of the learning process.

So my revelation is this: screw thin or thick ice--the fact is if you choose to get on ice in the first place, be prepared to fall, but have faith and confidence that you'll make it across. And usually, you will. Because that's life.

....plus, there's always the amusing possibility of sardonically watching the little midgets take themselves out of the Darwinian equation.

                           Kevin, Alex, and I braving the ice on my last day in Bellingham.
                            *look at that form, those lines! you must come here often...*

Yet Another Feminist Rant

It’s a hard thing to admit that you’ve failed.    

I have always really considered myself a feminist. These feelings have become exacerbated the past four or five years as I began to read more literature about it, take classes that analyzed its prevalence in society, and experienced its repercussions in my own life. But I feel like I've barely even scratched the surface over what this movement is about. Every day I am learning something new about myself and what my actions, subconscious or conscious, are saying about my attitude towards gender equality and female empowerment. And sometimes I’m ashamed to say I don’t like it.

            I recently acquired a book from one of my best friend’s Ruby entitled “Female Chauvinist Pigs.” While it is only recently that I have begun to take a critical look at feminism’s failures and concessions, I feel that its only right to be honest where we have not lived up to our expectations. The world is too full of people feigning ignorance and belligerently defending their innocence instead of admitting we’re human and owning up to it so we can actually progress. Reading this book helps me to be self-reflective and critical.

            So as I was reading this book a particular chapter seemed to leap out to me, aptly entitled ‘Female Chauvinist Pigs.’ As with the theme of the entire book, this chapter focuses on the ways in which supposed feminists become “Uncle Toms” to the cause for gender equality, and as a consequence end up being some of the biggest explicit supporters of continued patriarchy and female submission. The quote that I felt applied to my own actions in the past the most read as follows:

“Even if you’re a woman who achieves the ultimate and becomes like a man, you will always be like a woman. And as long as womanhood is thought of as something to escape from, something less than manhood, you will be thought less of, too…It can be fun to feel exceptional—to be the loophole woman, to have a whole power thing, to be an honorary man. But if you are the exception that proves the rule, and the rule is that women are inferior, you haven’t made any progress.”

            In many ways I have been a Female Chauvinist Pig.  For example, just the other day I found myself watching one of my favorite sitcoms with a few dear male friends, and in trying to describe one of the characters, I described her as a “fat chav.” Almost immediately I was rebuked by one of my friends for discriminating on what is a perfectly normal body size as he called me out on my own “tomming” of femininity. I realized in that moment that what I had internalized as an honest depiction was in fact a very politically discriminatory one that went against everything I thought I stood for in exhibiting an honest female body image. And what’s worse is that it had come so naturally to me that I realized this double standard must be living deeper within my consciousness than I ever thought possible. I then realized that I too am a female chauvinist pig.

            It’s a competitive capitalistic world out there, and if you don’t find yourself actively participating in the rat race of male approval and ideology often you can become sidelined.  From what I've come to learn of the book thus far, females pit themselves against others to become the “liberated woman” who can now take the task of forgiving and playing a man’s game. They've internalized the “dog eats dog” mentality and accepted the sad reality that “if you can’t beat them, join them.” They simultaneously criticize the “girly girls” who are preoccupied with materialistic and physical impressions in order to enter the male sphere, only to realize that they must simultaneously own this hypersexualized objectified status in order to truly remain in the art of creating the male cultural gaze. All the while they are competing not for some asexual ultimate approval, but for the male stamp of worthiness. You must believe you can be one of the guys, but accept that you never fully can. But all of this is being fed to us on the platter that it is women’s empowerment, their liberation movement so as to remove blame from the existing patriarchal structure catered to male pleasure. If this isn't blatant symbolic violence I don’t know what is.

People say that art isn’t important, but when I see social issues like gender inequality I am reminded just how important the act of creation is. It can be used as an instrument of captivity or of freedom. Many people argue that the female body is beautiful and artistic and I totally agree. But I also feel the same about the male physique, and I know that there is more beyond the cheap aesthetic approval. We are not using artistic creation in the constructive way it was intended for in the feminist sexual revolution, and until we realize that we are not winning but merely perpetuating this objectified status as female chauvinist pigs. Let us use art as a tool, opening up our imaginations to new creative solutions. Here we can admit our shortcomings and reevaluate the true foundation for what it means to be an independent holistic woman who refuses to play in a male construct in order to get over this defeatist female chauvinistic attitude and enact a new state of elevated critical consciousness about the complex female sexuality. 

2013 Bucket List

So I've been thinking about resolutions, and ways I can transform my life this year to make it the best ever, and I decided to go ahead and make a bucket list. After thinking about the exact number of items on the list, I settled on 24 so that hopefully in theory I can cross off two a month. Some of these things are easy, some more difficult, and some of them are hopefully a given [graduate university]. Some of these may even seem stupid and vague, but the fact is that we never know when life is going to end and if I'm not consciously pursuing these experiences that are going to make me a happy member of the human family then I may never get around to it.  Overall I think this list will help to encompass the many different facets of my total health so I can constructively work towards being a better person. Since my overall new years resolution is this blog, I will use it to track my progress. The New Year is full of so many opportunities and I'm not going to waste mine.

Sydney's 2013 Bucket List:

1. Learn how to drive a stick shift
2. Do the Haleiwa mini triathlon on March 2nd
3. Go skinny dipping
4. Go skydiving
5. Knit a sweater
6. Get published.
7. Graduate University
8. Attend Hogmamy celebrations next New Years in Edinburgh
9. Attend the Beard and Moustache Championships
10. Meet an alpaca
11. Kiss someone from South America
12. Attend an episode of the Ellen DeGeneres show
13. Go scuba diving
14. Stomp grapes into wine
15. Learn how to surf
16. Make my own cheese
17. Be part of a flash mob
18. Visit a nutelleria
19. Go to Africa
20. Send a letter to a stranger
21. Do a hand stand
22. Fall in love
23. Be in a protest
24. See Mumford and Sons in concert