It's about me, but I wish it wasn't.
This page is about me, well--us if you count those other two. I prefer not to talk about them because frankly, they're more talented than me, and Mom loves them more.
My father is an accountant. My mother sells insurance.
They'd never say it, but they hate their jobs. I grew up seeing that a job is equivalent to slaving away. Upon discovering the advertising program, I became enamored with the idea of doing something that allows me to use put my personality and natural skillset. As far as dreams...I'm not sure--but I know I love what I'm doing right now and I want to keep doing it!
Aspiring Discipline: Copywriter
I pondered quite a bit about how I would present myself to the judge, jury, and executioner. Respectively those being Pat, Chris, and Jeff. It is a heavy responsibility to be my own advocate. How to go about this...I suppose i’ll present my whole self as described in antiquity. Welcome to my Mind, Body, and Soul.
I love my right brain, all the wacky thoughts it thinks and how much it kicks my left brain in the pants
There is no better storyteller than my brain—and nobody screws them up quite like my mouth.
I love how trying to capture an idea from my brain feels like grabbing a speeding car from the Daytona 500 and putting it in my pocket.
My mind is a dairy cow that I milk for all it’s worth 7 days a week and it still refills its wonderful udders with more.
I don’t know my minds relationship to the ether, but I know that they must be pals. I’m just glad the two decide to bring me along sometimes.
I love how quick things go up there—it’s like everyone travels by private jet, but o only 6 years olds are allowed to drive.
I love how it makes ideas that it never intends to fin--
I am 6’2 but I’m 6’3 when a pretty girl asks --It’s just high enough to see right over every toilet stall and lock eyes with those in the mirror
I have ears that stick out on either side --like 2 funnels, they cover a wide scope, gathering all the noises I don’t want to hear. Like the sound of Sam Jorgensen chewing an oddly textured burrito for at least
45 minutes on the one day I forgot my airpods.
I love my feet and nails that sometimes become ingrown. Beauty is pain people. .
I love my hair and the follicles that are slowly dying. Whenever I run my fingers
through my hair in the shower, it is a lovely reminder that my
father, and his father before him were hopelessly bald. These dying
follicles motivate me to date nice ladies before they
notice how terribly bald I will become.
I love my smile, crooked and charismatic—the teeth therein have 7
7 cavities, 1 Brazilian root canal followed thereafter by 1 American root canal I love my back that carries the weight of my potential.
—it even sprouts pimples and little hairs in odd places!
I have achieved Nirvana three and a half times while listening to Simon and
Garfunkel sitting on park benches.
My soul is at peace really, truly, and completely when I am watching a video of an orangutan eat a honkin' pile of lettuce.
Whistling a showtune fills me with enough joy to power a small generator.
The soundtrack of my soul is Willy Wonka and the Chocolate factory on VHS (and we don't talk about the boat scene...
My soul is nourished and strengthened by buying a tube of Quaker Oats and splitting them 50/50 between myself, and my feathered brethren at the BYU duck pond.
I sit in my car after work and turn on Frank Sinatra and belt his lines from my Ford Fusion longing to be an (Italian) superstar.
No Little Caeser's pizza can serve both my body and soul; for either it will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to one, and despise the other.