Two Motion Pictures

It's official. I am a bad blogger when I'm not required to post something about once a week for a class. At the end of the day, I'm just not thinking about slapping words together in some body of text because I feel like all I'm doing these days is writing anyway. It's good because writing alot helps you improve your creative skills and usage, but it still burns you out and sucks all the words out of your brain by about 3 p.m. each day.

Today I just really want to comment on a couple of particularly interesting movies I have seen recently. I have always made it clear that my favorite movie is Memoirs of a Geisha, closely followed by Life is Beautiful. One of these two films I'm about to discuss challenges my top picks for their status, and you get to guess which one!

The first is a movie my roommate, Kayla told me about. Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of the film , titled The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, is that it is portrayed through the eyes of an eight-year-old boy named Bruno. It is amazing how completely his innocence breathes simplicity and clarity to the story and the issues involved, despite the horrific things he literally comes face-to-face with.

Bruno's father is a German Commandant at a concentration camp during World War II. His family is basically oblivious to the hideous, infamous acts and operations their father is commanding in the camp only miles from their new country home. I believe one of the most potent themes of the movie becomes prevalent when Bruno, hungry for adventure, sneaks away during the day, discovers the camp itself, and makes friends with an eight-year-old Jewish boy wearing a striped jumpsuit sitting slumped, tired and jaded on the other side of the fence. He has absolutely no reservations about befriending the young prisoner, something so basic to the forces of humanity yet so foreign to German society at the time. It is profound to also realize that through the entire course of the story, Bruno never truly understands what is going on behind those barbed wire fences. His heart is pure and true, untainted by ideas propagated at the time, just the way Heavenly Father placed it in his tiny little soul.

The beautiful kinship which develops between the two boys is tested and re-tested by fear, intimidation, and social stigma. Thoroughly shocking, the ending perhaps asks more questions than it answers. I couldn't stop thinking about it for... well, I'm still thinking about it aren't I?

The second movie, Penelope is probably one of the most pleasant, artistic, charming movies I have seen yet. I noticed on the cover of the DVD that it received an award for being a "truly moving picture," a well-deserved recognition, in my opinion.

Penelope is a girl who was born into blue-blood society with a pig snout nose. In an effort to reverse the alleged curse which bestowed her the abnormal nose, Penelope must marry a fellow blue-blood who accepts her as she is... or so her mother thinks as she centers Penelope's entire young adult exsistence on the courting of young men who each ultimately run with fright upon sight of her.

In my opinion, she is actually a rather pretty girl despite the snout and her tender yet clever countenance make her even charming. The overall message Penelope teaches viewers is one about physical appearance. However, after one young man sticks around a bit longer than usual, makes return visits to Penelope and develops sincere feelings for her behind closed doors, literally, he inspires her to break free of her home's confines and enter the world with courage and curiosity.

Penelope's acceptance of herself is the most inspiring facet of the film. It teaches us that being happy with who you are can get you much further now than accomodating your skills to a pre-determined success-type.

Well, I'm sure you have figured it all out already.... drumroll...

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

Really, I just loved both movies. I saw some similarities between both, actually, what with the constraints both had on their lives.

Stones and Sand

It has been about a month since I've posted. I apologize to anyone who may have been biting their fingernails waiting to hear the latest news and chatter about my quaint little existence, only to find that I have continued to neglect my beloved blog. I don't feel bad about not posting, though. It's not like when you open your journal and see that the last date listed was a lot further in the past than you realized. Then you read the entry and think about everything that has happened since, everything you now feel the need to record before you jot down that certain event or feeling that prompted you to open your journal in the first place. Yeah. I don't feel like that. Even so, I will perform the customary quick-list update that happens when such an event occurs... -I have successfully finished half the semester. Woot! -About thirteen articles written by yours truly have been published in BYU's Daily Universe and people actually read them - and come talk to me about them! -I still love my job even though things are kind of changing and it feels wierd. -My high school friends keep coming home and I don't know what to do with myself or what to think. The whole experience is bringing me face-to-face with something I feel totally disconnected from now. At least I'm recalling nice memories!

-I am still financially stable enough to pay rent and have a little wiggle room for groceries and necessities while keeping a safe amount in the bank. Just keep swimming... just keep swimming...

-My group won the midterm case study competition thingy in my COMMS 336 class. We had to present a PR case to Elder Ballard (aka Professor MacFarlane) about a campaign we organized as an effort to increase and improve full-time missionary service by young men in the church. We worked so hard... and basically dominated.

-I made a tough, annoying, beautiful, frustrating, should-have-been-expected realization last week. I know I have to do something about it - and that's the scary part!

-I love my PR friends. -I have no idea what I am going to do with my life when this semester ends, and I think/plan/worry about this multiple times daily. That's really not sufficient enough to do this month justice, but it's some of what's been going on. I'll take it. :) So, in conclusion, and in reference to the title of this post, I have a commentary to make about time management. [sorry- random, I know] It's so true what they tell you in young women's when they fill a jar half full with sand and then try to squeeze in a bunch of rocks that won't fit. When they put all the rocks in first, then pour in the sand, letting it fill in all the holes and cracks left by the stones, they make a perfect point. You really can't do everything when you put off the most important things. I'll bet a lot of people would be surprised to find out all the things they really can accomplish in one day... when they plan right and work hard. It is the most amazing feeling to go to bed at a decent hour near the end of one of those days, feeling totally and entirely complete - that you accomplished everything you needed to that day, and still had a little bit of time to do something that makes you happy or lifts you up spritually. Stones first, my friends! I'm pretty sure a little prayer or two or ten will help you out too...

Soapbox of Vindication

You know what, I am so gosh dang far from perfect. I really am trying to be right and good. This post will be short but pointedly in defense of my actions, thoughts, concerns, and fears that seem to occasionally inhibit proper social interaction... whatever that may actually constitute. I feel like everyone needs opportunities to grow, and that everyone else should respect those needs. Being sensitive and open is not bad or weak, and it is always better to solve problems with a soft heart and forgiving countenance. Especially if you don't understand someone, you do not have the right to judge their judgement. I am genuinely sorry to everyone who may read this and be filled with feelings of regret or frustration. My biggest fear is perhaps knowing that someone does not feel at least a small portion of comeraderie between them and myself. I hate contention, and try to avoid it at all costs. I am also a pleaser, and the combination of all these overwhelms me and occasionally compromises my ability to think or speak as clearly as I would like. The End.

My First Story!

I am writing for the Daily Universe this term. Yesterday, my first story ran in the paper and I was a wee bit excited... and frightened... So, my friends, here it is: Marriage fortified through disability By Hilarie Laukat On the 19th anniversary of Julie Graves' marriage to her husband, Nevin, she set out with him on a leisurely mountain bike ride, only to return home over a year later unable to use her paralyzed lower-half. Julie had lost traction on the ride and fallen down a steep cliff, an accident which, she believes, has made ordinary tasks particularly difficult to accomplish. Despite the physical difficulties that accompany disability, Julie and Nevin Graves do not believe that Julie's paralysis has done anything but good for their relationship. "We have always had lots of love," Julie Graves said. "But if anything, it has really deepened; it's not so much on the surface now." Physical disability often enhances marital happiness, according to a study by Jeremy Yorgason of BYU's School of Family Life. These findings were part of a larger study conducted over a 20 year period, which helped Yorgason conclude much more than an increase in marital happiness for couples who face physical disability. "It is important for couples to consider that there are many things affecting their relationship," Yorgason said. "They shouldn't become overly focused on physical disability or some other major difficulty they may face." Yorgason's study, first reported in the academic journal Research on Aging, compared five aspects of marital relationships - divorce rates, couple interaction, disagreement between spouses, the amount of problems faced, and overall marital happiness - with a variety of physical circumstances ranging from the ages of dependent children to the functional health of spouses. For Nevin and Julie Graves, physical disability was seen as only one stressor of many that have actually strengthened their 39 year marriage. They have raised eight children together, served in dozens of church callings, and experienced the usual highs and lows of life together. "Love changes with time, it's like a muscle," Nevin Graves said. "The more challenges you face, the stronger it becomes." For married couples, challenges can come in all shapes and sizes. Yorgason's studies hypothesize that the key to overcoming trials is recognizing them and actively addressing them. "When a spouse has a defined disability, the couple can take the time to adjust and work to overcome the problem together," Yorgason said. hilarieann@gmail.com

Heigh Ho!

... it's off to work I love to go. Yes, folks, I love my job! I love that I usually have a considerable amount of control over how much I get paid, because most of my income is the tips that happy customers give me. That’s basically what I do as a server at the Smokehouse… make people happy! Well, it’s the point of what I do, anyway. There are many reasons why I love my job. The fact that I make a lot more money than I would at most on-campus jobs is only a perk. I have to admit, this is one of the first places of employment where I have felt truly appreciated. It is amazing how satisfying that is and how much it motivates me to work hard at what I do. It also makes me want to stay employed there as long as possible. People just care more about something when they are cared about, too! I also love my coworkers. All of the servers are darling girls who get asked out by customers on a regular basis [the chances of this occurring goes up when you work at a Pizza & BBQ place where 80 % of the customers are male, but these girls are so cute it would probably happen just as much anywhere else]. My bosses are kind of crazy but such amazing people. The cooks also have colorful personalities, and it’s just beyond great when you can understand them and get along with them. Everyone has quirks that make it just a lovely little place to work! Most importantly, I love the food. I can’t tell you how difficult it is to work somewhere when you don’t endorse the product or service being provided. I’ve tried it, and it’s dumb because you feel like a hypocrite. Good thing the food is so great at Smokehouse because I love everything else about working there! 10 Fabulous Facts about the Smokehouse: 1. The Mac & Cheese is amazing 2. Don’t order corned beef as a platter… it’s too salty when it’s plain 3. Jared has a button for the basement 4. Nacho doesn’t like making flatbread and nobody knows why… not even Nacho 5. Sometimes business is crazy busy and sometimes it’s super slow, but you can never really predict when 6. Elvis, Blues, 70’s or The Grateful Dead 7. The bathrooms are through the door 8. Bee Money hearts Dani 9. The tall sauce is our sweet BBQ sauce and the short one is spicy 10. Your mom loves Smokehouse

New and Old

I have been stretching my thoughts lately to span some wide distances... from the past to the future. It is probably because so many things have been happening to me that force me to stare my future square in the eye and look back on my past and how all the things that have taken place play into what is happening to me, here, now. I feel a need to reconnect with people I have known and cared for in years past. That shouldn't prove too difficult because this is the wonderful year that all of my best friends from high school return home from their missions and I have the opportunity to see old acquaintances. I'm also realizing now how fast the time has gone by since I graduated high school. Life is so different now, and I expect it to be continually changing, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. My blog layout, for one, has recently been changed by yours truly if you haven't noticed. I am quite fond of it! Change is good if we make the most of it. So that is my plan for this new year. I usually don't make a list of resolutions. I'm feeling quite inclined to this year, however... we'll see... some of it might end up posted here. Anyway, here's to then and now and forever hereafter!

Personal Anecdotes

Today, I would like to post some stories about my childhood that I love. This is basically bits and pieces of a personal history paper I wrote for my family history class. It also reveals lots of other things about me, I think. Enjoy! [NOTE: it's a little long, so just press on for as long as you please] On March 18, 1988, my mom asked my dad to bring her a dozen red roses. That was the day I was born. In her post-labor excitement over having a baby girl, she forgot about her request until the next morning when she woke up to twelve lovely red carnations by her hospital bed. My dad came in the room beaming, and asked her if she liked her roses. I have one brother named Justin. We have never fought, but did get into some trouble together when we were little. One time we decided to paint ourselves green. My mom and dad were not very happy when they found two green spray-painted silhouettes on the side of the house. They were not any happier when they discovered that my hair would stubbornly remain green for the next few weeks. One summer afternoon, I decided that I needed a haircut, and that I had the skills to do it myself. Mom and dad were in the front yard working in the flowerbeds when I skipped around the backyard with shears, slicing off random chunks of my dark, straight hair that fell past the small of my back. I didn’t realize what I was getting myself into until my mom evened it all out and presented the new bob cut to my dad and brother. I distinctly remember my dad nostalgically commenting that he liked my pretty long hair. I also remember bursting into tears shortly thereafter, crying “daddy doesn’t think I’m pretty anymore!” Up until kindergarten, I thought my grandma was just my grandma. She was always a grandma. Her purpose in life was to be mine. When she teased about giving my dad a spanking one evening, I giggled, “you can’t spank him, you’re not his mom!” I didn’t believe her when she told me that, indeed, she was. My parents and grandparents had a good laugh over that conversation, but I had a good mental readjusting after it. It was a totally foreign concept to me at the time. Every year in the springtime, Sandy City, where I grew up, would schedule a city cleanup week when residents could load their front curbs with whatever junk they wanted, however large and however much they could fit there without disrupting traffic. City services would then come by and pick it all up to help everyone with their spring cleaning and clearing. I loved Sandy Cleanup. I would rummage through all of the piles on my way home from school and bring home little treasures. I still have a hanging music box I would listen to every night that plays “It’s A Small World.” One time I found a wallet with lots of money in it, so I took the money up to the owner’s front door and received a bitter scolding for going through their personal items. I stopped rummaging after that. Justin would bring me home little trinkets from his 5th grade class every Friday. Some of these were probably less valuable than the items I found on the street curbs. Bouncy balls, mini teddy bears, pogs, and candy were the prizes that students in my brother’s class could purchase with tokens earned during the week for good, kind, respectful behavior. Naturally, my brother always received lots of tokens and bought me something special with them every single week. Near the end of my elementary school days, I discovered several particular interests and talents that I clung to as I began to accept and love myself for myself. I had a teacher who thought of me as a smart student for the first time ever. She inspired me to work hard in school and write and write and write anything and everything. I developed a love for writing and reading that year, and won the State Reflections contest in the Literature category for a story I wrote about an old man who discovers hundreds of fairies living in the crumbling stone wall under the waterfall of a magical pond surrounded by red polka-dotted mushrooms. ...oh to be a kid again, and have such simpler problems and more magical ambitions!