Yawk

NEW YAWK!!!!!!!!!!!

So obnoxious, I know.

This book has been purchased. By me.

Ostensibly for "official" purposes, but you know I'll stay up late at night reading this and dreaming of the day...

There is a strong possibility that I'm going to New York this February. On business. I'm so excited. I've been dreaming of this city since...well, for a long time. And now I'll finally get to visit! That deserves an exclamation mark or two!! Let's hope that I like it more than Rome (to clarify, I like Rome a fair amount. I just didn't like living there). It would be unrealistic to expect me to like it more than Florence. Florence has set the bar pretty high. All the other cities are jealous of Florence. And then Florence dances a jig around them and says, "Look at my cool Renaissance wig. And did I mention that I've got a few Botticelli's? Oh yeah, there is that one insignificant detail: I have some of the best art in the world. No big deal. Baci!" And then it flounces away along the banks of the Arno.

Florence is like a mean girl. Who knew?

Sigh.

p.s. This post has been brought to you by the passive. Coming soon to a blog post near you!

You Won't Believe the Things My Head Thinks Up

...or maybe you will.

Huh. Hadn't considered that possibility. Am I predictable?

Don't answer that.

Full-speed ahead.

I've been writing a new book lately. It's funny. At least, I think so.

The main character practically walked out of my brain. And when I say "walk" I mean she sped away in a fast getaway car taking with her the family jewels, a million bucks, and possibly my good sense and dignity at the same time.

And I just can't be mad at her.

Poor damaged darling.

I can hardly consider myself a writer yet, but I have noticed that writers tend to talk about their characters like real people. And I get why all of the sudden.

Because when would I in my right mind write a line like this:

"Besides, seeing that hottie Fezzik will probably take my mind off the Other Person. At least for an hour and a half."

Yes. My character's shocking opinions and questionable taste in men have taken over. (For those who aren't as nerdy as me, Fezzik is the giant from The Princess Bride. Also, some of you may remind me that I too have questionable taste in men: Daniel Radcliffe anyone?).

I'll be expecting a call from my mental health professional first thing Monday morning. You know. The one from my nursing home. I'm sure that one of you kind-hearted Samaritans can be thanked.

Also:

Et tu, Brute?

O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason.

(Antony, Julius Caesar, Act III, scene 2)

I'm reeling. Absolutely reeling. I feel like I've been hit by a semi. I can't believe this.

This is perhaps the worst thing that's happened to me all week.

Behold:

Oh my treacherous eyes! I think that DANIEL FREAKING RADCLIFFE is attractive in this photo (I can't believe I think it. I can't believe I'm admitting it).

...but there's more. Oh yes, there's more to this absolutely reprehensible treachery.

I think that he looks like Mr. Thornton (from North and South) in this photo.

Go ahead. Judge me. I just compared Daniel Freaking Radcliffe to the most gorgeous male movie lead ever.

I'll leave you now. I'm off to go all Oedipus on my eyes.

La Vita Vera

Hello, everybody.

So, this is the third place I'm posting this, but I'm just SO excited!

Here's the scoop. I work at BYU Broadcasting as a writer/editor. I work mainly on preparing program guides for BYUtv and KBYU Eleven (PBS), but we do a few other things too. One of them is blogging periodically about our shows.

So when my boss Kaitlyn told me I could do a blog post for a show airing this week (Oct 24-30), I was excited. I was even more excited when I discovered that The Food Nanny (a family dinner time fix-it show) was airing an episode filmed in Italy!

I adore Italy. Mmm.

And then I was even more delighted to discover on further research that she'd filmed an episode with my friends, Marco and Raffaella Ferrini from Florence.

Do you feel the excitement?!?!?!?

Deep breath.

So here's my tribute/labor of love/fan girl gushing:

http://byutv.org/seethegood/post/How-Italy-changed-my-attitude-toward-food.aspx


Another link about the fabulosity of the Ferrini family:

http://byutv.org/seethegood/post/Dear-Italy-Guess-whos-coming-to-dinner.aspx



Buon appetito!

p.s. hyperlinks might not be working...but the URL is correct.

Sneak Peek

Thought I'd give you the teaser photo...

of my Halloween costume.

p.s. I'll be waiting.

p.p.s. Ten points to you if you understood my first postscript...before reading this.

So Unfortunate

...that this had to happen.

Someone made me get my sassy on.

That sounded so weird. Oh well.

See, there's this pumpkin stealing contest in our ward. Sounds fun, right?

Oh, except the "rules" say if an apartment door is unlocked you can enter the apartment and steal the pumpkin.

Look, I'm no lawyer, but even I know I have rights. And even if I do obsessively lock my front door, it's the principle of the thing. I do not want people just waltzing into my apartment. I do NOT give my permission.

Well...it's just as bad as I thought. My roommates are good about locking the door, but as the past week has proven, there are times when it's left unlocked. We've had so many random people walk into our apartment. It's creepy.

The first time I witnessed it, I was in my room (the one farthest back) and had my headphones in. I heard males voices but figured it was my roommate and her brothers. And then I heard the word "pumpkin."

So I took out my headphones and walked out into the living room to tell them to get the bleep out of my apartment.(I was planning on being nicer than that, of course).

They had already left though, so I went outside and peered over the railing. There were two boys and a girl walking away with our pumpkin.

I yelled, "Did you just come into my apartment?"

And the girl said "Woops."

Woops? WOOPS????

I'll woops her.

And it's not an isolated incident. I was watching Castle with my roommates on Monday night, and a bunch of little kids walked into our apartment.

So, I wrote that note and put it on the outside of our front door. Fair warning and all.

And then someone had the GALL to correct me. Ha! "Capish" is a perfectly legitimate piece of American slang. It did NOT need correcting. And then the Smart A uses the formal with me? I'm pretty sure if I'm yelling, I'm not gonna use the formal.

Lessons to learn:
1) If you're going to correct my
English/usage/grammar/Italian, make sure you're right.
2) As if you know Italian better than I do.

Soapbox, out.

p.s. I'm not actually as mad as this post makes me sound. I'm a bit annoyed, but for the most part, I think this has been funny/ridiculous. Only in Provo.

Something I DO NOT Love: Part 1

Why do I eat this crap?

It's probably cheaper just to buy glue and sawdust and eat that.

It might even taste better. Bleh.

Don't worry, life is still good. I found this little gem, and it's been making me laugh all day:

Ciao!

Something I Love/Part 1

This: Listen. Listen hard. (Video is shaky, but audio's still pretty good).



I believe that God gave us humans a smidgeon of his talents so that we could make our life here more beautiful. Let's just say that Adele got more than the usual share.

Sit down, and let's chat.

See, some people hate things that are popular (I believe we're calling those people hipsters these days, kids). Why? Adele is probably the most popular and successful artist in the world right now (that claim is by no means empirical, but the anecdotal evidence is staggering). And it's because she's god-touched. I really believe that. So love her, like I do.

Once upon a time, when I was a a girl of 14, I discovered a girl with a voice named Charlotte Church. Her voice made me think of fairy tales, angels, and walks in rainy forests (I was a dramatic girl. I still am, wink). Both Charlotte and I grew up. I tried and tried to be a girl with a voice, but alas... One day I looked Charlotte up again and discovered that she had more or less smoked it away. Rolled up her golden voice between tobacco and cigarette paper and puffed away.

I was mad. That gift wasn't Charlotte's to waste. I would never have wasted it like that.

And now Adele. I want to wax all poetic about her voice, but I won't any more than I already have.

She smokes. She tries to quit sometimes and then she starts again.

Why, why, why?

This post was supposed to be about something I loved. Instead it turned into a bit of a tragedy.

Here's another song for you:



What do you love?

The Dangers of Being Stupid

It's recently come to my attention that being stupid is not a good idea.

I mean, really guys, if you knew this already and didn't share it with me, then you're a bad friend.

And now you expect to hear a story. I always have a story.

I do have a story.

I've titled it "Humanity: A Rebuttal."

Things I've learned through observing other people:

1) When you date someone as your "post-mission project," it's going to end badly. Period.
2) Don't tell people to be honest with you because you "won't get offended." You will get offended. And defensive.
3) During ward speed-dating activities, it is not advisable to tell people that you "only date pregnant women." Bad joke. No "Haha." Seriously bad joke.

Things I've learned because I suffer the misfortune of being myself:

1) When commenting in google docs on a student's paper, it's advisable to actually press the "comment" button. You'll save yourself a lot of work.
2)Under no circumstances are you to dry clothes that you bought at Ross.
3)If you think of a funny title for a blog post, don't write the actual post until you think of something equally funny for the content.

The End.

And now, a word from our sponsor:

And also:

And last:

Customer Service

The other day I had to call my insurance company. Sounds like the beginning of a good joke, doesn't it? Well, this insurance company is new for me, and by "new" I mean a new experience for me to have to call them, and I wasn't sure how it would all go down. I might be mature and [kind of] self-sufficient, but I honestly don't know the first thing about insurance. And barely a thing about doctors.

So, I called the customer service hotline. Eddie answered. Oh, Eddie. If there is one thing I love, and there's not just one thing, then I would have to say that I love a good, friendly customer service rep. I find that talking to them is one of the simple pleasures of life.

We chatted about why I needed to find a doctor in my area, and how a family practitioner would do the job just fine.
He said to me, "Well, I can make a personalized directory and just send it to your email." I said that sounded great. How convenient for me!

We parted ways happy and the best of friends.

I opened my inbox and sure enough, there was the email with a personalized listing of doctors in my area. The problem was, there were only a few names in Provo. The rest were in the Salt Lake valley. Upon even further inspection, I realized that not only were there only a few doctors in Provo, but they were all at the same clinic. It had some kind of name--the kind of name that places like doctors and dentists offices have: Mountain Crest of the Green Valley clinic; White River Pediatrics; Snow-capped Mountain Dentistry. (Interesting connection I just made. Why does the medical field have such an obsession with nature? The only true connection that I can think of is that I often hurt myself when I'm in nature. And sometimes I've even needed to see a doctor. Okay, well just that one time, but let's not talk about it.)(So, is the answer to my question "money"?)

So I called the number at Nature-y Nature Name and a nice lady answered. I said, "Hi. I don't really know how this works, so you might need to walk me through it, but I need to become a new patient."

The woman on the other end said, "What do you need?" And I told her that I just needed an appointment with the doctor.

Silence.

"This is a Nursing Home, so..."

Silence.

And then I started laughing. "Wow, this is embarrassing," I said to her. Because it needed to be said. Sometimes "this is embarrasing" is actually a necessary phrase. It signals that it's okay to laugh: at me, with me, for me, next to me, whatever.

She laughed too and said, "Yeah, I can let you meet with our doctor, but we might keep you for a long longer than you wanted."

I said something in reply and hung up and laughed and laughed. And told my roommates. And laughed some more.

Oh, Eddie. Did I sound elderly, or was he just new on the job? Who knows.

I ended up calling my insurance company back and the new customer service rep laughed too when I told her the story. (I was laughing about it as I told her, though I think that if I'd been angry about it, she wouldn't have felt so free to laugh. Ya know. Customer service and all that. And another thing is, if I had that job, stories like this one would make the time go faster).

So, if the travails and pressures of life ever become too much to handle, you all know where to find me:

Country View Manor, 2901 West Center Street, Provo, UT. Eddie knows a guy who knows a guy, and he says he can get me in for real cheap.

Editor Cage Match

Rant, rant, rantity-rant.

Today, readers, we're going to talk about publishing. Since I want to be an editor, I try to keep up on the changes the publishing industry is undergoing; specifically how it's adjusting to the explosion of the ebook market (which includes a dreaded s word: self-publishing).

Writers: I know that the e-publishing/self-publishing world is as intoxicating as the smell of a new book, but LISTEN for a moment.

There are rabid supporters of self-publishing, and a few of those wolves have made heinous accusations against me and my people (editors, for those readers who are feeling a leeeetle slow today).

I mean, as far as I'm concerned this a full on dynastic/species clash. Monsters vs. aliens, vampires vs. werewolves, zombies vs. unicorns. Sarah Palin vs. American History.

DO NOT, AND I MEAN NEVER, SAY THAT YOU DON'T NEED AN EDITOR. YOU DON'T HAVE A QUICK QUOTES QUILL.

Specifically, I've seen it said on the internet that editors choose books based on what is or could be the next Twilight/DaVinci Code/Harry Potter clone. Like, so much commercialism? Many other editors, authors, and agents have argued against this claim, and explained why good editors are necessary. They are more intelligent and eloquent than I.

So let me present my opinion in a different form: The monologue. Three of them, to be precise.

Clone #1

Editor 1: "Could you maybe make x people an alien race? I don't know...maybe, like, make them glitter or something? Oh, and also, I want Eduardo to want to destroy Linda-Bonny-Bella while simultaneously loving her obsessively. Great. Get me those revisions by next week."

Clone #2

Editor 2: "Okay, Jimmy. Loving the cowboys. Man, are they hot or what? Yeah, I know how much you like them too...Listen, kid. Got some hard news for you. This isn't going to sell. Nope, it's just not going to sell. No one wants cowboys these days. What the people want are caves with secret paintings and religious artifacts. And labyrinthine mysteries with a few wacky murders thrown in for kicks and giggles. So let's say that the main cowboy is actually an art historian. [Thinks a moment]. Yeah, I'm liking that. Make him an art history professor. Then he needs to meet a pretty American Indian guide. Oh yeah, and her grandfather, you know, the one that raised her [wink, wink], he hid those religious artifacts somewhere for his granddaughter to find. But he can't tell either of the main characters because he's been brutally murdered on top of some hieroglyphs. Anyways, you get the picture, so vamoose. Ta!"

Clone #3

Editor 3: "I'm loving this existential quest your protagonist is having with the kitchen table and math book. It's genius.

Yeah, so I just talked with marketing, and they're asking for something with more pizzazz, right? So, I'm thinking that the kitchen table--or the math book, you choose since it's your novel--yeah, so either the kitchen table or the math book turns into a magical portal and takes the main character to a school for Magical Design. You know, avant-garde decorating ideas with a little something something extra in the making, and all that. We'll call it "Poghaus". Excellent. One more thing: Molly Painter is gonna to need a couple of trusty sidekicks. And a rich, snotty frenemy. And definitely, definitely a BIG BAD. Oh, I've got just the name. Shopradamort! Great. Whose book is gonna be the best bestseller out there? Yours is, that's whose! What, no, I can't hear you. Must be your end of the line. Send those revisions to my secretary to look over! Goodb-"

The End

NO. Just no. Not gonna happen.

Get real naysayers, and stop blaming editors for the fact that commercial publishing hasn't worked for you yet. And furthermore, I don't really care how gifted you are as a writer, YOU NEED AN EDITOR.

OH, and P dot S dot

This is what a good editor looks like:

So Blog about It!

My dad always says that one of the things he admires most about me is my never-give-up spirit.

It's true. I have a never-give-up spirit. And high spirits. And low spirits. And The Spirit. Any way you look at it, I am spirited.

I guess the real word is attitude. He's seen me fall flat on my face so many times, yet I always get "back in the saddle" time and again until I get the thing right.

Saying this is very sweet of my dad. I appreciate it a lot. I think it's true too.

But let's move back a step or two. Maybe even ten steps.

It also means that I have vast amounts of experience at failing. Vast, like the ocean or sky or [insert really big nature thing here]. (See? Sometimes I fail at making similes and metaphors. FAIL.)

It probably all started when I was little. And then I got older. And older. Finally, I arrived at junior high. Cue sinister music.

Little known fact: In the seventh grade, I was failing/getting Ds in the majority of my classes. My parents, quite the cunning team, figured out that the best medicine was and is humiliation. Mom and Dad dutifully set up parent-teacher-and-failing-student conferences (wow that was a lot of hyphens). I was so humiliated by the whole experience that I decided to stop failing. And I did. Look at the geek I am today if you want proof.

What's the point of this post?

My parents decided it was time for me to enter the pristine and glowing halls of adulthood, and by adulthood I mean the pristine and glowing halls of having a credit score. And even though I'm 24, have lived on my own for six years, including in a foreign country, and have gained quite a bit of wisdom and cunning of my own throughout my life, somehow they managed to trick me into buying a car.

It's a funny story. Ask me about it sometime. :)

It's Been a Hard Day's Night

...and I've been working like a dog.

Name the group, and you get fifty appreciation points. From me. Sadly, appreciation points aren't recognized as currency in any known country. So they're not worth much. Sorry.

Rather than let this blog fall into disuse, maybe I should make more frequent, shorter updates. What do you think?

But let's be honest, I probably won't. Not that I don't appreciate your opinion, reader. It's just that I like whatever I write/say (especially if it's going to be read by [potentially] lots of people) to be clever, pithy, life changing, or all of the above. What can I say, I'm vain.

The reason I haven't blogged is because I've had nothing but homework to write about. Most days I do homework. Lots and lots of homework. Then, to change up the pace, I do homework. On Fridays and Saturdays, I do homework. Homework and I should probably get on facebook and say that we're in a relationship. Whenever I feel lonely or sad, I know I can cuddle up to Homework to make me feel better. Homework is such a steady, reliable guy!

But don't tell him, I'm planning on breaking up with him on or around April 16th. Keep it on the DL.

I have a new guy in mind, and his name is SUMMER FUN!!!!!!!

Summer is going to be so great. I'm going to work full time (MONEY!!!!!!), finish writing my novel, go to Zumba classes with my roommates, volunteer at a fiction magazine on campus, hang out with friends, and GO TO ITALY IN JUNE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So many exclamation points, goodness. It's just that I'm so excited.

This is the end of my short, brief post.
Sorry if it's not actually brief,

arrivederci,
Megan

Sad, sad face.

Firenze! Bella da vedere! Ci vediamo fra poco.

Unhappy Deathday to me, Unhappy Deathday to me

I've been home a year from Italy. Yuck. Blech. Phooey. Poo.

Go ahead and tell me that life is beautiful after the mission. Go on, do it. I dare you.

I'll believe you (haha). Because it is. I've done so many great things in the past year. I lived at home for a couple of months and chilled with my family (much needed after a eighteen months of no facetime with them). I started school and discovered that I really do love editing and writing. I've met wonderful people, and reconnected with other wonderful people. I hiked the Subway in Zion's National Park (and didn't die, praise be). I've been writing a novel. I've read who knows how many books.

I've also overcome many hard things...which shall remain nameless. This is a public blog, you know.

Honestly, it's the hard things that I remember the most. That have taught me the most. And that's good. Heavenly Father is determined to make me grateful for my life, no matter how bad it seems.

And even though I feel as if the universe is conspiring against me at times...let's face it. I'm so blessed, I should be ashamed every time I have the thought.

So, Happy Deathday to me. I hope the me I was a year ago can be proud of the me I am today.

Vi voglio bene,
Megan

You Are a Failure

Just another manic Monday...except it's Wednesday.

Yo, peeps. It's been a while. All nine of you miss me a ton, I know. I get your fan mail; I even read it. Sometimes. Stop crying yourself to sleep at night and listen.

'Cuz Gadd's back.

I think it's time for another post about things that are funny. Or not funny. You decide.

Today in my soul-sucking-brainpower-draining theory class(I think the teacher calls it Eng 452: Modern Critical Theory or something like that) we had a full on verbal battle. And by we, I mean NOT ME.

Contrary to popular belief, I don't like contention. Contention is so AWKWARD.

God bless our teacher...for something. I'm sure there's something God can bless him for. I want to like him. Really, I do! He seems like a cute, eccentric old man. But I can't, repeat, cannot, accept his teaching style.

February 2, 2011 (Based on REAL and TRUE events. No postmodern critics were harmed in the making of this dialogue. Even though I tried real hard).

Professor: "Class, you are all woefully underprepared. The system has failed you."
Student 1: "So, you're saying we're stupid?"
Professor: "No, you're not stupid. The C+ I gave to all of your papers [I know right? First C+ in my entire life] means that English students in other countries actually know what they're talking about when they open their mouths. You idiots resemble widemouth bass, for crying in the non-existent bucket. Have you guys even heard of Derrida?"
Student 2: "But I just don't understand how you can grade us like this when we haven't even talked about the critic or his essay and you told us before we started that you'd be shocked if any of us actually understood him. I mean, how is that fair?"
Professor: "So you're saying that you don't think this is fair?"
Student 3: Loudly and passionately: "Well, I think that you guys should just stop worrying so much about your grades. I mean, they're not that important. You should just stop whining and pay attention. Gosh."
Professor: "I mean, I didn't even read your papers. I knew you all failed abysmally and I didn't even bother on most of them. Sometimes I just wrote, 'Tough isn't it?'"Professor chuckles to himself.
Megan to her friend: "OMG. That's what he wrote on mine!"
Friend: "Me too."
Megan shrugs. Class grumbles. So on and so forth.

Yes, this is what class was like today. I wasn't making that dialouge up. I was quoting. Ridiculous.

But you know what? I don't care. I've accepted that I'm a product of a failing educational system. And you know what? You should accept it too. You are a failure.

Then THANK your teacher for the C+ and for making you realize just how stupid you are. I mean, when you think about it, he's being totally merciful. Saves you a lot of embarrassment in the end with the whole "smart" thing.

Pssh, yeah.

Megan