What I'm Listening To: Foo Fighters

I don't know what my deal is, but ever since I went to the Sundance Film Festival I can't stop listening to the Foo Fighters. Random, I know, but it's the truth. They're just so freakin' good! Here are a few of my favorites ...

1. Learn to Fly. Not only is this a classic song of theirs from the 90s, but the music video is probably my favorite music video of all-time. They're hilarious! I love how they don't take themselves so seriously. I mean, they're kind of a big freakin' deal, but they still manage to stay grounded while doing what they love. It makes them seem more, I don't know, human. Not that they're robots or anything. And let's be honest, if I walked on a plane and saw Dave Grohl sitting there, I would do the exact same thing as the girl in this video (who is also Dave Grohl, in case you were too stupid to notice).

2. All My Life. I remember the first time I ever heard this song. I was watching Fuse or something and immediately fell in love with it when it came on. I would say that was probably my first real exposure to the awesome that is the Foo Fighters.

3. Everlong. One of my all-time favorite songs. It will never, ever get old.

4. Wheels (Acoustic Version). This is one of the greatest things I've ever discovered on YouTube. For some reason I get chills every time I listen to this version. Dave Grohl has a delicious voice.

5. Walk. This song comes off of their most recent album, Wasting Light. I love it because it talks about second chances and how we all have the opportunity to start over whenever we feel like we're not doing the best we can. We need to realize that life is what we make it and sometimes that requires us to take matters into our own hands to get what we believe we deserve.

Welp folks, that's it from me for now. Stay tuned for more updates on What I'm Listening To!

Introducing My Lectures on Quirks

The other day I was having a conversation with my roommate about “quirks” that people have. I’m still not quite sure on the definition of a quirk, but the best I can come up with is that it’s a peculiar behavioral habit or obsession one holds. For instance, my roommate Jennie loves Lil’ Wayne. That’s a quirk. My other roommate, Jenna, doesn't like to eat marshmallows because of their texture. That’s also a quirk.

This really made me think about the quirks I possess. At first I thought, “Eh, I’m pretty normal. Nothing to see here, folks.” But then I realized that’s probably something a really quirky person would say. (It’s kind of like when someone asks you who the craziest or weirdest person is in your group of friends. If you say nobody is crazy or weird, chances are it’s you.) Upon further review, I have decided that I am one of the quirkiest people I know. That’s saying something, too, because let’s be honest, I know some pretty weird people.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but I’ve decided to start a series of blog posts dedicated to spotlighting certain quirks I possess. It’s not like any of you care, and if you know me well enough most of this stuff will be old news, but I hope that these will be entertaining, and maybe even educational, in some way. Stay tuned!

Sundance Film Festival 2013

It has officially been over a year-and-a-half since I’ve written a blog post. It’s not like anything hasn’t been going on in my life; it’s quite the opposite, actually. My life is changing faster than ever before, probably faster than I even realize. I’m learning (and more importantly, accepting) new things about myself every day and I love it. But before I sit here and write a long dramatic post about how my life is changing at an exhaustive rate, I just want to write about something awesome that I experienced this past MLK Day: the SUNDANCE FILM FESTIVAL!

The famous Egyptian Theater.

Despite having lived just twenty minutes outside of Park City for the first decade of my life, my parents never felt the need to expose me to the activities the surrounding area was most famous for. I never went skiing, I never went snowboarding, and I definitely never went to the Sundance Film Festival. Knowing I may not have the opportunity to experience this ever again, I decided this was the year for me to attend the acclaimed event.

Monday morning rolled around and Chelsea, Kelcey, and I drove up to Park City in search of adventure. We weren’t exactly sure what we were going to do once we got up there, but I guess that was part of the journey.

Thirty minutes after arriving, we gave up hope of finding a good parking spot, meaning free, and coughed up twenty bucks to park in a parking garage just off Main Street. We made our way to the busy lane and were immediately greeted by throngs of people. I took in my surroundings as I witnessed well-dressed people scurrying around, wearing their credentials like they had just won a gold medal. One girl passed me donning footwear that looked like she had hunted down Sasquatch and made his feet into boots. In a sense I felt as though I had stepped into a different world and I was uncertain of how to respond.

“Too rich for my blood.” The phrase kept flashing in my mind as I walked up and down Main. We kept a close eye on everyone we walked past, silently hoping to recognize someone famous. Eventually we found ourselves at the bottom of Main Street and stood around waiting for Lisa, Kaitlin, and Kellie to meet us. Suddenly a mass of people swarmed as a vehicle pulled up to let someone out. Men with cameras were running everywhere, pushing their way to the front of the crowd. Yep, it was the paparazzi. That only meant one thing: someone famous was nearby.

Turns out it was Nicole Kidman. Not a bad way to start out the day, right? I didn’t get a chance to see her then, but we waited around outside the building for her to come out. Once she did, I got a good look at her, but I can’t even begin to explain how awkward I felt. Why do I care to see this woman so much? This woman who I don’t even know?

Kaitlin took these as Nicole Kidman left the building. We were pretty close! 

Our spotting of celebrities didn’t stop there. Matthew Goode was another sight, along with Ellen Page, Pauly Shore, and about three other people that I was informed were famous. 

Me with a bunch of posters for movies being shown during the festival. 

It was fun to see celebrities, but my favorite part of the whole experience was just getting out of inversion-smothered Provo. Seriously, every time I walk out of my apartment I feel myself getting cancer. Health hazards aside, though, Park City is one of my favorite places on the planet. It’s a part of me. Visiting always brings back so many memories, and I’m grateful for the memories I was able to create this last weekend. Hopefully there are many more to come!

Main Street in Park City, Utah. Beautiful day!

Cambodia: Day 76

Saturday, July 23rd, 2011

Phnom Penh

Lauren and I wanted to hit up the recreation scene this morning, requiring us to wake up at 5:20 AM so that we could be up at the Riverfront by 5:45 AM. We woke up, changed, and groggily pedaled our bikes up to the Royal Palace. The sun was coming up over the river, painting a beautiful orange and red sky. I had to stop to take a few pictures while Lauren rode onward, trying to get to her aerobics class on time. The sun continued to rise, it's gold reflection gleaming off the river. I snuck into an open gate and made my way behind a building where I was able to find a place to stand and take pictures of the ascending ball of fire. A family of three floated in a large canoe, pulling in their catch for the day.

I got my fill of photos and rode onward up the street toward the palace. I stopped to observe the activity: people playing badminton and soccer, people practicing tai chi, jogging, etc. A large group of people gathered near a small indoor shrine, giving their offerings. I pedaled onward up the street, trying to take in all of the action.

I finished my bike ride and met Lauren. We began our ride home, stopping at a small mart to buy some shampoo and conditioner. We were about one minute away from our house when a gang of bikers rode up next to us. One man looked over at us and asked us if we'd like to join them for a ride. "Uhh, sure! Why not?"

These guys were legitimate. They had bikes with the all-terrain tires, helmets, and gloves. A couple of them were wearing matching jerseys. "Where are we going?"

"Up over the bridge."

We rode south on Norodom until we came to the bridge that crosses the river. We climbed up the slope and descended into Kandal province. Another twenty or thirty minutes of riding and chatting passed and we were well out into the villages. The team stopped before they rode on into another village; Lauren and I decided it was time for us to turn around and head back. We snapped a few photos with our fellow bikers, not wanting to forget the experience.

We got back to the house and ate breakfast. I was sweating like a sinner in church and decided it was high time to take a cold shower. I let Lauren go first and read while I patiently waited for her to finish.

"Andee!" Om yelled from just outside the door. "Lauren!"

I jumped off the bed and opened the door, wondering what she wanted. Om was standing on the stairs, watching a mini waterfall descend from under the bathroom door, all over the upper floor and off the landing to the stairs below.

"Uhh, Lauren?" I said in a semi-shocked voice.

"Oh no, is there water all over the floor out there?"

I glanced down the stairs to the floor below, trying to estimate the size of the lake that was forming. "Yeah, just a little bit …"

I walked down the stairs, being careful to not slip and break my neck. The kitchen floor was covered in water. Om promptly handed me a dustpan and hand brush, a silent gesture of "get to work". Twenty minutes later the mess was cleaned up.

This afternoon Mike, Lauren, and I made a pilgrimage to find somewhere to get a massage. The "Seeing Hands" massage place was booked for the next few hours, so we decided to head to the pool a little early. We biked over to the Olympic Complex and, after a little searching, found somewhere to park our bikes and made our way to the pool.

The locker rooms, maybe not surprisingly, were meant for everyone to use. I walked in hesitantly, keeping my eyes on the floor just in case there was a chance of seeing something I didn't want to see. We walked into the changing area, nothing more than stalls with wood swinging doors on each side of each cell. I hurried into one of them, my eyes going in constant circular motions from one door, to the ceiling where spiders the size of Texas dangled, to the other door, and back again. The stalls were obviously made for the short stature of Cambodians; my eyes were almost able to peek over the top of the doors.

Finally I was changed and I made my way out to the pool area, completely avoiding the sign commanding us to shower before we got into the pool. Pff, I don't even do that in the United States. There's no chance that they're going to regulate that here.

"Go shower." I was rejected thirty seconds into being in the pool area by a Cambodian employee. Seriously? As annoyed as I am that I have to walk back into that dungeon of a locker room, props to Cambodia. Way to succeed in something that America sucks at!

Lauren and I scuttled back to the locker room, rinsed off, and then booked our way over to the area with the diving boards. We took a couple of hops off the lowest boards, got bored, and made our way up to the 10-meter platform.

I eyed the water. It sure is a lot higher from up here. I glanced at the "lifeguard" sitting underneath a weathered umbrella by the pool. Would he even be able to get me out of the water, let alone save my life, if something went terribly wrong? A few minutes passed until finally we took the plunge.

We went on swimming and jumping off the lower platform. Lauren did a lot of the diving that she had been trained to do in high school, so I sat and watched on the side in awe. A Cambodian boy of probably 13 or 14 years of age needed help getting out of the pool, so we lent him a hand. He kind of stuck with us the rest of the afternoon, dragging me to go with him off the first platform a few times. At one point he disappeared and came back a few minutes later.

"Madame!" He called to me. "Cigarette?" he said smilingly, holding up a fresh new pack.

Umm, did I just get offered a cigarette by a pubescent boy? All those times I learned in school to "just say no", I thought for sure I would be getting offered narcotics by someone much older than me. Now look at where I am.

I kindly declined as Tuni added, "And you shouldn't either!" The boy went and sat on a bench, going at the pack like Puff the Magic Dragon.

My mind immediately flashed back to the conversation I had with Sareth:

"No, no regulations. Anybody can buy alcohol or cigarettes, it doesn't matter what age you are. The people who sell only care about the money, they don't care about health … Many children drink and smoke …"

I watched him as he dragged on the cigarette. Who knows if he was even aware that smoking was bad for him. Is this type of thing looked down upon in Cambodian culture? I know that people will sell cigarettes and alcohol to anyone because all they care about is money, but what about other people? Surely there has to be someone out there who thinks this isn't a good idea...

[Sunrise.]

[Lauren and me with our awesome biker gang.]

[The pool with diving boards and platforms.]

Cambodia: Day 74

Thursday, July 21st, 2011

RACHA Office

3:40 PM

My report is ready for editing. My power point is basically done. Despite the near-completeness of those projects, I still feel stressed. I have homework to do, final research papers to get started on, and books that need to be read. So, instead of doing any of those things, I'm going to write in my journal. Seems logical enough, right?

Well, I have exactly one month until I return to the Motherland. I have mixed feelings about this particular situation. I've been in this country for two-and-a-half months and managed to traverse many of its regions, and yet I still feel like I haven't done anything. I think I feel this way because I haven't finished what I came here to do. Don't ask me what that is, though. I'm still not sure myself. Maybe once I'm in the airplane, looking down on the Cambodian countryside (assuming I have a window seat) that I have come to love so much, it will all hit me. I'll reminisce on everything that I've seen and experienced and come to find that I achieved what I wanted to.

In the meantime, I'm just trying to survive. I'm not just talking about surviving the torture of having to sit behind a desk for eight hours every day, either. I'm talking about survival in the fact that I take my life into my own hands every time I ride my bike to work (or anywhere else for that matter). I was riding back to work from my lunch break, just minding my own business as I merged (like a professional merger, may I add) into the left turning lane. A barrage of honks came from behind me, a normal occurrence in Cambodian traffic. People normally honk not to be rude, but just to let you know that they're there. Anyway, I kept pedaling until out of the corner of my right eye I saw the front grill of a large truck passing me.

What is he thinking?! There's no way that he and I are both going to fit in that small space between the median and the cars in the other lanes …

He kept going, though. I immediately slowed down until I was almost brought to a complete stop, nearly getting nicked as the driver merged over in front of me. Had I kept riding, I would have been toast. I got the urge to kick the truck as it passed, but controlled myself as I noticed the truck was marked "police". I wasn't in the mood to argue over a fine. Instead I glared at the driver in his side view mirror as he continued to drive away as if nothing had happened.

Nothing makes me want to curse more than Cambodian traffic. The rules are different here, that's for sure, and I've been able to adapt pretty well to the cultural differences. There are still certain things that are frustrating for me, though. I would try to explain them here, but I would need a white board to adequately illustrate my frustration. Let's just say that getting cut-off is a common occurrence, and just because you're in the left hand turn lane doesn't mean someone's not going to come up around you on the left to pass.

Oh, and cutting off people isn't limited to traffic. I can't tell you how many times I've been butted in front of while I've been waiting in line. I should start keeping a tally of how many times a day I have to remind myself that it's "just their culture" ...

[This is my beloved bike. We've been through a lot. It will be sad when we have to part ways in a month ...]

Cambodia: Day 71

Monday, July 18th, 2011

Phnom Penh

Things are going well in the office. I'm actually enjoying the work I'm doing with my report. It's fun to see it all come together. I've also realized something about myself: I really like to make charts, especially those of the pie type. I know, I'm a dork, but being out of school for this long forces me to be creative in the ways that I express my nerdiness.

I came home for lunch Monday afternoon. To my pleasant surprise, my bike had been fixed. Om found someone in the neighborhood to fix it for a dollar. I promptly paid her, plus paid her the 2000 Riel (or fifty cents) I owed her for my laundry. There was a little discussion about the money for laundry as I tried to explain to her the best I could why I was only paying her 2000 Riel instead of 12,000.

I went back to work early to continue working on my report, thinking it was all cleared up. Later I got a text from Lauren; apparently Om thought I was cheating her out of three dollars for the laundry. She had gone over to Sophorn's to tell her to talk to me about it, and then went to Lauren to ask her to try to convince me to pay, as well. It was a little nerve wracking; I don't really want to be on the bad side of the person who makes my food. I assumed it was all just a big misunderstanding, though, and decided I'd wait for Sophorn to come to me.

After work, Tuni and I met Lauren at the home of the Ellsworth's. April had kindly invited us over for dinner and FHE. I was very excited as I walked into the spacious home, welcomed by the smell of baking coming from the kitchen. I set my stuff down when I felt something familiar on my feet.

Is that … Is that CARPET?! It hit me that it had been over two months since I'd felt carpet on my feet. It was inviting, much more so than the cold tile that makes up the floors in almost every home in Phnom Penh. It's decided. When I get home, I'm going to eat a bowl of cereal while laying on the carpet in my living room. It will be glorious.

We helped prepare dinner a little bit and then President Ellsworth gave us a tour of the house. It was HUGE, yet another thing that I was not used to. The stairs were actually big enough to scale up and down with ease; I didn't have to waddle like a penguin like in Om's house. Toys were splayed out all over the place, acting as little reminders that a childhood was being created.

Dinner time came. All twelve of us sat down around the large dining room table. The food was spread before us: baked chicken, cheesy onion bread, and rice. It was so nice to consume something that wasn't fried or drenched in oil. My food was finished and I stared in disbelief at my plate, which was oil puddle free. It's about time my heart gets a break.

We finished the night off by watching the Gordon B. Hinckley movie and eating cookies. The boys played in a large blanket fort that took up the entire living room. I don't know how to explain it, but it was nice to be able to spend some time with a family. Don't get me wrong, Om is great, but she doesn't exactly give off the "family vibe". Sure, I get to spend time at Tuni's house where a family of four lives, but they're hardly home.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that being at the Ellsworth's was familiar. It was something that I could somewhat relate to, something that reminded me of home.

Cambodia: Day 61

Friday, July 8th, 2011

Om's House in Phnom Penh

9:22 PM

Sometimes I wonder if Om is schizophrenic.

You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.

I got home from my internship today (I'll get to that later) and let myself in. Om was spending the day at a pagoda in one of the provinces, so I came back to a very empty and dark house. I promptly made my way to my room where I proceeded to fall asleep on my disgustingly pink floral bed. Forty minutes later I was awakened by someone jamming their keys into the front door. Om was home.

I laid on my bed, fading in and out of sleep, trying to pull myself back into my most recent dream. That attempt, however, was rudely interrupted by Om's boisterous voice echoing from the kitchen downstairs. No one else was home that I was aware of. She was speaking in her native tongue, so she certainly wasn't talking to me. I could hear the sound of dishes being clanked together, causing her to increase the volume of her voice.

Maybe she's talking to one of her ancestors …

My stomach eventually coaxed me out of bed and I went downstairs to eat. Om was laying on her side on her wood bench, her arms outstretched to Srei Poi who was giving her a manicure. I grabbed some rice from the large rice maker on the floor and proceeded to sit down at the table by myself. I faced the wall, listening to Om saying things in a commanding tone from the other side of the room, no response coming from Srei Poi.

Maybe Om isn't schizophrenic, but I'm certain that she is the cranky old woman of the neighborhood. It's funny, I thought that those females only existed in the States, but I'm coming to find that it's a universal attribute of any type of community. Om sits at her gate in several minute increments, monitoring the activity of the street in front of her home. Many times I have seen her yell at people out of my line of sight. Well, at least I hope she was yelling at actual people. With her possibility of being schizophrenic, you can never be too sure.

As for my internship, today was a first. I actually felt like an intern! After talking to Dr. Juliette yesterday, I got to work analyzing my data on Excel. I had to go through each survey individually and copy the information to a spreadsheet. I started after I did my morning web chores and worked up until it was time to leave for lunch. I was a little dismayed, for I was barely at the halfway mark when I went home to eat, but it was a start. My ultimate goal is to have my entire report finished in two weeks, but that might be a tall order at this rate.

Mike met us after we finished eating and we went to the market that Jeni showed us on Tuesday. I went back to the secondhand shoe vendors, hoping to get my hands on some of the heels I'd been eyeing the last time I'd been there. Unfortunately, my search proved unfruitful. I have never been so frustrated to have big feet! It's not even like my feet are that big, either. I wear a size 9, sometimes a 9.5, but I could barely scrunch my toes into anything I came across. I can't tell you how many times I walked up to a vendor and was greeted by fingers pointing to my feet, the women saying, "Tom-tom!" Big.

No, I don't have big feet. You have small feet. My feet are perfectly normal! Now point me to where there are shoes that will actually fit these things!

Unfortunately, many of the shoes they pointed me to looked like they belonged to an eighty-year-old librarian or cat lady. I passed.

I'm joking about being bothered, of course. I can't enter a foreign country and all of a sudden expect the people there to automatically be able to cater to my needs or wants. The women were actually quite kind, and I'm glad I could give them a good laugh as I tried on pair after pair in vain. I know that they were wishing, just as much as I was, that for the moment I would have slightly smaller feet. One woman was especially helpful, grabbing the biggest sizes she had and bending over to force them on me.

We headed back to the office at two. I sat at my desk for a substantial amount of time before I finally got myself to power through my last stack of surveys. I headed home with Tuni at 5:30, ready for a power nap.