I Am Legend: Movie Review?

Well, it was the last saturday in Rexburg, most of the city had left so it was APRAPOS (I have to make sure and spell this word right since apparently it has been copyrighted) that we go watch a movie about the last man in New York City. It's sort of like being the last people in Rexburg... Cars are abandonded in parking lots... The only people in video stores are cardboard cutouts... Grass is growing through the nearly undrivable roads (This has less to do with being the last people in Rexburg and more to do with crappy road repair.) So needless to say, I felt real empathy for Will Smith, once again, left to save the human race... On. His. Own. I didn't know quite what I was signing up for when I bought a ticket for this movie. I had trouble breathing at parts and worried that PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) would hit the moment I left but all in all, I recommend.

Favorite part of the movie: When my friend Sarah leaned over to me and said, "This must really hit home for you since you lived in New York for 3 days." Nothing like real life commentary.

Least favorite part of the movie: Not that I'm a car person... but I took Auto 100 and I'm sorry but really Dr. Neville? Out of an entire city of abandoned cars you chose a Mustang and a Ford Ranger? This isn't your prom... and you don't live in central Illinois. Hang on.... Could you guys have been sponsored by Ford??

What I would have done differently: Well there are a few scenes where Dr. Neville is running on a treadmill, doing pull-ups with his shirt off, etc. I'm not sure I would be so productive being the last person on earth. I'd probably gain a few lbs, catch up on some of the movies I'd like to see, and then maybe just go talk to some of the zombies, because you could really tell that underneath the fangs, transluscent skin and scabs, they are really just chocolate-covered teddy bears, ready to just melt in your mouth.

WWW.FreeRice.Com

This website, a sister website of the ever-popular poverty.com (I've never heard of it either.) Anyway, go to the website, improve your vocabulary and then help feed a nation! For every word you get right on the site, they will donate 20 grains of rice through the UN to starving countries--proved legit through Wikipedia.com (holla.) Anyway, it takes about 20,000 grains of rice to sustain an average person a day. Which means that there is 1 calorie in 10 grains of rice--random Wikipedia fact. Anyway, play to 20,000!

Thanksgiving Greivances-- (warning, this blog contains the word "secretions")

I don't Understand...:

--People who call Thanksgiving, "Turkey Day"
--Mass "Happy Turkey Day" texts
--Hatred of the word 'panties'... Not really apra pos for Thanksgiving, but an enigma all the same. I used to pretend not to like the word because I thought all girls had to hate it, but I really don't see the foul of it. There are much worse words out there like, for instance, the horrifying, "secretions."
--Those who despise egg nog. It's delicious! And tastes like Christmas and happiness! The only people who should be allowed to hate egg nog are orphans who don't know what those things taste like. Don't ever make an orphan drink egg nog. It's like letting a blind person see for a day, or getting a mormon drunk... it's just better if we don't know what we are missing.
--Why old people can't figure out the internet. It's just a double click, Grandpa. Hours should not be spent on the education of two swift movements of the index finger. It's not new material to my Grandpa, 65 years ago he was doing the same thing. Except instead of a button on a mouse, it was a trigger on a gun, and instead of a blue 'e' on the computer screen, it was a nazi, but come on! Same concept!
--Why "Alternative school" students get treated way better than the rest of the teen-aged population. My brother's "alternative school" gets Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow instead of class. Although, I'm not sure if I'm jealous yet because the students are in charge of making and bringing some dishes themselves... including the kids in isolation. If I wanted stuffing laced with half-rate cocaine and razor blades, I'd spend Thanksgiving on North Clay. But I don't, so I won't.
--Not Shopping on Black Friday.
--Why anyone even bothers with pieces of puppy chow (AKA muddy buddies) that aren't at least three times the size of a regular chex piece or clumped together in a delicous penut-buttery chocolate ball of ambrosia.
--Why 4/6 of my Turkey Day grievances had to do with food and the consumption thereof. Actually, I do get that, I'm just embarrassed about it.

Why I Love BYU-Idaho

So I got this email this morning:

Maggie,

I think I may have found your debit card in the Library. I was wondering what the best way to get it to you would be. I will take it to the lost and found tomorrow, or if you'd rather I didn't, call me. My number is 208-359-9450.
I hope I can get it back to you soon!

Racheal James

Amazing.

Library break-down

Attending BYU-Idaho for about three years now entitles me to a bit of credibility as far as asserting the campus that has occupied so much of my time; specifically, the library. I have lots of experience with all floors of the library, because I don’t have that one place I study. I am more like an annoyingly unsatisfied cat finding a place to sleep (not to my credit because I hate cats). I wander around all floors until I find a spot with (what I consider) a good vibe and then I choose a spot. Doing so has enabled me to make a few observations about the edifice of study that occupies the center of our campus. I have found that the library breaks down into three phases:

Phase 1: 1st floor. (International and married floor)
Phase 2: 2nd floor. (Angry big-girl floor)
Phase 3: 3rd floor. (Rexburg’s only bar…floor)

Phase one: First floor. Don’t use this floor if you are trying to meet people. Students who found their spouse on the third floor, have now come down to the first level because, now that the race to eternal marriage is over, they can actually start working on an “education.” Not to mention the fact that everyone else speaks a different language. If you are single and frequenting floor one, you are either a home-wrecker or fetish. The one exception: the back of the periodicals room. The greatest place to study, and to play into Clark’s undeniable Harvard façade he wishes we all would adopt. No Clark, you won’t find me studying two hours for every one hour I’m in class, or understanding what the "learning model" is, but you will find me playing “ivy league” in the back of the periodicals room frequently.

Phase two: Floor two is now one of my favorite areas to work. Not only does it provide a wonderful atmosphere, and computers turned away so that no one can see me watching episodes of Heroes between classes, but there always seems to be a big emo girl lamenting her problems to her obligated friend. (I’m going to go with Relief Society President in 95% of these cases.) Last week, as a large woman was interrupting Peter’s search for his identity on Heroes, I had no choice but to listen. She openly shared with half the floor the manor in which she stormed out of who knows where, “bawling” until she ate a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and felt better. So glad that has never been a part of my female experience. Even if it has, do we really need to go public with that embarrassing cliché?

Phase three: Anyone on floor three claiming to study is LYING. I’m going to go with 80% awkward Mormon flirting, 11% recruiting for summer sales, and 9% Gina loudly exclaiming that “she don’t come to the library to study, she come to party.” Clubbin anyone? I’ll meet you on the third floor.

And that sums it up. There are positives to all floors. Except of course the greenhouse-lobbies on the way to every floor. These should only be used for cell phone purposes only. Because, despite my other feline tendencies, I have never understood the appeal to curl up on warm sweater chairs and bake in the sun while I read and re-read some perfunctory chapter in a book I’m uninterested in. I’d rather cry into a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. Fine a gallon.

Eulogy

To begin my blogging experience, I think it is appropriate (in the name of irony) to begin with a death; a death of the over-used and retired phrase, "You go girl." We have all, in one point or another, used this embarrassing phrase, whether it was a part of our culutre or not. And here it is, something I have done before, but am re-creating now: my eulogy of the phrase, "You go girl."

We now put to rest, "you go girl." You were a phrase born in the heart of ghetto and soul. You encouraged many to break up with unworthy boyfriends and inspired groups of women in hand-on-hip fashion;but you didn't stop there. You bridged the racial gap when millions started shouting your phrase on affluent soccer fields filled with blonde pigtails and soccer moms. You were born in the projects, raised in a multi-cultural society, and died with middle-aged white women in weight watchers meetings. You... are an inspiration to us all. As we remember you, we remember your life and how you lived it: You came girl, you went girl, and now, you too, must go girl.