Ok so I told my friends that this can't just be a "and then he woke up and saved the day" type of story. It's got to be unexpected, intriguing (sp?), high-flying, exciting, adventerous, thri-ok I think you get the point. I've got christmas music playing, light's on, it's a near-perfect creative-juice-free-flowing environment (I would have a cup of Egg Nog next to me, but I'm going out to eat in not too long, because of a BYU vs. U*** bet I won with my young mens leader). Anyway, at this point, as I'm typing this very sentence, I have no idea where this story is going. So say a quick prayer and (hopefully) enjoy.
As Rick came-to, he heard an unfamiliar voice,
"This yours?"
His eyes slowly adjusted and he saw that the creepy hooded man was spinning his ball on his middle finger. Rick's immaturity shone through as he wondered if the man was spinning on his middle finger for any particular reason. Up close Rick could see that the man was probably no older than 26 or 27. He had black hair, and those deep, cold, piercing eyes. He had some stubble on his strong chin and high cheek bones. He looked like a guy who had been through a lot.
He was laying on hard white mattress that reminded him of the hospital. The room wasn't big, but not small either. It was actually kinda homey (don't laugh at that word, if you do, you're...dumb). The walls were a warm, tan color and the carpet was a clean, inviting, yet creepy shade of black.
"Umm, ya. But you can have it if it'll get me outta here." Rick hoped that he sounded, mature, tough-like.
"Haha," the man chuckled, "I imagine this is all really strange for you."
"What is "This"?" Rick asked, scared and annoyed.
"For now, I just want to ask you some questions, then I'll take you home"
"Umm, okay" Rick said, figuring he was in for more than just some questions.
"Why do you like soccer?" the man asked.
"It's fun" Rick replied, not wanting to go into detail.
"Go into detail"
"Ok, it's unique, simple, you can always get better...it kinda defines me" Rick said
'What the crap' thought Rick 'I wonder if this has anything at all to do with what I saw in the cemetary.'
"What's your favorite color?"
"Green, do you want an explanation?"
"Yes"
"It's rich, has depth, and makes me smile."
"Interesting, what is your greatest fear?" the man asked.
"Not having control"
"Why?"
"Does it need explanation." Rick replied with an edge in his voice, he tried to make it more of a statement than a question.
"What do you think about death?"
This caught him off-guard.
"Death?" Rick repeated, trying not to sound scared, though he knew he did.
"Yes"
"It's sad, and I think interfering with it is a big mistake" he hoped the man got his message.
"Ok, for safety I need you to wear a blindfold, or I can just knock you out again"
"I'll wear the blindfold"
"Fair enough"
Friday, November 30, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Part 3
Rick felt his stomach crash into his tonsils with a bang.
Those eyes.
It felt as though they were piercing his soul, and corrupting it with creepiness.
"What do I do?" He thought, turning around and walking the other direction as though he had intended to.
"He's in between me and my house, I have nowhere to go, it's raining and I'm in short-shorts." He looked over his shoulder and saw that the hooded man was gone, leaving only the bench he had been sitting on behind him. Rick released an apprehensive sigh of relief and turned around and started the now eternally-long walk home.
As he walked he could not stop invisioning those eyes. They stayed in his mind like tree sap stays on your hands forever. He remembered a time when he had foolishly carved a pine stick with his new pocket knife and covered it in sap. He had taken the knife inside and started washing it off. As he rubbed it with his fingers, he had suddenly slipped and sliced open the heel of his hand. At first it hadn't hurt too much, but then searing pain had entered his hand and gone up his arm. That's how these eyes were, searing in his brain and filling his whole body with their image.
As Rick remembered this experience he came closer and closer to home. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move behind the tree he had just passed. Before he could turn around, something hard hit him in the back of the head and blackness took over everything.
Except those eyes.
Those eyes.
It felt as though they were piercing his soul, and corrupting it with creepiness.
"What do I do?" He thought, turning around and walking the other direction as though he had intended to.
"He's in between me and my house, I have nowhere to go, it's raining and I'm in short-shorts." He looked over his shoulder and saw that the hooded man was gone, leaving only the bench he had been sitting on behind him. Rick released an apprehensive sigh of relief and turned around and started the now eternally-long walk home.
As he walked he could not stop invisioning those eyes. They stayed in his mind like tree sap stays on your hands forever. He remembered a time when he had foolishly carved a pine stick with his new pocket knife and covered it in sap. He had taken the knife inside and started washing it off. As he rubbed it with his fingers, he had suddenly slipped and sliced open the heel of his hand. At first it hadn't hurt too much, but then searing pain had entered his hand and gone up his arm. That's how these eyes were, searing in his brain and filling his whole body with their image.
As Rick remembered this experience he came closer and closer to home. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move behind the tree he had just passed. Before he could turn around, something hard hit him in the back of the head and blackness took over everything.
Except those eyes.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Ok, I really want to continue my story, but I have a couple of things on my mind that I would like to share. The two ideas are completely unrelated, but that's okay, right?
Something my teachers quorum advisor said during quorum meeting on Sunday has really stuck with me. He said,
"There is always someone around to benefit from your courage to do what's right." That has got to be one of the coolest things I've ever heard, and I assume it's almost always correct. Whether or not it seems like someone has benefited from your courage to stand up for what you believe in and do what's right, I'm sure there is someone.
In a kind of backward, it's-only-going-to-make-sense-to-me sort of way, this concept reminds me of something Elder Ballard once said (this is not a direct quote),
"Sin will always result in suffering, it may come sooner, or it may come later, but it will always come." I shared this concept (the one my advisor shared) in my home-teaching lesson yesterday, and I gave one of my favorite examples from the book of mormon and if you don't have anything to study tonight, may I suggest Alma chapter 48.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now on a completely seperate note, I'm feeling a little guilty and yet defensive. To show why, I'll tell you a story.
There once were 3 boys, Josh Crowley, Tyler Wolfley, and Kory Carlson. Josh was a BYU fan and Kory was a Utah fan, they enjoyed good-spiritedly trash-talking during math class which they had with Tyler.
Neither Kory nor Josh really knew Tyler and rarely talked to him, and never about anything besides math. One day, after a particularly gratifying BYU win over Utah, Kory jokingly told Josh that he didn't want to talk to him today. Josh laughed and half-said, half-sang,
"Go Mighty Cougars!"
"SHUT UP" said Tyler, unexpectedly. Josh chuckled and figured that Tyler must be a Ute fan as well.
"Tell me to shut up again, come on" Josh jokingly taunted. Turning in his chair to face Josh, Tyler said,
"You know what, I'm a cougar fan too, but you're the most flippin' annoying kid I know!"
Completely befuddled, Josh blew off the comment and figured that he didn't really care what Tyler thought about him, he didn't even know him for crying out loud.
The End
As I'm sure you all noticed, this wasn't a pretend story. :) It was real and it happened to me in math today. Now while I still don't really care what Tyler thinks, because he hasn't gotten a chance to know me, I have since remembered something I said on Thursday that I regret.
I said that my motto was "Kill the Utes." I really didn't mean it, I'm just a really big fan of BYU as I hope you all know, but I definitely need to watch it, some people may not be very thick-skinned, and could easily take offense to things I say.
So why am I telling you this? I don't really know, I guess it's kind-of an apology and an explanation of the fact that I really don't lose respect for anyone who is a utah fan. I really don't hate ute fans or players, I'm just very strongly-oppinionated and I think I sometimes need to turn it down a notch.
I'm not the most annoying person any of you guys know, right?
(Yay! 17-10, What a great game!)
Something my teachers quorum advisor said during quorum meeting on Sunday has really stuck with me. He said,
"There is always someone around to benefit from your courage to do what's right." That has got to be one of the coolest things I've ever heard, and I assume it's almost always correct. Whether or not it seems like someone has benefited from your courage to stand up for what you believe in and do what's right, I'm sure there is someone.
In a kind of backward, it's-only-going-to-make-sense-to-me sort of way, this concept reminds me of something Elder Ballard once said (this is not a direct quote),
"Sin will always result in suffering, it may come sooner, or it may come later, but it will always come." I shared this concept (the one my advisor shared) in my home-teaching lesson yesterday, and I gave one of my favorite examples from the book of mormon and if you don't have anything to study tonight, may I suggest Alma chapter 48.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now on a completely seperate note, I'm feeling a little guilty and yet defensive. To show why, I'll tell you a story.
There once were 3 boys, Josh Crowley, Tyler Wolfley, and Kory Carlson. Josh was a BYU fan and Kory was a Utah fan, they enjoyed good-spiritedly trash-talking during math class which they had with Tyler.
Neither Kory nor Josh really knew Tyler and rarely talked to him, and never about anything besides math. One day, after a particularly gratifying BYU win over Utah, Kory jokingly told Josh that he didn't want to talk to him today. Josh laughed and half-said, half-sang,
"Go Mighty Cougars!"
"SHUT UP" said Tyler, unexpectedly. Josh chuckled and figured that Tyler must be a Ute fan as well.
"Tell me to shut up again, come on" Josh jokingly taunted. Turning in his chair to face Josh, Tyler said,
"You know what, I'm a cougar fan too, but you're the most flippin' annoying kid I know!"
Completely befuddled, Josh blew off the comment and figured that he didn't really care what Tyler thought about him, he didn't even know him for crying out loud.
The End
As I'm sure you all noticed, this wasn't a pretend story. :) It was real and it happened to me in math today. Now while I still don't really care what Tyler thinks, because he hasn't gotten a chance to know me, I have since remembered something I said on Thursday that I regret.
I said that my motto was "Kill the Utes." I really didn't mean it, I'm just a really big fan of BYU as I hope you all know, but I definitely need to watch it, some people may not be very thick-skinned, and could easily take offense to things I say.
So why am I telling you this? I don't really know, I guess it's kind-of an apology and an explanation of the fact that I really don't lose respect for anyone who is a utah fan. I really don't hate ute fans or players, I'm just very strongly-oppinionated and I think I sometimes need to turn it down a notch.
I'm not the most annoying person any of you guys know, right?
(Yay! 17-10, What a great game!)
Friday, November 23, 2007
Need Ideas
HOLY CRAP!!!
The BYU game is tomorrow! I'm on the 40 yard line, 20 rows up! I can't concentrate on anything! I really need ideas of how to pass the time. Please help a desperate soul.
Sincerely,
Josh Crowley
The BYU game is tomorrow! I'm on the 40 yard line, 20 rows up! I can't concentrate on anything! I really need ideas of how to pass the time. Please help a desperate soul.
Sincerely,
Josh Crowley
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
In This Week of Needed Inspiration
As you all know, Saturday is a special day, but this Saturday is far past special. BYU vs U***. 'Nuff said. So, in this week of ultimate anticipation and holiness, I will now share with you my three favorite poems of all time, which all happen to be inspiring, a much needed emotion this Saturday.
1. The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost (1874–1963)
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
As cool as this poem is, I have a really hard time interpreting exactly what he is saying, so if you have an idea I'd love to hear it.
INVICTUS
By William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.
I love this poem, so inspiring. But, this next one is cooler.
The Soul's Captain
by Orson F. Whitney
Art thou in truth?
Then what of Him who bought thee with His blood?
Who plunged into devouring seas
And snatched thee from the flood,
Who bore for all our fallen race
What none but Him could bear--
The God who died that man might live
And endless glory share.
Of what avail thy vaunted strength
Apart from His vast might?
Pray that His light may pierce the gloom
That thou mayest see aright.
Men are as bubbles on the wave,
As leaves upon the tree,
Thou, captain of thy soul! Forsooth,
Who gave that place to thee?
Free will is thine--free agency,
To wield for right or wrong;
But thou must answer unto Him
To whom all souls belong.
Bend to the dust that "head unbowed,"
Small part of life's great whole,
And see in Him and Him alone,
The captain of thy soul.
As you can probably see, Orson wrote this poem in response of William Henley's poem. What an awesome poem!
Conference Championships over the last 30 years:
BYU: 23
U***: 2
1. The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost (1874–1963)
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
As cool as this poem is, I have a really hard time interpreting exactly what he is saying, so if you have an idea I'd love to hear it.
INVICTUS
By William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.
I love this poem, so inspiring. But, this next one is cooler.
The Soul's Captain
by Orson F. Whitney
Art thou in truth?
Then what of Him who bought thee with His blood?
Who plunged into devouring seas
And snatched thee from the flood,
Who bore for all our fallen race
What none but Him could bear--
The God who died that man might live
And endless glory share.
Of what avail thy vaunted strength
Apart from His vast might?
Pray that His light may pierce the gloom
That thou mayest see aright.
Men are as bubbles on the wave,
As leaves upon the tree,
Thou, captain of thy soul! Forsooth,
Who gave that place to thee?
Free will is thine--free agency,
To wield for right or wrong;
But thou must answer unto Him
To whom all souls belong.
Bend to the dust that "head unbowed,"
Small part of life's great whole,
And see in Him and Him alone,
The captain of thy soul.
As you can probably see, Orson wrote this poem in response of William Henley's poem. What an awesome poem!
Conference Championships over the last 30 years:
BYU: 23
U***: 2
Monday, November 19, 2007
Plan of Happiness
My uncle died last night. I don't really know what emotions I'm having if any. I loved him, and still love him, with the greatest love possible for someone who I never really knew. It's hard and I know that most of you who will be reading this will understand the situation. But through all of this, I'm just glad that I know that I can see him again, that he is happy, and that he didn't die at some random moment, Heavenly Father took him back at the right time. I know that, and I'm so glad that through this hard situation, I have the knowledge that our savior loves us and died for us and someday, I'll see my uncle John and get to know him and see what a great guy he was.
Who indeed can harm you if you are committed deeply to doing what is right?
- I Peter
Who indeed can harm you if you are committed deeply to doing what is right?
- I Peter
Friday, November 16, 2007
My Story That Has Yet To Be Named Because I Don't Know Where I'm Going With It; Part 2
Ok first off, for the ridiculous amount of comments regarding "Kylie" aka Camille, my next door neighbor: I'm over her, but that doesn't mean I can't think she's attractive. From this moment on, "Kylie" was never in the story, and I don't want to hear any mention about it. Sheesh! I make one reference to a girl and all the teenage guys (and my dad!) have to make some smart comment about it.
Rick jumped out of the hole and then was suddenly glued to the spot.
"What now?" he thought as he looked back in at the knife and picture, "I've seen them, and I can't just pretend I didn't, it'll haunt me for years"
He quickly scanned the area to see if anyone was watching him. When he saw no one was around he thought,
"What am I doing, it's a frickin' picture and a knife, they're not going to attack me."
Gently he lowered himself back into the hole and picked up the picture. He wiped off the mud with the sleeve of his sweater and held the picture up to see it in the dim light. What he saw caused him to drop the picture as if it were on fire.
It was him! He was in the picture with an old woman who he had never seen before.
After a minute he again he regained his composure and managed to pick up the picture again. As he looked more closely, he could see he had been poorly photoshopped into the picture. The proportion of his body to the tree next to him was all wrong.
"What the crap!?" he thought slowly, "I'M IN THIS PICTURE!"
Having lost all feeling, he slowly lifted himself out of the hole and covered it with the plywood as it had been before. He started to walk home when he something caught his eye.
A hunched figure staring right at him from across the cemetary.
Rick jumped out of the hole and then was suddenly glued to the spot.
"What now?" he thought as he looked back in at the knife and picture, "I've seen them, and I can't just pretend I didn't, it'll haunt me for years"
He quickly scanned the area to see if anyone was watching him. When he saw no one was around he thought,
"What am I doing, it's a frickin' picture and a knife, they're not going to attack me."
Gently he lowered himself back into the hole and picked up the picture. He wiped off the mud with the sleeve of his sweater and held the picture up to see it in the dim light. What he saw caused him to drop the picture as if it were on fire.
It was him! He was in the picture with an old woman who he had never seen before.
After a minute he again he regained his composure and managed to pick up the picture again. As he looked more closely, he could see he had been poorly photoshopped into the picture. The proportion of his body to the tree next to him was all wrong.
"What the crap!?" he thought slowly, "I'M IN THIS PICTURE!"
Having lost all feeling, he slowly lifted himself out of the hole and covered it with the plywood as it had been before. He started to walk home when he something caught his eye.
A hunched figure staring right at him from across the cemetary.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Presenting: A Josh Crowley Original Series *Revised Edition*
When I was writing part 1 of my original series, my plan was to go back and add more detail, proofread, make better word selections, etc. However, my sister needed the computer RIGHT NOW!!! So I didn't, but I'm going to now, probably more for my sake than yours, but hey.
Rick Somner swung open his front door and inhaled deeply the heavy, pre-storm air.
"Perfect timing." he thought.
He slipped on a sweatshirt and some just-a-little-too-short shorts, in hopes that Kylie, his incredibly attractive next-door neighbor might glance out the window as he jogged in the lukewarm rain.
He stepped out the door and felt the first raindrops fall on his nose and eyelashes,
"Why do I love this so much?" he questioned, for as long as he could remember he had loved running through the cemetary in the cool, thick fall air of a rainstorm. Something to do with the heavy, wet-asphault smell and the colored leaves that fell as he jogged by absorbed him.
As Rick jogged through the cemetary, he thought about life. He enjoyed school, couldn't wait to date, and appreciated things most teenagers didn't. He had worked for the first time over the summer and was still enjoying the all-powerful feeling of his strengthened muscles. He loved sports and soaked up a good game like a sponge. Soccer encompassed him, (see, this is already becoming a narrative about my life) and felt that soccer in a way defined him. Unique and fascinating, soccer took a completely different mindset from most other sports. Yet it was so simple, put the ball in the goal.
As he rounded his lap around the cemetary, he crossed the street and grabbed a ball from his backyard. He lifted the ball to his face and, for just a second, stood and smelled the ball and the grass and the rain.
Back in the cemetary, he took a couple juggles of the ball to warm his legs. When he felt his muscles get warm and stretched out, he trapped the ball with immense precision on the asphault in front of him. He envisioned his opponent and took a touch forward. He faked right and went left, going full speed, he popped the ball up with his foot, took a touch off his thigh and WHAM! he smashed the ball into a vine-covered fence, across the cemetary.
"Hey! You 'bout gave me heart attack. You're going to put a whole in my fence you little terd! I'll call the cops on you if you ever slam a ball into my fence again!" said an deep, old voice behind the vines.
"I'm so sorry!" Rick replied, scared half to death.
"Ya you better be" replied the old man.
Rick scampered off, wishing he hadn't kicked the ball and cursing the old man under his breath.
"It's a freakin' chain-link fence" he thought "I mean, I can see that I scared him, but come on! What a loser." As he gave the incident more thought than it deserved, he noticed a plywood board laying in an empty part of the cemetary.
"That's weird" he thought. He remembered a time when a funeral had been delayed a couple of hours on a rainy day and they had layed a board over the hole. He had assumed at the time that they just didn't want the soil muddy. But today, it was already 5:00, they wouldn't be doing a funeral tonight.
"It must have been planned for today, but postponed till tomorrow" he figured. "Wait a minute, tomorrow is Sunday, surely there won't be a funeral tomorrow." Out of curiosity, he went and lifted up the plywood to see if there was anything underneath.
The clouds had blocked out most of the light and he had to lift the board off the hole to see inside. He saw the corner of something sticking out of the dirt at the bottom of the hole. He jumped in and moved some dirt around with his foot.
His heart stopped at what he had uncovered.
An old knife and a muddy picture.
Rick Somner swung open his front door and inhaled deeply the heavy, pre-storm air.
"Perfect timing." he thought.
He slipped on a sweatshirt and some just-a-little-too-short shorts, in hopes that Kylie, his incredibly attractive next-door neighbor might glance out the window as he jogged in the lukewarm rain.
He stepped out the door and felt the first raindrops fall on his nose and eyelashes,
"Why do I love this so much?" he questioned, for as long as he could remember he had loved running through the cemetary in the cool, thick fall air of a rainstorm. Something to do with the heavy, wet-asphault smell and the colored leaves that fell as he jogged by absorbed him.
As Rick jogged through the cemetary, he thought about life. He enjoyed school, couldn't wait to date, and appreciated things most teenagers didn't. He had worked for the first time over the summer and was still enjoying the all-powerful feeling of his strengthened muscles. He loved sports and soaked up a good game like a sponge. Soccer encompassed him, (see, this is already becoming a narrative about my life) and felt that soccer in a way defined him. Unique and fascinating, soccer took a completely different mindset from most other sports. Yet it was so simple, put the ball in the goal.
As he rounded his lap around the cemetary, he crossed the street and grabbed a ball from his backyard. He lifted the ball to his face and, for just a second, stood and smelled the ball and the grass and the rain.
Back in the cemetary, he took a couple juggles of the ball to warm his legs. When he felt his muscles get warm and stretched out, he trapped the ball with immense precision on the asphault in front of him. He envisioned his opponent and took a touch forward. He faked right and went left, going full speed, he popped the ball up with his foot, took a touch off his thigh and WHAM! he smashed the ball into a vine-covered fence, across the cemetary.
"Hey! You 'bout gave me heart attack. You're going to put a whole in my fence you little terd! I'll call the cops on you if you ever slam a ball into my fence again!" said an deep, old voice behind the vines.
"I'm so sorry!" Rick replied, scared half to death.
"Ya you better be" replied the old man.
Rick scampered off, wishing he hadn't kicked the ball and cursing the old man under his breath.
"It's a freakin' chain-link fence" he thought "I mean, I can see that I scared him, but come on! What a loser." As he gave the incident more thought than it deserved, he noticed a plywood board laying in an empty part of the cemetary.
"That's weird" he thought. He remembered a time when a funeral had been delayed a couple of hours on a rainy day and they had layed a board over the hole. He had assumed at the time that they just didn't want the soil muddy. But today, it was already 5:00, they wouldn't be doing a funeral tonight.
"It must have been planned for today, but postponed till tomorrow" he figured. "Wait a minute, tomorrow is Sunday, surely there won't be a funeral tomorrow." Out of curiosity, he went and lifted up the plywood to see if there was anything underneath.
The clouds had blocked out most of the light and he had to lift the board off the hole to see inside. He saw the corner of something sticking out of the dirt at the bottom of the hole. He jumped in and moved some dirt around with his foot.
His heart stopped at what he had uncovered.
An old knife and a muddy picture.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Presenting: A Josh Crowley Original Series
Lately I've been thinking about how the name of this blog is Creative Corner, and none of my posts are really that creative. Usually when I write, the most creative things I can think to write about are: Soccer, Waterskiing, and BYU football, as you can already see from my previous posts. I'm going to make a valiant attempt to get you, my readers, and the rest of America hooked on an original Josh Çrowley series. No really, I'll do my best, but I do not profess to be a great writer, so bear with me as I venture off into the world of creative twists and turns, in what will probably turn out to be a pretty cliche, boring story.
Rick Somner opened his front door and inhaled deeply the pre-storm air.
"Perfect timing" he thought. He slipped on a sweatshirt and some just-a-little-too-short shorts, in hopes that Kylie, his incredibly attractive next-door neighbor might glance out the window as he went running in the lukewarm rain.
He stepped out the door and felt the first raindrops fall on his nose and eyelashes,
"Why do I love this so much?" he questioned. For as long as he could remember he had loved running through the cemetary in the cool, thick fall air of a rainstorm. It had something to do with the heavy, wet-asphault smell and the leaves that fell as he jogged by.
As he jogged through the cemetary, he thought about life. He was about ready to start dating, enjoyed school, and could appreciate things most teenagers didn't. He had worked for the first time over the summer and was still enjoying the all-powerful feeling of his strengthened muscles. He loved sports and had a real passion for soccer, (see, this is already becoming a narrative about my life) and felt that soccer in a way defined him. It was unique, fascinating, and took a completely different mindset from most other sports. Yet it was so simple, put the ball in the goal.
As he rounded his lap around the cemetary, he crossed the street and grabbed a ball from his backyard. He lifted the ball to his face and, for a second, just stood and smelled the ball and the grass and the rain.
Back in the cemetary, he took a couple juggles of the ball and then let it drop. He envisioned his opponent and took a touch forward, he faked right and went left, popped the ball up with his foot going full speed now, took a touch off his thigh and WHAM! he smashed the ball into the vine-covered fence, across the cemetary.
"Hey! You're going to put a whole in my fence you little terd! You about gave me heart attack and I'll call the cops on you if you ever slam a ball into my fence again!" said an old voice behind the vines.
"I'm so sorry!" Rick replied, scared half to death.
"Ya you better be" replied the old man.
Rick scampered off, both wishing he hadn't kicked the ball and cursing the old man under his breath.
"It's a freakin' chain-link fence" he thought "I mean, I can see that I scared him, but come on! What a loser." As he gave the incident more thought than it deserved, he noticed a plywood board laying in an empty part of the cemetary.
"That's weird" he thought, he had seen that done before, when a funeral got delayed a couple of hours on a rainy day. He had assumed at the time that they just didn't want the soil muddy. But today, it was already 5:00, they wouldn't be doing a funeral tonight.
"It must have been planned for today, but postponed till tomorrow" he figured. "Wait a minute, tomorrow is Sunday, surely there won't be a funeral tomorrow." Out of curiosity, he went and lifted up the plywood to see if there was anything underneath. His heart stopped at what he saw at the bottom of the hole.
A knife and a picture.
Rick Somner opened his front door and inhaled deeply the pre-storm air.
"Perfect timing" he thought. He slipped on a sweatshirt and some just-a-little-too-short shorts, in hopes that Kylie, his incredibly attractive next-door neighbor might glance out the window as he went running in the lukewarm rain.
He stepped out the door and felt the first raindrops fall on his nose and eyelashes,
"Why do I love this so much?" he questioned. For as long as he could remember he had loved running through the cemetary in the cool, thick fall air of a rainstorm. It had something to do with the heavy, wet-asphault smell and the leaves that fell as he jogged by.
As he jogged through the cemetary, he thought about life. He was about ready to start dating, enjoyed school, and could appreciate things most teenagers didn't. He had worked for the first time over the summer and was still enjoying the all-powerful feeling of his strengthened muscles. He loved sports and had a real passion for soccer, (see, this is already becoming a narrative about my life) and felt that soccer in a way defined him. It was unique, fascinating, and took a completely different mindset from most other sports. Yet it was so simple, put the ball in the goal.
As he rounded his lap around the cemetary, he crossed the street and grabbed a ball from his backyard. He lifted the ball to his face and, for a second, just stood and smelled the ball and the grass and the rain.
Back in the cemetary, he took a couple juggles of the ball and then let it drop. He envisioned his opponent and took a touch forward, he faked right and went left, popped the ball up with his foot going full speed now, took a touch off his thigh and WHAM! he smashed the ball into the vine-covered fence, across the cemetary.
"Hey! You're going to put a whole in my fence you little terd! You about gave me heart attack and I'll call the cops on you if you ever slam a ball into my fence again!" said an old voice behind the vines.
"I'm so sorry!" Rick replied, scared half to death.
"Ya you better be" replied the old man.
Rick scampered off, both wishing he hadn't kicked the ball and cursing the old man under his breath.
"It's a freakin' chain-link fence" he thought "I mean, I can see that I scared him, but come on! What a loser." As he gave the incident more thought than it deserved, he noticed a plywood board laying in an empty part of the cemetary.
"That's weird" he thought, he had seen that done before, when a funeral got delayed a couple of hours on a rainy day. He had assumed at the time that they just didn't want the soil muddy. But today, it was already 5:00, they wouldn't be doing a funeral tonight.
"It must have been planned for today, but postponed till tomorrow" he figured. "Wait a minute, tomorrow is Sunday, surely there won't be a funeral tomorrow." Out of curiosity, he went and lifted up the plywood to see if there was anything underneath. His heart stopped at what he saw at the bottom of the hole.
A knife and a picture.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Stealing Ideas From My Aunts Blog
For one of her posts, my aunt gave 30 blog posting ideas. One was to describe what it's like to argue with you, and another was to list your obsessions. I am going to combine these and post my first real BYU post, because today we have a HUGE game that I'm psyched about.
First of all, I don't recall ever losing a BYU vs. U*** argument, it doesn't happen. Now I'm going to list stats, my opinions, and anything else I can think of explaining why BYU is the better school. Please don't let this offend anyone, I just love BYU, and if it offends you, grow up.
1) Heisman trophy winners: BYU 1; Utah 0
2) Ty Detmer All-Time Passing Yards: 15,031; Utah All-Time Passing Leader: Not even close to 15,031
3) National Championships: BYU 1; Utah 0
4) Steve Young went to BYU
5) Record between BYU and U*** from 1972-1992: 19-2
6) Current Coaches: BYU: Stud, Bronco Mendenhall; Utah: Traitor, Kyle Whittingham
Don't Read this Kate:
7) Doesn't the church run BYU?
8) U*** fans make the arguement that President Hinckley went to Utah, who named BYU's Stadium?
9) U*** fans make the arguement that Brigham Young founded U***, DUH! BYU is named AFTER him!
10) U*** fans always make the arguement that U*** holds the all-time record. Ya, but you know what, the biggest reason is because back before anyone who is currently living was born, BYU was horrible! CONGRADULATIONS UTAH! BACK WHEN FOOTBALL DIDN'T MATTER, YOU WERE GOOD AT FOOTBALL! WHOOPDEE FRICKIN' DOO!
My last current, off the top of my head, listable reason:
11) 89 words:
Snap to John, John backpedals, plenty of time, plenty of time, plenty of time, he's moving to his left, shuffling, shuffling, shuffling, all kinds of time, now the heat comes, he's gotta run to the right, John Beck is on the run, he throws behind him it is...CAUGHT FOR THE TOUCHDOWN! CAUGHT FOR THE TOUCHDOWN! CAUGHT FOR THE TOUCHDOWN! JOHNNY HARLINE GOT IT FOR THE SCORE! HARLINE, BY HIMSELF IN THE ENDZONE! THE COUGARS WIN IT! ON THE FINAL PLAY OF THE GAME!
CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS?!
Go Cougars.
First of all, I don't recall ever losing a BYU vs. U*** argument, it doesn't happen. Now I'm going to list stats, my opinions, and anything else I can think of explaining why BYU is the better school. Please don't let this offend anyone, I just love BYU, and if it offends you, grow up.
1) Heisman trophy winners: BYU 1; Utah 0
2) Ty Detmer All-Time Passing Yards: 15,031; Utah All-Time Passing Leader: Not even close to 15,031
3) National Championships: BYU 1; Utah 0
4) Steve Young went to BYU
5) Record between BYU and U*** from 1972-1992: 19-2
6) Current Coaches: BYU: Stud, Bronco Mendenhall; Utah: Traitor, Kyle Whittingham
Don't Read this Kate:
7) Doesn't the church run BYU?
8) U*** fans make the arguement that President Hinckley went to Utah, who named BYU's Stadium?
9) U*** fans make the arguement that Brigham Young founded U***, DUH! BYU is named AFTER him!
10) U*** fans always make the arguement that U*** holds the all-time record. Ya, but you know what, the biggest reason is because back before anyone who is currently living was born, BYU was horrible! CONGRADULATIONS UTAH! BACK WHEN FOOTBALL DIDN'T MATTER, YOU WERE GOOD AT FOOTBALL! WHOOPDEE FRICKIN' DOO!
My last current, off the top of my head, listable reason:
11) 89 words:
Snap to John, John backpedals, plenty of time, plenty of time, plenty of time, he's moving to his left, shuffling, shuffling, shuffling, all kinds of time, now the heat comes, he's gotta run to the right, John Beck is on the run, he throws behind him it is...CAUGHT FOR THE TOUCHDOWN! CAUGHT FOR THE TOUCHDOWN! CAUGHT FOR THE TOUCHDOWN! JOHNNY HARLINE GOT IT FOR THE SCORE! HARLINE, BY HIMSELF IN THE ENDZONE! THE COUGARS WIN IT! ON THE FINAL PLAY OF THE GAME!
CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS?!
Go Cougars.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
List of 15 great books I've read in no particular order.
(I would put authors, but I'm not sure on all of them, if you want to know who one of the books is by, say so in your comment [because I know ALL of you are going to comment] and I'll see if I can find it for you)
1. Princess Bride
2. The Alchemist
3. Bleachers
4. The Harry Potter Series
5. The Firm
6. The Giver
7. My Brother Made Me Do It
8. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
9. The Alex Rider Series (I haven't read all of them..yet)
10. The Outsiders
11. Number the Stars
12. Hatchet
13. Petey
14. My Side of the Mountain
15. Guts
We are like tea bags - we don't know our own strength until we're in hot water.
- Sister Busche
1. Princess Bride
2. The Alchemist
3. Bleachers
4. The Harry Potter Series
5. The Firm
6. The Giver
7. My Brother Made Me Do It
8. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
9. The Alex Rider Series (I haven't read all of them..yet)
10. The Outsiders
11. Number the Stars
12. Hatchet
13. Petey
14. My Side of the Mountain
15. Guts
We are like tea bags - we don't know our own strength until we're in hot water.
- Sister Busche
Monday, November 5, 2007
Some Quotes and a Story.
Have I really not posted in a week? My sincerest apologies, (although apparently only two people read my blog). I even missed quotable Friday!
"You could open my heart and you'd see that it's true."
"Merry Christmas you old building and loan! Merry Christmas Mr. Potter! Merry Christmas Mr. Bank Examiner! I know isn't it great, I'm going to jail!"
"And I know (echo: and I know), yes I know that it's plain to see, we're so in love when we're together."
And now a story from Friday.
I'm sitting in AP Euro, trying my hardest to keep my eyes open, and thinking about the 1 zillionth king of England, when all of a sudden I hear a voice,
"Can I borrow Josh for a minute?"
It was a girl from the symphonic band.
Ok, interjection here. At the beginning of the year in band, we had a placement tryout. Symphonic band is the highest, then concert band, and then there are the people who just want to be able to say they play drums and they don't even get to be in a band. I tried-out and I thought that I did horribly. I did not play well at all. But, I now know that it must have been very interesting for Mr. Chaston, my band teacher, because some of the tryouts...well how do I put this...they can't hold sticks, let alone play the music he gave us. Anyway, shockingly I made it into Symphonic Band. Which is quite an honor for a sophmore to make symphonic band. But still, I'm the ONLY sophmore in symphonic band, not just the only sophmore percussionist, I'm the only sophmore in ALL of symphonic band. Anywho, I have mixed feelings about this, I'm getting to play way more fun music than concert band is, so I guess it's pretty much okay.
Now back to the original story.
"Sure, you can borrow Josh" My teacher said.
I stood up and followed her out into the hall.
"We're playing "Ghost Train" for the assembly and you need to go set up" she said
(Ghost Train is the piece we had played for the concert the night before, and now, without warning, Mr. Chaston wanted us to play it for the Harvest assembly.)
"Okay" I said.
So after I got down there, I started getting equipment out, and we realized that based on the assembly schedule, we needed to get the timpani onto the stage a different way than the rest of the equipment. So I was wandering onstage, trying to see a way that we could get all of the timpani past the many props and scrap wood that is backstage. It was pitch dark, because they were testing a movie on the projector that they were going to show in the assembly.
Somehow I wandered my way onto the front of the stage with another kid from percussion. When we got to the front, the stage crew started screaming at us.
"GET OFF THE STAGE! HURRY UP! GET OFF RIGHT NOW! COME ON! GET OFF!!!"
Now, I still don't know why they wanted us off stage. I have no explantion. Needless to say, I was afraid that I might be hit by a train any minute. I started hurrying toward the front of the stage to get off. I didn't think I was anywhere close to the edge, but I was.
So yeah, I fell off the stage, hit the first step on my knee, and skidded down the second and third steps on my shin. I have a big old scrape and I was bleeding all over and stuff. No one really saw me, 'cause it was dark but I still feel really embarassed, so EVERYONE who reads this should make really comforting, I've-done-that-same-type-of-thing comments, so that I feel better about myself.
A smile is a curve that sets everything straight.
-Anonymous
"You could open my heart and you'd see that it's true."
"Merry Christmas you old building and loan! Merry Christmas Mr. Potter! Merry Christmas Mr. Bank Examiner! I know isn't it great, I'm going to jail!"
"And I know (echo: and I know), yes I know that it's plain to see, we're so in love when we're together."
And now a story from Friday.
I'm sitting in AP Euro, trying my hardest to keep my eyes open, and thinking about the 1 zillionth king of England, when all of a sudden I hear a voice,
"Can I borrow Josh for a minute?"
It was a girl from the symphonic band.
Ok, interjection here. At the beginning of the year in band, we had a placement tryout. Symphonic band is the highest, then concert band, and then there are the people who just want to be able to say they play drums and they don't even get to be in a band. I tried-out and I thought that I did horribly. I did not play well at all. But, I now know that it must have been very interesting for Mr. Chaston, my band teacher, because some of the tryouts...well how do I put this...they can't hold sticks, let alone play the music he gave us. Anyway, shockingly I made it into Symphonic Band. Which is quite an honor for a sophmore to make symphonic band. But still, I'm the ONLY sophmore in symphonic band, not just the only sophmore percussionist, I'm the only sophmore in ALL of symphonic band. Anywho, I have mixed feelings about this, I'm getting to play way more fun music than concert band is, so I guess it's pretty much okay.
Now back to the original story.
"Sure, you can borrow Josh" My teacher said.
I stood up and followed her out into the hall.
"We're playing "Ghost Train" for the assembly and you need to go set up" she said
(Ghost Train is the piece we had played for the concert the night before, and now, without warning, Mr. Chaston wanted us to play it for the Harvest assembly.)
"Okay" I said.
So after I got down there, I started getting equipment out, and we realized that based on the assembly schedule, we needed to get the timpani onto the stage a different way than the rest of the equipment. So I was wandering onstage, trying to see a way that we could get all of the timpani past the many props and scrap wood that is backstage. It was pitch dark, because they were testing a movie on the projector that they were going to show in the assembly.
Somehow I wandered my way onto the front of the stage with another kid from percussion. When we got to the front, the stage crew started screaming at us.
"GET OFF THE STAGE! HURRY UP! GET OFF RIGHT NOW! COME ON! GET OFF!!!"
Now, I still don't know why they wanted us off stage. I have no explantion. Needless to say, I was afraid that I might be hit by a train any minute. I started hurrying toward the front of the stage to get off. I didn't think I was anywhere close to the edge, but I was.
So yeah, I fell off the stage, hit the first step on my knee, and skidded down the second and third steps on my shin. I have a big old scrape and I was bleeding all over and stuff. No one really saw me, 'cause it was dark but I still feel really embarassed, so EVERYONE who reads this should make really comforting, I've-done-that-same-type-of-thing comments, so that I feel better about myself.
A smile is a curve that sets everything straight.
-Anonymous
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