the Xyphoid Process

            I went down to Pioneer Park on November 11, 2011 to justify my cynicism. I went to take a few pictures of homeless and hipster folks carrying signs and yelling nonsensically. I went expecting to go home not feeling remotely guilty for my warm bed. I went and saw what I had expected, saw what the nation had prepared me to see. Then I listened. I listened to the first General Assembly of the Occupy Salt Lake movement after the death of a man in the encampment. I heard scores of views and plans of action. I heard so many things that I ran back to my car to grab the notebook I had not thought necessary to bring.

            While sprinting in as composed a manner as I could, I heard a voice.

            “Hey! Hey! Can you come here for a second?”

            I wheeled around and saw a large man leaning out of his idling Range Rover. I walked back to where he was parked, trying to catch my breath.

            “Do you know what’s going on over there?” He gestured to the gathering in the park.

            I looked at him utterly speechlessly. Everyone knew what was going on over there. Whether you liked it or not, a social, grassroots movement was sweeping across the nation in the form tents loosely connected by the cry of social injustice. The large man, who hadn’t even bothered to roll down his window all the way, saw my confusion at his ignorance and clarified.

            “I mean what are they talking about?”

            I explained the mysterious death of the man, the threat that the camp would be cleared in little more than 24 hours, the debates of the General Assembly. It struck me mid-explanation that I had irrefutability just assumed the position as spokeswoman for Occupy SLC, and no one could denounce this responsibility. Sure, it was just a single set of ears that heard my explanation, but in that moment I was the voice of the frustration, and that my little bit of information was what the public heard, that was the point. Every one of the people I saw at Pioneer Park, listened to, talked to, every one had different opinions, and every single one was as much a leader as the next.

            Although I am nowhere near legal age to consume alcohol, or perhaps because of it, I have always been captivated by the Absolut Vodka ads. The witty plays on words, the clever turns of phrase, and most of all the elegant lifestyle they profess are all captivating. One Absolut promotion in particular depicts a scene I found hard to treat like just another easily overlooked ad. It featured a painfully chic apartment and a lovely woman unpacking flawless body parts from a box labeled “The Perfect Man”. In the corner is a bottle of that clear, debilitating liquid, and at the bottom of the page the words of the world famous advertisement campaign, “IN AN ABSOLUT WORLD.”  
    With one disembodied arm holding a guitar and the other holding roses, this particular ad is catered to a myriad of people. Those attracted to men and drinking obviously, but the deep sensuous undertones of a lonely woman’s face attract the pathos of a more specific clientele. The balance between rebellion, tenderness, and rock hard abs is a combination many long for. However this ad stipulates such a “Perfect Man” can be found only in an ideal world, a vogue world ruled by sophistication, an ABSOLUT WORLD.
     The Absolut World campaign began in 2007 with a depiction of North America where Mexico had conquered California. This sparked much controversy, and ended in Absolut stating that no offense was meant, the ad was simply meant as whimsical and in no way supported anti-American sentiment. (Barminski). Although the campaign began on the rocks, ads such as the Perfect Man continue to promote the whimsical popularity of Absolut Advertising.
    Although the ad did not inspire me to obtain the beverage it represented, it did cause me to take a closer look. The expression on the decapitated head of the “Perfect Man” is one of eager ignorance, easily overlooked as the eye travels to the perfectly sculpted torso. However the deft movements of the tranquil woman putting her new purchase together appeal to the ethos of anyone who has ever been fed up with the less fair sex. You forget the vodka standing in the corner of the highly polished wood floor, and for a second wonder if this is in fact an ad for a simpler way of living. By showing a glimpse of life that is not and will not be, we begin to long for every clear, cool, alcoholic aspect of an ABSOLUT WORLD.

If I had the opportunity to bring anyone anywhere I would bring Voldemort skiing at Alta, Utah. Recently rated first in overall satisfaction by Ski Magazine, the resort’s quality of snow and terrain variety provide pleasure at any skill level. It has been my experience that physical activity is capable of bridging just about any gap between cultures, or realities. To see those “evil”, snake-like eyes behind a pair of fog-protected Scott goggles would be the quintessential humanizing experience. It would change both our separate but equal lives to have He Who Must Not Be Named accept my advice to use my SPF 15 chap stick on those thin, white lips. Perhaps through exhilarating adrenaline rushes and mindless fun, those same lips could begin to regret cursing so many innocent lives.

It’s never enough to just take a night off.

Restless.

Going places. Strange places. Pleasurable places and places no one knew were rediscovered. To scoff at gravity and find that the back was where you were always gesturing. To run with no placement to dive with no box and find not light or nourishment but shame and predictability. Poor word placement cannot protect you.  Small moments of lighters and leading cannot change the dependence of underwater. To vomit or explore the Amazon. To be car sick without keys or car or a stomach. Were you born where you’re from? Shepherded from decay and future towards superior enlightenment. Strange things of this caliber happen only upon inebriated minds. Nude minds. External spine minds.  You are not of something earlier referenced. You are of the now the moment the one you will never forget but is pounded from you as the doorknob rattles. The loudest lies are from the digestion. It ends here with us on this pedestal and featuring these dreadlocks.

Father figures fight it fight the uncontrollable giggles of year long patience. Moments of sobriety are rewarded by treats that turn to sunburn the moment the double vision is inspired by a platinum collectable coin. We have so much to do so many dreams and tedious lobes to attack with a camera. It is appalling the aspect of party and pages. The rags the hurricanes are tepid in terms of standup comedy. Cant you tell its all our fault that our hair isn’t shiny and our explanations don’t stand a chance. Familiarity cannot dissuade catchy warnings and fire hazards. Its so fantastic. The art of cooperation and spell check and crawling on hands and knees. No loud noises no amulets no ugly combinations of floating and orange. No disappointment and yet no purpose no natives at all. A nation sprung from confusion.

I’m not really in charge of anything at all least of all the room I wake up in. Previous reference. Fantasy, the appeal of a gang and the reminder to hang on tight. Secrets hide in clocks. Tattoos and yet end within the second. Theres a reason weird people have no friends. Simply and straightforward or backward questions can be met with symbolic paradox and dangerous fruit. A mouse can tickle and pass upon you many an unpleasantly. The art of planning. World domination and inanimate objects with brains. Toasters that organize. Guns that ought to turn to eye makeup. The obvious hasn’t a clue. Not a man among us has a clue. Rebuild childhood. Simplicity. Comprehend in three hours when wet cement makes sense. Airports and cherries drag on forever. Even when you think the time for sleep is finally upon us you loose your footing and fall from a tightrope to the desert to aimlessly standing on your bed. To dream and to be full of belly dancing and illegal substances. I don’t follow you. I speak for my self. I have no voice and no clue. Destruction appeals, like Navajos and history. The protectors shop and sneeze. That’s what’s done in polite circles.

That’s it. I’m ready for sound, full volume. And an explination. 

I sit in the darkness waiting for power. Not by some misconstrued desire, not some symbolic pain. In the darkness I sit, waiting for the power to return. The power that left the circuits that may never have been present in the cerebrum. The power that can course through you when the storm has taken your light, music, and wifi. The power you once used to cultivate, to abuse, to carry you up and down the field, to keep the peddles in flawless rotation. That power is absent, temporarily or interminably replaced by ancient, flickering candles aching to be blown out, to once again be left to collect dust. Across the street life is a different flavor; experience is illuminated by the injustice of a neighborhood’s electrical grid. They nurture the currents, the sizzle and crackle of ions reflected in many barbeques you covertly observed. They are being rewarded for leading the life you scoffed at, full of false smiles and empty prayer books. You scoffed when you could open the fridge, make tea on an open flame and be secure in your superiority and light switch. Your condescension lost you the right to snack, the proximity to The Power Source.  Perhaps no lesson has been learned, but a new bitter edge has been achieved, never again will I tolerate luminance surplus. The phrases that sting, its seems to me the last thing you want to do is ever again playfully shout

“kill the lights” 

            “How paramount the future is to the present when one is surrounded by children.” These intelligent words were uttered by the intelligent lips of Charles Darwin, the tipper of tables. In fourth grade, I was selected for the Extended Learning Program (ELP), a group of kids deemed faster learners than the rest of our young peers. I spent that year doing a PX, Personal Exploration project, on all things Galapagos. I learned the subtle differences between evolution and adaptation and the necessity of those skills in an extinction-happy world.

            From ELP to a very small middle school with a charter in the Arts, I was always in the accelerated classes. Math or reading or music, the classes I was taking were designed to propel me on the Smart Kid route, the route that gets you taking physics classes at the University of Utah by senior year. Some point along the way, I feel off this track. In my high school career I will have attended three schools, all with different philosophies and graduation requirements. Because I spent half of junior year in DC perusing a passion for politics, I had to forfeit my International Baccalaureate degree. Due to a desire to explore the field of medicine (and pay for college) I am taking a daily, two-hour class to earn my Medical Assisting degree. This class means I cannot take full advantage of AP classes offered, it means I cannot play lacrosse. But if I hadn’t forsaken my IB degree, my AP credit, and my physical well being, I would not be learning what I find interesting, I would not be any different than the fourth grade girl memorizing the islands of the Galapagos.

            In order to evolve, survive, thrive, completely ridiculous chances must be taken. Even if the application is based on glorious rumors that Georgetown University values leadership experience, volunteer service, and the Page Program, it would be hazardous to human development to not apply. I would absolutely love to go to Georgetown. I am tired of a mediocre education from a high school wrought with racial tension. West High School is one of the largest landing grounds for refugees from war-torn nations in the Intermountain West. I look at my yearbook and I don’t know half the kids staring back at me. It is easy to ignore the strange, foreign ways of newcomers. It is easy to be intimidated by long-standing social stigmas. However, since Freshman year, two schools ago, I have been trying. Through organizations such as YouthCity Government and Peace at West, my peers and I have tried to eliminate this estrangement, while contending with the completely bizarre political atmosphere of Utah. Although we have bonded much as a diverse group, I don’t think my enthusiasm for government is shared. There is a good chance that I will be alone of my friends watching the election results rather than Glee on Tuesday night.

            The changes I have gone through have helped me evolve into a unique, confused, and hopefully college-bound young woman. I have, for pleasure and service, traveled extensively. From Honduras to Ireland, from the Vancouver Olympics to the 2006 Alamo Bowl, from distributing eyeglasses to Peruvian villages in the Rainforest to feeding pigeons in Venice, I have done my utmost to experience the world. From divorce to two remarriages, my family has been one of the most evolving aspects of my life. My experiences have allowed me the opportunity to advance, intellectually, physically, and perhaps even spiritually. I have helped 30 year-olds plan the Young President Organization Girl’s Only Leadership Retreat, I have spent 17 chilly days rafting the Grand Canyon in early spring, I have played Frodo in a production of Lord of the Rings. I have tried to evolve, I have tried to learn and grow, and I have tried to write an essay expressing myself. I am terrified of how I will look at myself if I don’t get in to a University of Georgetown’s caliber, yet terrified thinking how I will say goodbye to Utah if I do.

            Charles Darwin observed, participated, and kept it real. For that he is a role model to all who wonder, all who sometimes act on primal instinct even when it defies common sense. For those of us with cluttered minds full of ideas and whose reluctant hands try to type them out on application essays, Darwin’s words resonate. Whether intelligently designed or via evolution, I have become someone with an inquisitive mind that has to take chances. Darwin, one of the most inquisitive, voiced the sentiments of many when he said, “I love fools’ experiments. I am always making them.”