tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-364133902024-03-13T06:16:55.075-06:00project nuts and boltsKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-36817732246230888282010-10-12T18:24:00.000-06:002010-10-12T18:26:03.430-06:00Dear Neglected Blog<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:splitpgbreakandparamark/> <w:dontvertaligncellwithsp/> 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mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">Hello Project Nuts and Bolts.<span style=""> </span>Do you remember me?<span style=""> </span>Do you remember all the times I enthusiastically wrote random blog posts on your polka dotted walls and agonized over posting digital images of myself in a ghetto, Indian-owned internet café in Paris?<span style=""> </span>Do you remember all the irregular blog posts I started and never published, wondering what you would think of my flat and sometimes overly cynical thoughts about the world?<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I guess I finally came to the realization a year and a half ago that my life simply wasn’t interesting enough for you.<span style=""> </span>I kept seeing the dynamic relationships between other blog owners and their blogs.<span style=""> </span>They wrote about traveling the world, making fantastic creations in the kitchen from scratch, getting married, having babies, and learning some all-important skill.<span style=""> </span>What on earth could I possibly offer you that would be as exciting as recreating every one of Julia Child’s recipes or starting a worldwide happiness project?<span style=""> </span>In other words, dear blog, it wasn’t you, it was me.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">You originally started out as a report on my shenanigans in Paris.<span style=""> </span>But when I got home four years ago, writing for you became much like writing a college essay with no prompt – fuzzy and uncertain.<span style=""> </span>My mind became cluttered with possibilities that I could never seem to make coherent or cohesive.<span style=""> </span>And as the drafts grew, so did my guilt and hesitation to post them.<span style=""> </span>What would you think of me?<span style=""> </span>How do these posts fit in with the theme of the project?<span style=""> </span>What was even the theme?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But today I came to an astounding realization: who cares?<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>So what if I don’t have a theme?<span style=""> </span>Who cares if I can’t come up with clever political satires or don’t have any cute babies to brag about? <span style=""> </span>Sure, blogs are written with the intent of others potentially reading them, so some things may just not be worth taking the time to post.<span style=""> </span>But more importantly, blogs make up a network of thoughts that ultimately help contribute to the human experience. <span style=""> </span>Since I’m a human, am I not a small part of that experience? <span style=""> </span>Is there not something I could contribute, even if it is mostly for my benefit? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, dear blog, I think it is time you and I became friends again.<span style=""> </span>I’m not making any guarantees that I will always be diligent, or that we will be good friends forever.<span style=""> </span>But I think there are things we can still learn from each other yet.<span style=""> </span>Let's be in touch again soon.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sincerely,</p><p class="MsoNormal">Kim</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-86604675430131913342009-04-06T13:07:00.003-06:002009-04-06T14:05:08.074-06:00Misssprintts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwBh9RjWOW1OHTHACLoZfngk89kk2vFOts3FduaEz4fQ7kc7DIRv_cSt79OHUexkGBEgUu7PLD97QpP6wvIz31B4w9rrxhQJsEAb1g6ptLz6TpCik3M8DJPSroHJNzVX9-xMGXiQ/s1600-h/english.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 204px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwBh9RjWOW1OHTHACLoZfngk89kk2vFOts3FduaEz4fQ7kc7DIRv_cSt79OHUexkGBEgUu7PLD97QpP6wvIz31B4w9rrxhQJsEAb1g6ptLz6TpCik3M8DJPSroHJNzVX9-xMGXiQ/s320/english.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321671573509972114" border="0" /></a><br />Today, the front page of The Daily Universe (BYU's student newspaper) proudly displayed a tender photo of the LDS General Conference and entitled it "Members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostates." Did you catch it? The Twelve <span style="font-style: italic;">Apostates</span>? Needless to say, the paper was recalled earlier this morning.<br /><br />I have to cut the Daily Universe staff some slack - these people are up at insane hours of the morning trying to meet a deadline to get the paper out in a timely fashion and as my years of college experience will attest, tired eyes aren't exactly the best at catching mistakes like this one. But... sometimes you have to wonder. I mean, how do you miss something like "umitity" instead of "humidity" or "I know don't" instead of "I don't know," especially when it is a book that went through a rigourous process of editing, publishing, forwarded copies, etc.?<br /><br />I have a friend who receives forwarded copies of books from her mom and proceeds to go through, edit them herself, and then check them against the edited copies when they come out. Want to know how many of her corrections were actually made for <span style="font-style: italic;">Breaking Dawn</span>'s edited release? Zero.<br /><br />For me, this begs a question: what do editors actually <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> if they don't catch these things? Is our society as a whole is starting to care less about grammatical and spelling errors. Granted, skills rust and most people know what you mean regardless of your grammar, but I worry what will happen to the English language if we continue down the path of carelessness.<br /><br />But now I'm getting way ahead of myself. In any event, I encourage you to start editing the world and I think you will be surprised at how many mistakes there are, even with an untrained eye.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-14564714332589128622009-02-20T18:25:00.003-07:002009-02-21T11:49:07.479-07:00February Fairy Tales & The Princess and the Pea<span style="font-style: italic;">February Fairy Tales - The month in which I compare and contrast various classic fairy tales to their modern counterparts.</span><br /><br />This tale is fairly modern and therefore what you see is pretty what you get. But there are some pretty dang funny renditions. <span style="font-style: italic;">Once Upon a Mattress</span> is a play based on the tale, and is entirely satirical in nature. The princess, Winnifred, comes on stage by climbing over a brick wall, spewing water all over the stage, and belting a song about how shy she is. And at the end, we discover there isn't even a pea - the servants went in and stuck a bunch of jousting equipment under the mattresses before Winnifred even went into the room.<br /><br />My other favorite rendition comes from Gail Carson Levine<em>'s Princess Tales. </em>Rather than having a princess come in and fall in love with the prince and pass the 'pea test,' she simply has the prince fall in love with a commoner and then when her housekeeper tries to kill her off, she ends up at the palace and pretends to be a princess. She passes several tests because she is so picky and so sensitive to everything (the reason her housekeeper keeps trying to off her). So in a sense, that version is rather ironic as well.<br /><br />I must say, however, that my favorite version is from Faerie Tale Theatre. For those of you who have not discovered this excellent mini-series, I highly recommend renting it sometime. The prince (Tom Conti) is totally quirky, the princess (Liza Minelli) is hilarious, and the fact that some tourists end up breaking the glass of the pea display at the end makes the thing ridiculously funny.<br /><br />And that, in a peashell, is the princess and the pea. :-)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-71249862586941917662009-02-10T07:50:00.000-07:002009-02-10T07:50:57.993-07:00February Fairy Tales & The Sleeping Beauty<span style="font-style: italic;">February Fairy Tales - The month in which I compare and contrast various classic fairy tales to their modern counterparts.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span>The tale of The Sleeping Beauty is an interesting one to track. The dramatic plot changes that take place throughout the course of the years show that the first few disturbing versions are a far cry from the happily ever after of Prince Steffan and Princess Aurora. While reading my short summaries (peanut gallery comments included) on a few of the versions, pay attention to how the morals within the story drastically change as the writer caters to different audiences. (Wow - can you tell I miss my Humanities classes haha.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Greco-Roman Sleeping Beauty</span><br />In a nutshell, a great lord gives birth to a daughter who the astrologers (that's right, there are no fairies, just an oracle) say is destined to be killed by a splinter. The father refuses wood of any kind be brought in his house, but we all know how this goes - the girl finds some old weird lady with a spindle, pricks her finger and appears to be dead (sounds like it came right out of Oedipus Rex, right?). Thinking she is dead, the father places her in one of his old country houses on a nice bed and leaves. Several years later, a king comes across the mansion, sees the girl, and immediately falls in love with her, thinking she is under some enchantment (which I guess she technically is, as she is in some sort of comma something-something). 9 months later (drum roll please) the sleeping beauty gives birth to twins (she is still asleep during all this, mind you). After some time, one of the little tykes sucks the splinter out of her finger, finally waking her up. Unfortunately, the king's wife finds out what happened (yes, he is married) and is so jealous (one Italian writer used the phrase "with a heart of Medea") she orders the cook to kill them and serve their flesh to the king. The queen avidly watches as the king eats the meal, telling him all the while how he is "eating his own." Eventually, the queen finds out the cook actually did not kill them, but hid them instead. So in a fit of rage, the queen decides to burn the sleeping beauty and her children. The king comes by just in time to see what is going on and decides to burn his wife instead.<br /><br />Supposed moral of story: "Those whom fortune favors find good luck even in their sleep."<br /><br /><a name="basile">Kim's moral of story: "More proof that Greco-Roman mythology is usually depressing, immoral, violent, everything hangs on the thread of destiny, and it was written by a bunch of male chauvenists."<br /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Perrault - </span><span style="font-weight: bold;" lang="fr">La Belle au Bois dormant</span><br />This version is great because it tones everything down a bit, but still ends with a happily ever after. I think the best part of the whole thing is that it caters to French nobility of Louis XIV (it's SOO funny - just wait - you'll see). It starts just like we all know - a girl is born, the fairies come, there is a fairy everyone forgot to invite (they all thought she was dead - pretty good reason not to invite someone), and feels slighted so she comes anyways and bestows a gift on the girl that "she will touch her finger on a spinning wheel and DIE!" Luckily, one of the younger fairies hides herself just in case something like this happens and ends up being the damage control. She says she will not die, but sleep for 100 years until a worthy prince comes to kiss her. Again, we all know how it goes and the princess somehow finds a spindle to prick herself on. They try everything to wake her up (including unlacing her corset), but to no avail. Finally, someone fetches the fairy and she decides to put everyone to sleep. Here comes one of my favorite parts - "She touched everything in the palace - governesses, maids of honor, ladies of the bedchamber, gentlemen, officers, stewards, cooks, undercooks, kitchen maids, guards with their porters, pages, and footmen, all the horses which were in the stables, the cart horses, the hunters and the saddle horses, the grooms, the great dogs in the outward court, and little Mopsey, too, the Princess's spaniel, which was lying on the bed."<br /><br />So she sleeps and the prince comes to the castle. All the brambles that grew around the castle part before him as he approaches (some people have all the luck) and he sees the beautiful sleeper. She wakes up and they talk for four hours before really falling in love (yay - they actually talk!). All the while, the prince is thinking "She was entirely and very magnificently dressed; but his royal Highness took care not to tell her that she was dressed like his great-grandmother, and had a high collar." (Ha - I love this detail! Something I have actually always wondered about: what kind of generational gap would there be between the two?) Then they go to the great mirrored hall (do any other castles besides Versailles really have a great mirrored hall?), wed, and have two children.<br /><br />The problem: the prince's mom is an ogress and therefore orders the cook to kill each of her inlaws in turn to eat them. The cook has mercy on them and therefore hides them in a closet and gives the Queen other meat instead. As usually happens, the mother ogress finds out and decides to throw them in a large tub of snakes. Just like in the other one, the prince comes just in time to ask what the meaning of this is. His mother is so enraged that she throws herself into the tub and dies. "The Prince was of course very sorry, for she was his mother, but he soon comforted himself with his beautiful wife and his pretty children." <br /><br />Moral of story:<br />"This Fable seems to let us know<br />That very often Hymen's blisses sweet,<br />Altho' some tedious obstacles they meet,<br />Which make us for them a long while to stay,<br />Are not less happy for approaching slow;<br />And that we nothing lose by such delay."<br /><br />(Translation: don't hurry love and marriage is better when you have obstacles to overcome. I guess I sort of agree with that)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Brothers Grimm and Disney</span> (wow - I'm not sure I'll ever be able to put those in the same sentence again!) - the happily ever afters where the whole jealous wife/angry ogress mother part is cut off entirely. Why? I'm not sure - is it politically incorrect to talk trash about your inlaws? Was it just too long to put in an animated film? Was cannibalism too touchy of a subject? Does our society just concentrate more on love than marriage? Perhaps a combination of the above? What do you think?Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-23277668073677531212008-12-06T09:19:00.000-07:002008-12-06T09:56:48.738-07:00A Few Extras<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">1. A compilation of creative math answers. If only I had thought to do these when I had no idea what the answer to a question was.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/5107/They-didnt-study">http://www.scribd.com/doc/5107/They-didnt-study</a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">2. How good are you at figuring out accents? I'm terrible...</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://www.languagetrainersgroup.com/accent_game.html">http://www.languagetrainersgroup.com/accent_game.html</a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">3. I have always wondered what would happen if people were to burst out into song randomly like they do in musicals. I mean really, who even invented the idea that everyone surrounding the actors in a musical totally start singing and dancing along with them? It's entertaining, but so unrealistic. So... this little improv group decided to test out randomly creating a musical out of nowhere in a food court. Just look at the faces of the patrons- *classic*</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://improveverywhere.com/2008/03/09/food-court-musical/">http://improveverywhere.com/2008/03/09/food-court-musical/</a><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Arial,Helvetica;font-size:100%;" >And just for an extra laugh, here is a list of sentences in which high school English students attempt to use metaphors... I'm not sure they got it.<br /><br />1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.<br /><br />2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.<br /><br />3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at <span class="nfakPe">high</span> schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.<br /><br />4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.<br /><br />5. She had a deep, throaty genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.<br /><br />6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.<br /><br />7. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.<br /><br />8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.<br /><br />9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.<br /><br />10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty Bag filled with vegetable soup.<br /><br />11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.<br /><br />12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.<br /><br />13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.<br /><br />14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.<br /><br />15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.<br /><br />16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.<br /><br />17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.<br /><br />18. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.<br /><br />19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.<br /><br />20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.<br /><br />21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.<br /><br />22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.<br /><br />23. The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.<br /><br />24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.<br /><br />25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.</span>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-13141000759446268772008-08-30T15:41:00.009-06:002008-09-01T12:39:01.188-06:00Centaurs and other such nonsense<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs7ADOltfaYGLRVw6KQ-IcYvqHhXcj96e-jS886mXP0PZwhd6GrZPx7QhrFUwa-4OiLfsN2DghnqXHXBnfkyxWEfADzKwYmCK067QNfTJAWe7GNv1HKpLb_56fiB-eq2ArL_xvyg/s1600-h/my+little+pony.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs7ADOltfaYGLRVw6KQ-IcYvqHhXcj96e-jS886mXP0PZwhd6GrZPx7QhrFUwa-4OiLfsN2DghnqXHXBnfkyxWEfADzKwYmCK067QNfTJAWe7GNv1HKpLb_56fiB-eq2ArL_xvyg/s320/my+little+pony.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241122156977840738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;">When I was 5, I loved My Little Ponies. Glittery pink and purple madness galore. We played with them so much that a huge Tupperware box of ponies will prove that half of them had missing tails and bad homemade haircuts, and the other half were </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">dirtied beyond belief. And of course when there a toy as popular as this one, people try to make them seem so much cooler than they are by making bad movies and ghetto tv shows that only air after the Price is Right at 10:00am on Tuesday mornings. Being 5 and not understanding the stupidity of their marketing tactic, I fell in love with the first show, "Escape from Midnight Castle." I ate the thing up. I laughed when they met the scatterbrained wizard, danced with all the seahorses under the sea, and cringed when the bad guy (a centaur) released the Rainbow of Darkness. </span> <span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br />However, with my completely sporadic 5 year old mind, I thought that meant all bad guys must be centaurs. I remember my mom sitting me down one day and explaining what the Gulf War was. She showed me pictures of some people on the Iraqi side (only their heads and torsos, mind you), and what did I do? I didn't wonder about the definition of war, the location of Iraq, or what this has to do with me or America as a nation. I wondered what they looked like, automatically assuming that the bottom half of them was shaped like a horse.</span> <span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcKRWtJssKg5f7pGIN-eqvXMaDK3PM7hfaByg_ZdOeu52lXWeynVRvL2c2RAmWTn_ExP_J7ZuHMEgCGLn-RbiYnoEgw0Up7UH1aPzdhJ4esIgbdJpg9rKZWwZ8j_vOZT45b7Tilw/s1600-h/centaur.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcKRWtJssKg5f7pGIN-eqvXMaDK3PM7hfaByg_ZdOeu52lXWeynVRvL2c2RAmWTn_ExP_J7ZuHMEgCGLn-RbiYnoEgw0Up7UH1aPzdhJ4esIgbdJpg9rKZWwZ8j_vOZT45b7Tilw/s320/centaur.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241123884685768242" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Nonsense, I know. But then it got me wondering what it would be like if I still had the mentality of a 5 year old. Magic was a part of the fabric of my life. I don't think I would have second guessed myself if I saw a fairy in my yard, a centaur walking down the street, or if my favorite Nintendo characters random</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">ly popped out of the tv. Experience is great, don't get me wrong. But where do you draw the line from being a believer in magic to a cynical skeptic? Sometimes I think I put myself in the latter category way too often. I expect the worse in people, assume the most terrible things will happen to me, or that life is one big round of hatred, boredom, and cynicism. Why are movies either ridiculously magical or tragically realistic? What ever happened to thinking that life is still magical, even though it's marked with thistles and thorns? I think there is still an element of magic in life, and the only thing stopping me from discovering a taste of it is my grown-up self.</span>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-60722248759958903022008-08-16T09:21:00.013-06:002008-08-16T09:53:22.427-06:00Olyolypimics... I mean Olympics<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg6vzNuzlFE8EDBCuCHDyJpKSRKMiGtANO8P_1Er5y3Mhb6tcE36VSyLNYj9XGtL935GaOL1vXQ4z9FI2ctXNoHj7DKBrRAaQw34BI1Ts_JC1f9OHo7tFKmYu4XHuw1xBzAFI6eQ/s1600-h/Men's+Gymnastics.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 219px; height: 219px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg6vzNuzlFE8EDBCuCHDyJpKSRKMiGtANO8P_1Er5y3Mhb6tcE36VSyLNYj9XGtL935GaOL1vXQ4z9FI2ctXNoHj7DKBrRAaQw34BI1Ts_JC1f9OHo7tFKmYu4XHuw1xBzAFI6eQ/s320/Men's+Gymnastics.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235138744904107106" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" >Sometimes I feel sorry for Olympic reporters. I mean seriously - you have to come up with all this intelligent stuff as who knows what is happening with all the athletes and still make it sound interesting/exciting. I, however, love it because all sorts of funny things come out. Here are just a few of the quotes I have caught from my late night Olympic fetish:</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" >1- Talking about mens' gymnastics: "The mens' gymnastic team can't afford a big mistake... which that wasn't."</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" >2- Womens' cycling (in the rain): "It's important to keep hydrated, but on a day like this they probably just want a hot cup of coffee. And Bob knows just the place!" [cut to some random</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" >Starbucks in Beijing]</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiac48W7D_uAj5q2_Tnz8m9vacGSKOujYZHal5_4lBKWHH6GSyOrj-awoNhRbqn2wzC15HTMXZtA6qZUM_lrWvyzIRaJ64Qjj90fslDGUrVKw6CfYIjl-OneTHLBYyjZhhmv3ZgbQ/s1600-h/Cycling.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 207px; height: 146px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiac48W7D_uAj5q2_Tnz8m9vacGSKOujYZHal5_4lBKWHH6GSyOrj-awoNhRbqn2wzC15HTMXZtA6qZUM_lrWvyzIRaJ64Qjj90fslDGUrVKw6CfYIjl-OneTHLBYyjZhhmv3ZgbQ/s320/Cycling.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235138613822249138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" >3- Beach Volleyball: "He's 180 pounds of string-bean meat!" (I'm not sure I'd want to be a string bean...)</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" >4- Trying to sound artistic: "Today the British empire extends into China."</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" >5- Making up all sorts of interesting words: "May and Walsh are outphysicaling the Cubans."</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU5mR5vW63vkAKyWY03Gvrs-zl3oAZSzUxW1MIEi0P7xocLumhU1HUcc-rkWB9AWcoDYAj841Gb086oPUBlZkytrRIv72D37-UzVR5BvkqqHz0rfet4C_8ollcYMj2kFja-cIKIA/s1600-h/May+and+Walsh.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU5mR5vW63vkAKyWY03Gvrs-zl3oAZSzUxW1MIEi0P7xocLumhU1HUcc-rkWB9AWcoDYAj841Gb086oPUBlZkytrRIv72D37-UzVR5BvkqqHz0rfet4C_8ollcYMj2kFja-cIKIA/s320/May+and+Walsh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235139538504422354" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" >"Everyone doubts when he goes slow in the prelims. Then he goes fast in the finals and all of a sudden... he's Aaron Piersol!" (And he wasn't before...?)</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" >I also found some really great ones on the internet from 2004 in Athens:</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" > 1. Weightlifting commentator: "This is Gregoriava from Bulgaria. I saw<br />her snatch this morning during her warm up and it was amazing."</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" ><br />2. Dressage commentator: "This is really a lovely horse and I speak<br />from personal experience since I once mounted her mother."</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" >3. Paul Hamm, Gymnast: "I owe a lot to my parents, especially my mother<br />and father."<br /><br />4. Boxing Analyst: "Sure there have been injuries, and even some deaths<br />in boxing, but none of them really that serious."</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" ><br />5. Softball announcer: "If history repeats itself, I should think we<br />can expect the same thing again."<br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;" >6. Basketball analyst: "He dribbles a lot and the opposition doesn't</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;" >like it. In fact you can see it all over their faces."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:lucida grande;" >And finally, here are probably my three favorite Olympians this year:</span><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSmfrIXjbUetQwNPSUagoQtBLr4e1RMsDAi8z5VP24ty6sVZeuudxx8VPGP1yR7wmEHNxiWBEwyguXTwgJTTEow98vI-NGeycOWJeqYa6H_ScO21FmCsVj3JNs9UZ4KTHFa6vwBQ/s1600-h/Nastia.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSmfrIXjbUetQwNPSUagoQtBLr4e1RMsDAi8z5VP24ty6sVZeuudxx8VPGP1yR7wmEHNxiWBEwyguXTwgJTTEow98vI-NGeycOWJeqYa6H_ScO21FmCsVj3JNs9UZ4KTHFa6vwBQ/s320/Nastia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235142952238762274" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qYn5fFlwQk2uRYklOZ9Ysb8yG_zBSEVpJq0QNe8eJ279Dh3Hf0jkLxiSkca6R6r8lzVJbYJdh4dOTRCTiA5LjOl5rkuw1eFCVlQbGonKFGsike1QAZBg9DbAlg1Igl80htyy5w/s1600-h/Phelps.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qYn5fFlwQk2uRYklOZ9Ysb8yG_zBSEVpJq0QNe8eJ279Dh3Hf0jkLxiSkca6R6r8lzVJbYJdh4dOTRCTiA5LjOl5rkuw1eFCVlQbGonKFGsike1QAZBg9DbAlg1Igl80htyy5w/s320/Phelps.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235141773991609538" border="0" /></a></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUo5LvL2OUQjEGGXGwHpfIC3ROvPxl9zvsVBIPTJRKYOKXNkSQyY1UCJtpnsimDmcSY7WPe9KmA3nl7hkRKHJgTf8pEkrgco69-KzBuX36hhDdJILPfDD7Z2_3SjN_GigoMGbLxA/s1600-h/Nastia.jpg"><br /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCf-za-s6QSvbQ4XlGoIv0yZHqESUfcsohjPk12QAUjBRsQY9ysOmNfWfCDpALXRPHVv4cjZ1B-lo41q5aKCNOjAltmkpJgZCqNhe3062c51MRP11cxp8Hkz5CcAZpv_UXx3sV2A/s1600-h/Johnson.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 186px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCf-za-s6QSvbQ4XlGoIv0yZHqESUfcsohjPk12QAUjBRsQY9ysOmNfWfCDpALXRPHVv4cjZ1B-lo41q5aKCNOjAltmkpJgZCqNhe3062c51MRP11cxp8Hkz5CcAZpv_UXx3sV2A/s320/Johnson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235141076753781394" border="0" /></a>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-57195850252299026012008-08-14T17:19:00.004-06:002008-08-14T17:40:58.861-06:00The Twilight Catalog<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf-BUZ3_uSfDvcVuZnCGQ6f1CpjN7UnFcf2gZPvfufyzY_4t5T0t4mPMoO-HGJO2zE-t-J-6JhJxUKjfapQ-ASklksRSkHwta_aKAqzCBuKcGdl16PS8iuS0t5eZkTkKIvZNh4Zw/s1600-h/twilight_book_cover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf-BUZ3_uSfDvcVuZnCGQ6f1CpjN7UnFcf2gZPvfufyzY_4t5T0t4mPMoO-HGJO2zE-t-J-6JhJxUKjfapQ-ASklksRSkHwta_aKAqzCBuKcGdl16PS8iuS0t5eZkTkKIvZNh4Zw/s320/twilight_book_cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234522531476906914" border="0" /></a><br /><div class="ljcut" text="The catalog: Just how perfect IS Edward? Let us count the ways."><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">I must apologize first of all for all of you who actually like (or *cough, cough* are obsessed *cough, cough*) with the Twilight series. I wanted to do a blog on the worst quotes of the </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Breaking Dawn</span></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">, but then I realized there was something even better out there... hard core proof of the absolute absurdity of the first book, </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Twilight.</span></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> So, here I present you with one of the most insightful pieces on the first fateful book.<br /><br />(I must forewarn you that some of this stuff doesn't really apply anymore after the fourth book answered some questions for us all. It nonetheless gives me a chuckle.)</span></span><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><u><b><br /><br />http://otahyoni.livejournal.com/130432.html<br /><br />The Catalog</b></u></span><br />Number of Pages in the Book: 498<br />The First Hint of a Plot that Is Not Bella and Edward's Romance: page 328<br />When the Plot Actually Arrives: page 372<br /><br />Boys that Totally Love Bella (Including Edward Cullen): 5<br /><br />Approximate Amount of Time Bella and Edward are Romantically Involved Before Bella Is Begging Edward to Turn Her into a Vampire so They Can Be Together Forever: Like, two weeks. Maybe three. The timeline's a bit fuzzy.<br /><br />References to Edward's Beauty: 165<br /><br /><b>Broken Down into the following categories -<br /></b><ul><li>Face: 24 (Favorite adjectives: glorious, heavenly, seraphic)</li><li>Voice: 20 (The voice of an archangel, donchaknow.)</li><li>Eyes: 17</li><li>Movement: 11</li><li>Smile: 10</li><li>Teeth: 8</li><li>Muscles: 7</li><li>Skin: 7 (Note: This only contains accounts of Edward's skin being beautiful. I didn't count references to it as "pale," "cold," or "white." If I had, this number would be about ten times larger.)</li><li>Iron Strength or Limbs: 5</li><li>Breath: 4 (EVEN HIS BREATH IS AMAZING.)</li><li>Scent: 4</li><li>Laughter: 3</li><li>Handwriting: 2</li><li>Chest: 2</li><li>Driving Skills: 1</li></ul><br /><b>The Number of Times...<br /></b><ul><li>Bella Is Clumsy or Makes a Reference to Her Clumsiness: 26</li><li>Bella Sneers at Forks or Its Inhabitants: 22</li><li>Bella is "Dazzled" or Rendered Speechless by Edward's Beauty or Touch: 17</li><li>Edward Tells Bella to Stay Away from Him While Completely Contradicting Himself with His Behavior: 16</li><li>Bella is Utterly Desolate at Edward's Absence: 12</li><li>Edward and Bella Kiss: 8<ul><li>Bella's Hormones Get the Better of Her and She Attacks Edward, Almost Causing Him to Eat Her: 2 (She's not even allowed to kiss him back! Where's the fun in that?)<br /></li></ul><ul><li>Edward's Kiss Makes Bella Faint: 1</li></ul><ul><li>Edward's Kiss Makes Bella's Heart <i>Literally Stop</i>: 1</li></ul></li><li>Bella Thinks She Isn't Good Enough for Edward: 6</li><li>Edward Is Referred to As Godlike: 5 (Note: This number might be off, as I didn't start counting until three or four mentions in.)</li><li>Edward Tells Bella She's Unnatural: 5</li><li>Edward Sparkles: 3</li><li>Bella is in Mortal Danger: 3<ul><li>Edward Saves Bella from Mortal Danger: 3</li></ul></li><li>Edward Stalks Bella, For Real: 2 (Note: One of these instances involves watching her sleep every night for, like, months.)</li><li>Bella says "Holy Crow!": 2</li><li>Bella and Edward Argue About Who Loves the Other Most: 1</li><li>Edward's Inability to Read Bella's Mind is Explained: 0</li></ul></div><br />I would have kept track of how many times Edward's mood shifts unexpectedly and for no reason, but I didn't have that much paper. I am sad, though, that I didn't keep track of how many times words like "granite," "stone," and "marble" are used in reference to Edward. His arms, his <i>lips</i>. Explain to me how kissing cold, marble lips is at <i>all</i> appealing. And yet it makes Bella faint. I give up.<br /><br />+++++++<br /><br /><a name="cutid2"></a><div class="ljcut" text="Some of my favorite lines, being the most ludicrous"><b>Lines That Made Me Laugh Out Loud Because...Well, You'll See:</b><br /><br /><i>I couldn't imagine how an angel could be any more glorious.</i><br /><br />Note: Unless I say otherwise, just assume such sentiments are referring to Edward in all his glory.<br /><br /><i>He lay perfectly still in the grass, his shirt open over his sculpted, incandescent chest, his scintillating arms bare.<br /><br /></i>Incandescent. Scintillating. The adjectives in this book cracked me up. Because he sparkles!<i><br /><br />The meadow, so spectacular to me at first, paled next to his magnificence.</i><br /><br />Paled! Is that a joke? Oh, she's serious? I was afraid of that.<br /><br /><i>As I had just that once before, I smelled his cool breath in my face. Sweet, delicious, the scent made my mouth water.</i><br /><br />This to me was the most disturbing aspect of Edward's inhuman perfection. It's just weird. And gross. And weird.<br /><br />Edward: <i>"There are other hungers. Hungers I don't even understand, that are foreign to me."</i><br /><br />Um, Ed, babe? You were seventeen when you were turned. I highly doubt those "hungers" were foreign to you.<br /><br /><i>I could smell the unbearably sweet fragrance coming off his chest.<br /><br />He pressed his cool lips to my forehead, and the room spun. The smell of his breath made it impossible to think.<br /><br />Because, through the heavy water, I heard the sound of an angel calling my name, calling me to the only heaven I wanted.<br /><br />He leaned in slowly, the beeping noise accelerated wildly before his lips even touched me. But when they did, though with the most gentle of pressure, the beeping stopped altogether.</i><br /><br />...EDWARD KISSES HER AND HER HEART LITERALLY STOPS. I just...I don't even know what to do with this. Other than laugh hysterically while I beat my head against the table.</div><br />+++++++<br /><br />From now on, I'm using the word "Edwardian" to refer to something inhumanly beautiful or perfect. For example: "Joe is <i>totally</i> Edwardian. Did you see his abs?"<br /><br />And, because I am going to laugh at Edward Cullen for the rest of my life - because <i>why</i>, if you are immortal and so gorgeous that women faint at the sight of you, would you <i>enroll in high school?</i> wouldn't you have better things to do with your time?<br /><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-83794217124189035512008-01-23T11:35:00.000-07:002008-12-10T01:28:45.205-07:00The best of laughs, Volume: 2008, Issue: January1. On Martin Luther King Day, I had a 100% genuine "Office" (that one show on tv) moment. We told one of our coworkers to build us a snowman outside our window, so he did. And then he decorated him with ink from our stamps and candy from the candy jar. For some reason, we laughed until we cried, it was so funny to us...<div align="center"><br /></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158760546471262706" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfCNFOtTZQPyx0QLJ0BqZzeS8Qt2o1nloOsTIMcPEWyKcrqe5EKvUvqVUz7G5HAd3ffaoed9ogP7LKfbd3MfCAzYlRHbTKUAiHCgT6wvYXfsj1E34SkFA0G8Rd2k_9OCD_34W59Q/s320/Office_Snowbuddy.jpg" border="0" /><p align="center">Exhibit A: Snowbuddy</p><br /><p align="left">Then, we told the security guards that there was a creepy stalker staring at us from the window, so they rushed over to the rescue, exclaimed "oh no" and proceeded to give the snowman a new identity.</p><br /><p align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158761336745245186" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF5irp0FSoT0N9Xb3ZTkvyzGhx8dWvMxpG4Icgi8xEBGpRMX7vdzBCtJJUj_aNOTuVEO3M1bY8oV6hgZbNx5c2m6AWDjICGQID7l1I7vH8ctBW67o4O6nBqV5f1PYGhcDjdBkCZA/s320/New.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158764214373333522" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOnR9QBX-ELkc3HT4dw999hCMNnvaHqNjNive5iF6_ZgCRTaV7SfIsk1UKfi1SF85rZ4axxEamsqnvQjpX-PcYgOMzrVDjWtFoHYnedYzROiaKuI7J9mP3RTbWAeDxNLSm7xv_xg/s320/yup.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">Exhibit B: Snowbuddy intact with the ugly, dated sunglasses the security guards at the library trade off wearing and spraying with mace.</p><p align="left"><br /></p><p align="left">2. This conversation (between my friend and her roommate):</p><p align="left">So I was in the kitchen and she walked in and said..."It smells like fish." </p><p align="left">I looked at her tuna can that was sitting on the counter and said, "Well didn't you have tuna?" </p><p align="left">And she said, "No, I had chicken of the sea."</p><p align="left">Me: "Jenn, you know that's tuna right?"</p><p align="left">Jenn: "But it says chicken on the can."</p><p align="left">Me: "Yeah, chicken of the sea, meaning it came from the sea. It's a brand of tuna."</p><p align="left">Jenn: "What?"<br /></p>3. The Shakespearean sonnet I wrote about spitting off our balcony:<br /><br /> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">From the Balcony</p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;"> </p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">The globules fly straight into silky snow,</p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">And cut the snow like tiny shards of glass.</p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">Those in our sight don't see our splendid show;</p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">I'm glad, for they might find our spitting crass.</p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;"> </p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">We make some targets out of lemonade - </p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">Two circles for the drops to land and splat.</p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">I look and aim for targets we have made</p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">I try to rise above my husband's stats.</p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;"> </p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">The time then comes to grab the air soft gun</p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">And innovate our game a little bit.</p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">So fast and far the yellow pellets run,</p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">Much farther than our measly spit permits.</p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;"> </p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.375in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">I cannot wait for cold and sleet to go,</p> <p style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.375in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">When life holds more than spitting into snow.</p> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;"> </p> <br /> <p style="margin: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;"> 4. A couple random forwards:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOvEpVf-kejCEKbzjfVx6flN79Kp78EvKrxOsyK_vvq-f72WkweT2n1-rQWoyRzsh3pSLd29rST-qG1mrtswpkRadqySgkH-vBWY06XqWOpCxVzwSagihFsWCgG32gtWR7clB5gg/s1600-h/clinton.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOvEpVf-kejCEKbzjfVx6flN79Kp78EvKrxOsyK_vvq-f72WkweT2n1-rQWoyRzsh3pSLd29rST-qG1mrtswpkRadqySgkH-vBWY06XqWOpCxVzwSagihFsWCgG32gtWR7clB5gg/s320/clinton.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161651102411143730" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNhRZFAwnahpZqiiJLzHqmU3J9y7UtUVrif_HSqfAbVp6Ut0CC0BpVvS89Q1PXqEQ-NDCHJRnjVL8e89j3A6el3yfijKS2wP3EUzcYhhb2lM7ZlYxmH7u_Q5yXk5RcvpAWkF54A/s1600-h/positive_proof_of_global_warming.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNhRZFAwnahpZqiiJLzHqmU3J9y7UtUVrif_HSqfAbVp6Ut0CC0BpVvS89Q1PXqEQ-NDCHJRnjVL8e89j3A6el3yfijKS2wP3EUzcYhhb2lM7ZlYxmH7u_Q5yXk5RcvpAWkF54A/s320/positive_proof_of_global_warming.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161650492525787682" border="0" /></a><img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Kim/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" /></p>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-157170427507584392008-01-19T16:07:00.001-07:002008-12-10T01:28:45.222-07:00Nondescript Thoughts<div>A pile of unwashed dishes sit in a sink full of stale, crumb-filled water -waiting for me to come wash them. They loom over my head, making me think of the screaming bathroom that also complains of how it hasn't been cleaned in over a week.. And yet, I sit here in my bathrobe, musing on who will win the election, and how I don't like any of the candidates that much, and how I wonder if global cooling will ever become the popular new <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">environmental</span> fad, or if people will stop centering their attention on Brittany Spears and the war in Iraq to concentrate on their own life and driving skills.<br /><br /><br /><br />I feel the let down of finally finishing the Uglies series by Scott <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Westerfield</span>, realizing that I will never be able to climb into Tally <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Youngblood's</span> special head again, and that never again will I see pretty Zane or ugly David, and thinking about how much work it takes to get to know people in a book or on a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">TV</span> series, and how they will never compare to the people I read or saw before them.<br /><br /><br /><br />I think about how cold it is outside and how I officially banned winter a couple days ago, but the weather didn't seem to notice. I wonder how many <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Hershey's</span> kisses it is possible to eat before you die from an overdose.... And my professor wonders how snails can operate a door and I don't know - perhaps it was a metaphor that worked better in my head. I think about how I have to leave for work in 7 minutes and wonder if it is possible to live off of cereal, peanut butter and jelly <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">sandwiches</span>, frozen burritos, and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Hershey's</span> kisses - I sure hope it is.<br /><br />Finally, I realize that going to the mall with a friend and selecting the ugliest outfits you can find for the other person to try on can be one of the best <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">recipes</span> for laughter.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnYwIkVBB2CQ0ZNHcGQDBQ1atv7Z15Kwcu_B_6hP5-3myPxAyLULobwTjk4h2tKstmAMcRDWsWNIsYAogkg7uwLJlMcnjz-OHLAVlmTjinJKd_LKu5W34gH93YpMeraUBN4V0R1g/s1600-h/ugly.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157715117498388002" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnYwIkVBB2CQ0ZNHcGQDBQ1atv7Z15Kwcu_B_6hP5-3myPxAyLULobwTjk4h2tKstmAMcRDWsWNIsYAogkg7uwLJlMcnjz-OHLAVlmTjinJKd_LKu5W34gH93YpMeraUBN4V0R1g/s320/ugly.jpg" border="0" /></a></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-59291271223116360242008-01-14T19:08:00.000-07:002008-01-14T19:51:26.529-07:00Out of the DustThe title of one of my favorite books, and a statement reflecting the fact that my blog is coming back from the dead. Thus far, I'm afraid my blog much resembles that of one of Stephen Crane's poems entitled <em>A Man Said to the Universe:</em><br /><br />A man said to the universe:<br />"Sir, I exist!"<br />"However," replied the universe,<br />"The fact has not created in me<br />A sense of obligation."<br /><br />I guess the sense of obligation for poor, neglected, time-wasters is finally starting to sprout in me.<br /><br /><div align="center">***This is where you celebrate, bang pots and pans, and dance around in a circle with merriment***</div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-1163291578959427102006-11-11T17:22:00.000-07:002006-11-11T17:32:58.970-07:00Sugar<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_2375.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2375.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />At Versailles with a few other cool people after Stake Conference.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_2363.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2363.jpg" border="0" /></a>Why do they even need a Baby Dior?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_2379.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2379.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I just discovered a new tarte - rhubarb. Its my new favorite, and I think it is going to stay my favorite for a very very very long time. I got so excited when I was eating it that I thought it deserved a picture. Legay choc - one of the most unresistable pastery shops near the institute.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_2328.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2328.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This one is pretty good too. It has strawberries and cream inside, fondant on top, and chocolate on the bottom. But rhubarb is still favorite :)Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-1163290912536727982006-11-11T16:57:00.000-07:002006-11-11T17:21:52.546-07:00My Bedsheets for the Week<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_2294.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2294.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_2295.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2295.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_2300.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2300.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />So the other day I came home from my daily festivities, and I notice that Madame de la Motte has cleaned my room. But it wasn't just like any other normal cleaning day. Oh no, because THIS is what I found for my clean comforter. Where in the world did she find this thing and why did she buy it?! That would be an entertaining history. I especially enjoy the lemon with the sour look on its face. Just showing his internal conflict I guess. Or something...<br />I think its a sign that I was destined to choreograph a dance where I put fruit on my head and wear some form of grass skirt.<br /><br />And while I'm talking about this, I might as well discuss some other interesting aspects of my host family. They are the type of people who will always have some sort of tear in the upholstery of their couch, who have several very nice paintings and sketches in broken picture frames hung askew on the wall, and who have an old 16th century looking apartment in Paris (three stories I might add). Eileen and I have found an entire photo album of the dad bungee jumping, and another entire photo album of the mom riding a camel (oh man, of all animals, who rides a camel? I love it!). And yet they are the type of people you can tell are very well off. Each kid has two computers, their own room with a loft included, the kitchen has huge marble counters, and they not only have a house in the countryside near Versailles, but also a house in Guadaloupe (the island in the sun). They are very Americanized, which you can tell by the way they do things. They never close their doors, they are always watching American pop star type shows, the mom is always trying to force the kids to eat (I think they are the first people I have met that dont like chocolate cake), they don't even <em>have</em> shutters on their windows, and they dont really seem to mind us invading their personal space. Kindof differenct, n'est-ce pas?Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-1163289459964382642006-11-11T16:26:00.000-07:002006-11-11T16:57:39.976-07:00Some FoodMeal Number 1 in Tours: The Four Course Ridiculously Gourmet Professional Meal<br /><br /><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2222.jpg" border="0" /><br />Course 1: it was some kindof crazy fish that I had never heard of (that wasn't very strong), with a salad on the side, and mint flavored whipped cream (it was so bizzare - can't say I would have ever put a combination of those two together).<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_2223.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2223.jpg" border="0" /></a>Course 2: Beef, asparagus, a cheese puff, and some rice. (I guess I could get more specific, but I think the picture explains it well enough).<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_2224.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2224.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Course 3: Chèvre spread in a little flakey puff pastery.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_2225.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2225.jpg" border="0" /></a> Course 4: Chocolate mouse cake.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Meal 2 in Tours: Traditional Food for the Everyday Person<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_2154.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 308px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 237px" height="226" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2154.jpg" width="298" border="0" /></a> Cassoulé - mystery meat if I ever saw one. I wonder if there was any meat that was the same in this dish. For a while I thought it was all duck. And then I realized that it had sausage. And then I realiwed that it had this other crazy duck stuff. And then it had another kind of sausage. Very heavy- similar to beef stew in that sense, but definatly several steps up from Dinty Moore.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_2155.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2155.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I just had to put it up - chocolate mousse cake will never get old.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Sacré-Coeur (sorry, I dont know how this ended up in some random, boring food section, but oh well - the joys of blogging) - a modern basilica that was built<br />with stone that cleans itself. It was cool, but I find the random hole in the wall church behind it much more fascinating. Seriously, when you walk into the hole in the <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_2116.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_2116.jpg" border="0" /></a>wall church and you know for a fact that the eclectic neighborhood surrounding it must be responsible for the interior decoration. There were swinging lights, crazy stained glass windows that look like Picasso might have made them, upbeat organ music playing in the background, it had added charm due to its small size, and it was somehow surprisingly still Romanesque looking (although it had quite a few Gothic elements). Anyways, now that I have talked about the hole in the wall church for an entire paragraph, Sacré-Coeur is cool too I guess. The steps are really fun to sit on. :)Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-1163287281513708782006-11-11T16:01:00.000-07:002006-11-11T16:26:54.463-07:00Les Petits Aventures!<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_1390.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_1390.jpg" border="0" /></a> Oh boy. This Chocolatier makes all their chocolates on the spot, and they are amazing! Some of them even have little flakes of gold on top.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_1288.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_1288.jpg" border="0" /></a> Le grève (haha, I've never actually spelled that word in French, so I hope that's right). A few of us were marching down the street doing an assignment for one of our classes, when all of a sudden there are like explosions all over the place, and a huge mob of firemen come running down the street yelling. I guess the firemen weren't too pleased with the current retirement age (a typical French thing to be upset about - seriously I don't know how they can still be complaining - the retirement age is so low, and they even have an entire program where they are half retired before they are fully out of the work field to allow for an easier transition) so they decided to go on strike about it. I loved their technique - light all sorts of things on fire, shoot off fireworks, and run down the street - all things that they are supposed to clean up after. Anyways, we were all just kindof dumbfounded, little cameras in hand for the assignment that we were supposed to be doing - so a bunch of them asked us if we wanted our picture taken with them. I felt like a tourist, but why not, right?<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_1282.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_1282.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />And you thought Provo was only a word with a negative connotation in Utah...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_1260.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_1260.jpg" border="0" /></a> So this was at the Parisian Thai Festival. I think my favorite part about this picture is the fact that my hair is like cascading down the uniform, so that it looks like I<br />have some kindof of odd shaped beard. Haha, je l'aime.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-1163286011925689002006-11-11T15:14:00.000-07:002006-11-11T16:00:11.936-07:00Mes Petits Lapins<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_1422.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_1422.jpg" border="0" /></a> Palais Royal - a place where political minds once discussed and compiled ideas, where the Revolutionaries came to hang out, and where Madame Tassaud first created her wax heads (based on all the people they guillotined during the Revolution). Once again a stark contrast with the old and the new. Classical style gardens and stone fountains create a background for the modern metal ball fountain and the white and black striped columns in the adjacent courtyard.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_1418.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_1418.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />So my petits lapins and I were all just chillin out along the Seine, eating our little tarte citrons, when some interesting characters pull up in their smart car and start pestering the guy on the bench next to us. Just as I was working through the most lemony part of my tarte citron, Natalie gets the crazy idea that the guy has a gun in his back pocket. But the thing you have to know about Natalie is that she is obsessed with staying safe, controlled, and on time. (And im pretty sure there wasnt a gun in his back pocket.) In any event, Im not about to leave my tarte citron, so we stay. Then they pile back up in their little smart car, drive off, and I finish my tarte citron. Anything for the pastry :)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_1414.jpg" border="0" />I have decided that the street performers along the Seine are my favorite. The ones that congregate near the Pompidou Center are a little too obsessed with the way of the future, the ones near Montmarte are all a little too bohemian, and the ones in the Metro shouldn't be called street performers because they all use those little stereo things to play background music while they attempt to sing along (unless you go to chatalet - they have some pretty talented musical groups trying to sell their cds there). So here we have some big band swing performers. Sure, its a little Americanized to be playing jazz music, but it sure beats that guy playing the fiddle at Champs-Elysées metro stop every morning on the way to school.<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_1409.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_1409.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Notre Dame et moi having a moment.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_1410.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_1410.jpg" border="0" /></a>Landon, Natalie (although I like to spell her name Nathalie because I think it looks cooler), and Kelli - mes petits lapins (haha, i don't think i used that phrase correctly, but I wasn't sure I would get another chance to use it :)Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-1162083589482594642006-10-28T17:52:00.000-06:002006-10-28T19:02:56.576-06:00Au parc<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/kim%20230.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/kim%20230.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />So I was out taking a walk one day with my little "Paris Walks Cards: 50 Adventures on Foot" companion box (such an original title huh?), and the directions said "enter the park to see a bunch of grandparents watching their grandchildren." Whatever that means. So I walk inside the exotic looking park with my roommate and sure enough, we pretty much just walked into a day care. So I took (a rather blurry) picture, and here is the evidence :)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/kim%20165.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/kim%20165.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Oops, I forgot to make this face the right way, you will just have to use your imagination. Pretty trees, huh?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/kim%20152.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/kim%20152.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/IMG_0952.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/IMG_0952.jpg" border="0" /></a> A window and a bridge at some castle somewhere.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/kim%20100.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/kim%20100.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I love it how the French don't automatically associate pumpkins with Halloween (haha, L'Halloween, qu'est-ce que c'est?).<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/kim%20122.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/kim%20122.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Why can't they turn Sugarhouse park into something like this?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/kim%20138.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/kim%20138.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Natalie et moi.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/kim%20118.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/kim%20118.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />....silence.....Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-1162079227775642122006-10-28T16:56:00.000-06:002006-10-28T17:52:14.386-06:00Scary Eyes<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/kim%20010.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/kim%20010.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />My scary eyes after my makeover at Sephora on the Champs Elysée. Vous l'aimez?Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-1161472624914407522006-10-21T16:45:00.000-06:002006-10-21T17:18:17.190-06:00The Boring Buildings Part<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20058.0.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20058.0.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20057.0.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20057.0.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20047.0.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20047.0.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20038.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20038.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20034.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20034.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20053.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20053.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20045.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20045.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I know, that moat is disgusting. I don't know how the ducks survive it (but I'm glad they do, because they are freaking cute<br />!) So here we have pictures of a couple chateau. It was interesting to compare and contrast the bulky, defense-centered castles of the Middle Ages to the beautiful, garden filled castles of the Renaissance.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-1161470741523209002006-10-21T16:32:00.000-06:002006-10-21T16:45:41.530-06:00The Alley<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20031.1.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20031.1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20004.2.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20004.2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20003.2.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20003.2.jpg" border="0" /></a> Just some "alley-way" pictures. I guess they aren't that exciting, but I like them :)Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-1161469402869512712006-10-21T15:57:00.000-06:002006-10-21T16:23:22.880-06:00Stuffed<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20052.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20052.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20055.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20055.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20056.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20056.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20054.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20054.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />What is the difference between a stuffed duck in American and a stuffed duck in France? The stuffed duck in America is either a cute little stuffed animal toy, or some strange science project that can be found in museums. The stuffed duck in France means that food is somewhere nearby. There isn't a lot of differentiation between the food and the animal itself (I mean seriously, look at that duck dish- it might have as well died on the plate).<br />Anyways... so the first picture is a stuffed duck outside of a foie gras (stuffed duck liver) shop, the second is a gizzard salad (which looks disgusting, but is actually really, really good), the third is confit canard (duck cooked in its own fat), and the last picture is mousse au chocolat (need I say more). Here is another reason to go to the Dordogne Region of France - not only do you get to take a canoe ride down the river and hike an Italian sized hill, but you get to eat gizzards, ducks (that look like they have died on the plate, yet taste better than any kind of duck you will find anywhere else), and mousse au chocolat (pretty much the equivalent of heaven).Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-1161467803879142122006-10-21T15:41:00.000-06:002006-10-21T15:56:43.886-06:00Dordogne<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20007.0.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20007.0.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/1600/Kim%20005.0.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3376/4069/320/Kim%20005.0.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dordogne (to be said with a French "r" and a "dogne" that comes from the gut). We rented our little canoes, ate our peaches and pastries on the river, dipped our feet in the water, and worked off lunch with a climb to the top of the hill (pretty much so steep that we might have as well been in Italy haha).</p>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36413390.post-1161466594442025552006-10-21T15:29:00.000-06:002006-10-21T15:38:49.676-06:00Whahaha!!Sweet! We'll see if this actually lasts. I was thinking this could be a nice little place people could come see pictures and stuff (so that I don't have to send like a million pictures to everyone, just to make everyone wait a million years to open such large files - and then make people figure out how to organize these random pictures in their email that they aren't about to make their background or anything) and I can also make pointless little ramblings to waste time in my favorite little internet cafe (as long as the inscense isn't too strong). Ummm... yeah, that's it. Ciao!Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877534440932076653noreply@blogger.com0