Nuit de Russe

Last night, I had the privilege of attending Russian night at a friend of Nathalie's home near the Provo Library. It was magical! We ate borscht, cabbage salad, and grilled salmon, drank grape juice, and read Pushkin love poems by candlelight with incense burning. Utterly magical. Ironically enough, 75% of the people there were speaking French (note the title in French. I don't know how to say Russian Night in Russian unfortunately). I love listening to French speakers, and am delighted when I understand small bits and phrases. I met some rad new friends.

I love being a naked hippie

On Friday night, we spontaneously decided to embark on a journey to the Hot Springs. Besides getting lost and driving 40 miles out of the way (seems to be a theme with me and hot springs...), we make it to the trail. One gorgeous hike through the canyon later, we arrive at our sanctuary. If you've never experienced a Utah hot springs, you are truly missing out on one of the most raw and sensual moments in this life. Nothing can surpass the feeling when there is no vehicle/home/anything for miles, and you are lying naked in hot, sulphur-y water under an immense night sky with billions of stars and the visible Milky Way, next to a rushing mountain stream. As we walked back down the trail at dawn with the sun lighting up the dark night all around us, the contentedness and peace was palpable.

Then I had to come back to Provo. Gross.

Side note: My best friend Austin was also at the hot springs that morning. Her group had camped out the night before. When she asked why they didn't go to the hot springs at night, they replied, "we don't want to be there with all the naked hippies". That is my new favorite label.

Honest to blog?

On Sunday, I went to my second "Break the Fast" at Cecilia and Jessica's ward. While they were doing their "Meet the Bishop" interviews, I thought I'd wander around for a bit. I came across this little gem:

"Single's Dance. Dress must be modest, no extreme hairstyles, only one piercing for girls. No bear-hugging or same-sex dancing. ALL DIVORCES MUST BE FINAL."

HONEST TO BLOG.

Tells you something about Mormon culture, eh?
We are so bizarre.

Current temperature=24 degrees

BYU promised that if I sacrificed my summer to go to school, I could do this:



Instead, I look like this:

Revolutionary-guerillia-anarchist poetry reading and subsequent run-in with the police

My apologies for my severe lack of blogging this past week... like anyone actually reads this anyway (comments, anyone?!) But something happened truly blog-worthy on Sunday night, so I was pretty stoked.

Sunday night was the secret revolutionary-anarchy poetry reading, orchestrated by our dear John K. We were told to gather in an undisclosed location for a night of true revolution, to commemorate the destruction of a much-beloved BYU building. We planned to read our poems, then write them all over the walls of the doomed building. Told to travel in groups of one or two, I set off alone, soon joining up with two of my friends at the location. Although the door was supposedly open, we still thought it would be hardcore to climb through a broken window. We traversed the building, wandering up stairs, down stairs, through dark corridors and duct-taped rooms. For a while we were lost, but we finally made it to our meeting place in the old Mathematics portion of the building, past the old campus mailboxes. A group was gathered, and the spirit of the revolution was most definitely present. We were eager to perform our ritual, a little glimpse of rebellion in our otherwise mundane existence. However, we had not been in the room longer than 5 minutes when the BYU "police" ran in, throwing JK up against a wall and shouting at us that we were trespassing and breaking a law. We were told this was a misdemeanor, punishable by 6 months imprisonment or a $1000 fine. A hush fell over all, and the worry set in. I was sure we'd be arrested, carted off to the underground BYU jail where they torture the liberals and other non-conformists into submission. The civil disobedience in all of us faltered, as thoughts of Harvard Law School or Stanford business school flashed through our minds. We followed the officer's instructions to a tee, being incredibly polite and unfailingly honest. They took all of our names, IDs, and called in for background checks, while the posse of poser-revolutionaries sat in circles, disappointed in our severe lack of ability to break free of the system that maintains a tight grip on our futures. In the end, we were issued a warning, meaning that if we ever attempt to break into an abandoned building in Utah County ever again in our whole lives, then we'd be arrested and most likely given community service. JK suggested next time we go to Salt Lake.

The best moment of the evening: the policewoman reciting a Shel Silverstein poem she memorized with her son, and the policeman reciting his poem about an albatross he submitted in 10th grade to a competition. We got our poetry, but not quite the revolution we were seeking.

I'm digging....

1. Spain's defense minister, 7 months pregnant.


2. Chocolate-covered cinnamon bears. YUM.
3. My political science 472 oral final. So much work, yet so rewarding.
4. Sobe. I've downed three just this week. Carrot-Mango is the choice variety.
5. The Kennedy Center basement
6. Laying in the sunshine

the shower of death.

Last night, I went to take a shower at around 1 in the morning. I turn on the cold water, turn on the hot water, go to press the button to turn on the shower, and AHHH. BLACK WATER. Not just dirty grey. BLACK. SOLID. SOOTY. All over the tub, splashing on my legs. I screamed (not because it was gross, but I honestly felt like I was in some horror movie and was being attacked). Becca walks in, and we start dying laughing because the tub has speckles of black, disgusting water. Needless to say, I showered downstairs.