Name That Tune

Please appreciate how loud the music is to be audible on this low-quality, digital-camera video.

Thanksgiving Highlights

We were feeling like this, so we decided we needed a vacation.




Our trip started in Salt Lake City where we got to go back stage at the tabernacle. This picture is not back stage, in case you couldn't tell.




Then . . . I made the mistake of letting Yancy and my brother run free in Best Buy. Brother is on the left playing a game and Y is on the right trying out DJ Hero (Like Guitar Hero, but you're a DJ). Yancy says we were there for only 30 minutes. Hm.




Brother's got his game face on. This game had the added challenge of a defective controller that would periodically take over and send his character running in circles. That was my favorite part.




For Yancy's birthday, I made him chocolate covered pretzels. Look what happened when I tried to cool them in the over-full freezer.



(In case you can't tell what it is, one got stuck to the top of the freezer.)

The Goose Is Getting Fat

Why? Because Christmas is coming. Just ask Miss Piggy.

Before:


And After:

Business Trip to San Diego

My trip to San Diego was a lot of fun, but there weren't a lot of great photo opps. Here's a few pics to tell the story of my trip.

Probably the greatest acheivement of my trip is this:


For the first time, I ran five continuous miles. The extra .23 came from walking to cool down. I was so sweaty!

Now, this may not seem exciting, but what I am holding is a PORT KEY!!!



Well, actually it's the key to the Porthole room, where we had a bunch of meetings. I got all excited about the Harry Potter allusion, and then right after taking the picture I remembered that HP uses portkeys not porthole keys. Oops.

Yes, B, I've misquoted something again.

This was my magnificent breakfast: mint herbal tea, yogurt with a little granola and the most beautiful bowl of fruit ever.

One day, as we were loading these buses full of students we noticed something odd. Do you see it?

The BMW logo. David, when did BMW go into the business of 56-passenger buses? I don't imagine you'd pretend to be car shopping just to test drive one of these.

Finally, the night I came home, Yancy had a candle light dinner set up and had taken the day off to get the house clean. What more could a girl want?

Won't you be my neighbor

I have exceptional neighbors.

Last night, after mixing all the other ingredients, I realized I didn't have enough flour to make waffles. I ran across the hall, humbly extending my measuring cup, to ask, "Can I borrow a cup of flour?"

A couple days ago, I was on my way home from work when I got a call from Tiffany, who lives down the block.

"Want a potato?"

She peeled too many and didn't want it to go to waste. Viola! Mashed potatoes for Yancy.

I'm not even being chased

Last time I was jogging consistently was in 2004, and I ran BYU's Rex Lee Run, mostly because I wanted the t-shirt.
(Flag Football Girls, why did T-shirts motivate us so much?)

Here are photos Sarah, my roommate, took when I came home. I don't have any pics from the race because I was too embarrassed to tell anyone I running.



Well, I've decided to run a 15K on December 19.

15K = 9.32056788 miles

Any advice for a novice? I'd love tips on gear, running in the cold, training and all the things I haven't thought to worry about yet.

Missionary Profiled in NY Times

This is cool:
http://www.nytimes.com/packages/html/nyregion/1-in-8-million/index.html#/naisi_zhao

Many of the profiles are beautiful.

Can't fry an egg on pavement but...

The New York summer finally came.

Harry Potter Wannabe

I got this lightening-like scar on my leg from running with ankle weights.

I think it's the universe punishing me for not having seen the newest Harry Potter movie yet.
"Wannabe" or "Wanna Be"?

What do I do with six poblanos, six wax peppers and one cubanelle?

Do you ever cook with these? What do you make?

How badly do you have to go?

Being headless counts as a handicapped in my book.

Girls Camp

I spent this last week as the Girls Camp cook.

Most of the time I only prepared meals for the stake leaders and YCLs (about 15 people). But I also made lunches for our hikers each day, which meant I spent a lot of time putting things into snack bags.

Behold, 35 bags of wonder.


We had a really hard time getting a fire going all weekend because of the intense humidity and a lack of kindling. This is me feeling a little concerned about not having hot coals since I had 15 hungry people waiting for their foil baked potatoes to heat up. To my benefit, we have a heavy Latin American influence in our stake and those sisters are masters of hospitality and good eating. When my dinners didn't go as well as planned, no one went hungry.

This is Amelia, the camp director.

Every one thought Amelia and I were sisters, but we don't look alike. The girls also thought I was only about 20 years old. Ha.











In addition to cooking, I taught the girls how to make no-bake cookies. I forgot to buy enough butter so I had to "invent" a new version with peanut butter.

Behold my creation!

Now the picture below is not so appetizing, though it's got a similar composition to my chocolate camping cookies. This is a Costco-sized juice bottle full of the grease that ran off the 20lbs of hamburger I cooked for our taco buffet.



I had been waiting since camp started for a ride to the store so we could get food supplies to last the rest of the week. When some girls refused to go on their hike, I was finally handed keys and told to go get food so we could put them to work.

I got to DRIVE.

Here I am in line at walmart. I got so much food I had to purchase and unload a cartful and then come back for more.

In the end, I have to say I had a lot of fun at girls camp, though I had no idea how much work it is to be a leader. As a girl, I thought I was worn out and I got three hours of free time. As a leader, you're the first one up, the last one to bed and working all day long. And it's totally worth it when you here the girls say they know they're Heavenly Father loves them.

Signs you've been at the airport too long

Surprise!

I'm going to be Relief Society president.

This is a picture Yancy took when they announced my call:

I can't believe they're not pancakes

As my quest to avoid diabetes has pushed me to an increasingly vegetable-dominated diet, I have experimented with some pretty weird substitutions to keep my favorite foods on the menu.

Today I share a substitution that I found surprisingly satisfying: oatmeal cottage cheese pancakes. It doesn't incorporate vegetables, but it does cut out all the sugar and flour.

Sitting on that plate, they kind of look like Bubs from homestarrunner.com, don't you think?

Recipe:
1/2 C oatmeal
1/4 C cottage cheese
2 eggs (or equivalent)
dashes of vanilla, cinnamon and nutmeg

Process in a blender until smooth. Cook the mixture like a regular pancake.

My brother's reaction to Pride and Prejudice

"Girls think too much! If I had to worry like that about relationships, I'd never have one."


Imagine what he'd say if he watched the six-hour version.

Nothing a little electrical tape can't fix

Yancy found this on his lunch break. The culprits changed every hand in the intersection.

Why are the obvious lessons so hard to learn?

Friday, I was so frustrated about cooking dinner, restuarant prices, eating healthy and the lack of enchilada sauce at my grocery store that I was almost in tears. To top it off, I knew when I came home Yancy was going to be extra nice to me. Ahh, PMS.

After being home a while, I transitioned from venting to Yancy to telling him about a sick friend I've been worried about. And all of a sudden I realized, "I'm not irritable anymore!" Magic.

This morning, when I called to tell a friend some good news, she sounded so low that I debated skipping my news. Who was I to be happy when she felt such grief? But I told her anyway, and again, the same magic happened. She sounded happier.

This is divinity, a bit of the divine in our nature. Hers is greater; it is more selfless for a mourner to rejoice in another's happiness than for a mourner to feel gratitude not to have another's trials, but both are good.

I'm glad the Lord knew I'd need at least 27 years of mortality to start to grasp this concept.

And, just in case my opinion counts, I think I'd enjoy another 60 or so to master it.

Definition: Smarmy

The temple is closed for maintenance, so Yancy let his beard go wild.

I didn't get a good picture of it at its longest because I did not anticipate the Jekyll-and-Hyde-esque stages of transformation he would go through before the beard was fully shaved.


Stage One:



Stage Two: Comrade Zimmerman



Stage Three: "Nascar tonight?!?"



Stage Four: Pepé Le Pew

Book bag, literally

I heard about these book bags this morning on NPR.

Aren't they cool?

"The Magic Garden"



"War and Peace"


A calculus textbook :)



Sorry Marie, no OED purses.

Dear Heather Wilson

Dear Heather,

The anticipation with which I await your next post has driven me to the extreme of posting a request on my blog, which I'm not even sure you know exists.

You said recently that you have felt uninspired, but perhaps you had a premonition this morning as you brushed your teeth with your Sponge Bob shower curtain in the background that something good was coming.

Well, I offer new inspiration: Johnny Depp as a guest star on tonight's Sponge Bob.
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=103170924

We have great expections.

Regards,
Leah

I almost died on Bourbon Street*

I regret that in New Orleans, a place with much to offer tourists, my only sightseeing was on Bourbon Street.

Don't go to Bourbon Street. You cannot avoid the filth. It is magnified on posters, blaring through loud speakers and being hollered at you in the street. Anyway, here's my Bourbon Street story:

The evening started with an electrical transformer explosion that forced us to make different dinner plans after the cabi had left us stranded on Bourbon street. My coworkers were super excited for crayfish and jambalaya.

We waited for our meal for more than an hour, only to be told, "We're out of the jambalaya, and if you're dissatisfied with that, well, there's not much I can do about it."

Excuse me? We never got our dinner salads, half of the entrees are missing, we've waited an hour, it's starting to rain on us and there's not much you can do about it?

We left in a huff and flagged cab. This is us happy to be headed home.



Our driver had some sort of horrendous sinus condition and he kept making a noise kind of like a pulling a stiff zipper, but thick and juicy.

Every time he'd make this noise, my boss (with one glass of wine in her) would start giggling uncontrollably and say, "We have to get out of here!" in a perfectly audible "whisper." It was so embarrassing.

Like in New York, the cabbies creep along the streets trying to avoid tourists, and anytime the street clears, the cabby guns it. It's the only way to make any progress.

Our cabby was doing this when he gunned it into an intersection. This is what I remember:
-- Acceleration: Pushed back in my seat.
-- Coworker shrieks
-- Thought: We're going to hit someone
-- Observe: No one in front of us
-- Glance right: HOLY CRAP THERE IS A HUGE SUV COMING AT US **

The cabby couldn't decide to stop or go, so we lurched a few times as the SUV slammed on its breaks. Luckily, it stopped with its huge lights inches from the passenger windows. I felt like I was in Jurassic Park, with T-rex staring in the window.

This is us before the scare:



This is us after almost dying:



Just kidding. It's actually just a really ugly picture of us.



* This is a blatant exagerration to get your attention. I followed Cowboy's advice from "Newsies."
** Can you tell I just read "The Road"? Beautiful story. I started crying on the train at the end. I have no hope for the movie. ***
*** Marie, I hope you don't mind I'm ripping off your astrisk technique.

I confess: SpaghettiOs.

I love 'em. I hope Campbell's finds this post and send me coupons.

What's your guilty pleasure?

Why do I tense when people cry?

While working today, I started hearing sniffles and realized a lady sitting near me was crying.

I immediately felt tense, debating whether I should say something or mind my own business.

Finally, I went to look for Agatha, a grandmotherly lady who could cheer up the world with a hug, but I couldn't find her.

Somehow, being out of my chair, I wasn't so nervous about giving that hug myself. And you know what? It helped. A hug, a kiss on the cheek, and offer to pray for her.

I don't know what was wrong; doesn't matter. But I do wonder why I hesitated.

Leah the Butcher

This is what I did today:

There is no way of saying, "Good work; I have some suggestions," that eases the sting of that much red ink.

New Orleans is a weird place for a New Yorker

Exhibit A: People were nice to tourists

Do you see something missing from this elevator panel? No "close" button. I probably lost forty or fifty seconds -- possibly a whole minute -- of this trip not being able to tell the elevator, "Quick, don't let anyone else get on!"



The hotel staff was nice; random people in the elevator were nice; the cab drivers were nice.

Flash backs to BYU where everyone I passed was a dilemma: Should I smile? Nod? Say hello?


Exhibit B: Food and beverage museum

What do you buy in the gift shop, old food? I think this is just a clever way to lure people into your restaurant.




Side note:
At this event, we had an issue with students sneaking guys into their hotel rooms without asking their roommates. The day all this drama broke, I came back to my hotel room and discovered this:



My first thought: There's been a guy in my room!

But I think it was just the housekeeper.

I get spooked pretty easily when I'm staying alone. I sing a lot of "I Walk by Faith." In my hotel room, I put little post-it notes over the eyes of all the people in the paintings.


Exhibit C: The Art

Does this make you hungry?



This was the menu cover of the nicest restaurant we visited. Nothing says classy like a lobster pinching Cupid's toosh.

When this restaurant had lost our reservations, we ended up driving to four other places before we found a restaurant with less than an hour-and-a-half wait for a party of three.

At the Emeril restaurant, and I had this conversation with the hostess:

"What is your wait for a party of three?"

"Well, we don't take reservations and we don't have a wait list."

"So you could seat us now?"

"No, we're full until 10 p.m."

So how do you get seated? Do you have to be lucky enough to walk in right as a party of the same size walks out? Maybe you need a special invitation from Emeril.


Exhibit D: The food

I have never travelled anywhere so unhealthy.

Fresh fruit? No.

Fresh vegetables? Freshly smothered in butter.

Entrees? Fried. All of them.

Anything not fried? Yes, basted in lemon and butter. If a food isn't a New Orleans classic, it seems the only thing they know how to do with it is baste it in lemon butter.

Breakfast? French toast soaked in butter, not egg; grits, sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs.

If my vegetable, egg-white omelet oozes a pool of butter, what's the point?



This is me eating a pork chop, red beans and rice. I would have killed for a salad, which is kind of ironic.