Rad/Super un-rad

So, in life recently things have been boiling down to two different categories for me- Rad, and super un-rad.

Let me break it down.

RAD

- UW. Purple has never been part of my color wheel, but it might be in a couple months here. I was able to run over to the Law School over there, and man, it's nice. I was also able to check out the campus too, and while I was laying down in the quad between six stately buildings, on a cloudless day with the sun lazily dripping in through the leaves of the shady tree i was laying under, i thought, "If God doesn't want me to go here, He really dropped the ball today."

Gates Hall, or, the law school.

The whole campus looks how I'd always imagine a campus would look like. Not that I dislike BYU's immaculate stretch of cemented property, but UW had those classic buildings with ornate facades, long shady paths across green, slightly over-grown lawns, awe-inspiring views and the water just a block from campus. As well as a super nice-looking law school.

RAD

- BYU football starts up soon. Besides giving my life deep significance, it also means that each Saturday for the next few months I'll have something that directs unparalleled joy into my life. The only potential downside to this is the possibility that they could lose a game, which often leads to an invasive sense of ennui for the following week.

RAD

- Portland. Rip City is really looking great. First time I've really been there, and I just like that whole area. I've decided I love greenery and trees with the occasional mountain (Pacific Northwest anyone?) and Portland is just that. Also, word is that it doesn't rain quite as much as it does in Seattle, which I'm sure loses it's novelty after three weeks of downpour.

SUPER UN-RAD

- Moving. So around 2:30 Friday morning, when I was trying to put the closet door back together for the third time and it just fell apart right when I thought I had it, I may or may not have wanted to sit down on the floor and sob for 20 seconds before falling into a deep sleep and forget about waking up for an 8 a.m. flight. That I instead simply muttered something about how dumb closet doors are and fell asleep in my bed shows the mettle i'm made of. Really though, the whole process kinda stunk and took forever, and was possibly exacerbated by an idyll visit to In-N-Out about midway through it. I made it though.

SUPER UN-RAD

- KFC. I just can't stand it. I know I eat greasy, unhealthy and potentially life-threatening foods on a regular basis (and even revel in the fact) but I just despise that jolly colonel and his greasy bags chuck full of fried who-knows-what.

SUPER UN-RAD

- All my friends are married. To look on the bright side, I'm getting really good at two things; being the focus of attention of two people when I go visit one of my buddies and their respective wife, and finding, with ever-increasing wit and hilarity, ways to respond to the question, "Well, when is it your turn Bryce?" But on the other side, there's a moment after my friends are eternally sealed to their better half and they're joking around with the broskis, when I think- It just won't be the same. And it's true. So even though I keep losing about two friends a year, the prospect of instantaneously gaining 5 or 6 friends again when i get married (someday) is pretty exciting.

A couple of un-hitched guys looking at the guy who just got hitched.

And a brief aside- 1- I love going to these weddings. They're way fun and I think it's great to support my friends. 2- Dan, you're still my friend even if you aren't married. I'm just generalizing here.

The Fat is the Best Part

Having worked as a writer since January, and being a student who considers his strong suit to be writing, much fuss has been made over editing out "fat." I'll illustrate my position on this with a largely irrelevant analogy. Fat in writing is like fat in meat. When I was a child, I generally despised this fat because Americans don't know how to cook fat (although whatever my mother cooked was great). Or maybe its just that fat is just not appropriate for American meals. Whatever. When I went to Argentina, I discovered that fat was God's gift to those who truly loved meat. It's slightly crunchy almost, and full of flavor. You end up wanting a bit on each bite, and in your dreams steaks dance across your subconscious.

I've also found it is the same in writing. There are those things that just cannot abide fat, or perhaps just can't include it because of the preferences of those eating it. Journalism, I think, would fall into this category. It's all about opening up the reader's mouth and turning on a fire hose. Same deal with academic papers. Really though, that would be like having fat on a tomato. Just something you don't want to be eating in the first place. But anyways, with literature I really do enjoy that bit of fat. When the prose is just something lyrical and beautiful (and well done), sometimes it seems that the novel is merely the catalyst of bringing together that kind of writing, instead of the other way around. So openly, I’ll admit I love literature that is a bit indulgent. I love the prepositions. I love the occasional passive sentence. I love the half-page descriptions of sunsets draining the sky of color, the feeling of the wind whispering to you, the churning of a train’s wheels on smooth steel tracks, and whatever else I haven’t experienced again on the pages of a book.

Just as long as an Argentine cooks it.