Songs for a summer night.

And as I lay me down tonight,

I close my eyes.

What a beautiful night. 

I'm sleeping to dream about you,

and I'm so damn tired of having to live without you.

But I don't mind sleeping to dream about you.

And I'm so tired. 

"Here is the world.

beautiful and terrible things will happen.

Don't be afraid." --Frederick Buechner

I haven't felt this awake in years.

Another song recommendation comin' atcha. 

And I have waited for this awakening for so long, so long.

I gotta get a little light inside. 

And I'm here, holding out for just one thing 

and it's your love, your love---it makes everything feel alright.

I was slowly slowly dyin', slowly dyin'.

It's like the first day I'm alive. 

This is the moral of the story.

The past couple days have been pretty rough, in a number of ways.

Mainly the following:

1. Getting dressed.

2. Sleeping.

3. School.

4. Eating meals.

5. Being socially acceptable.

Getting dressed is rough because I have to get out of bed and put clothes on. It's never easy to look presentable when all you want to do is lie under your covers and watch episodes of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air all day.

Sleeping is rough because I haven't really done it much. Okay, that's a lie. I've been pretty careful about prioritizing my sleep over my homework. I'm solidly rested.

School is rough and that one is probably self-explained.

Eating is rough because I seem to be spending my entire paycheck on eating out because I'm too lazy to cook, and also there isn't much time, because if I'm not at school pretending to learn, or at the library pretending to do homework, I'm sleeping.

Being socially acceptable has always been a challenge, but one that I've been willing to face head-on each and every day. Last night was no exception. After arriving at the library around 5pm (a violation of the laws of social acceptability in itself), Ally and I had sort of lost it by about 9am. Just kidding. Pm.

Our chosen location was the computer no shh zone, and as it emptied out progressively throughout the night, we got more and more restless. Our chosen outlet was a series of "roll-abouts" in which we would roll about the room, winding strategically through the chairs and tables, drinking from our nalgenes as we went. 

Another time, we took a walk to fill up our water bottles, doing 360s and tricks off the abandoned benches while proclaiming, "Das tight!" Our use of the phrase knows no bounds. Except for the bound that you can only use it if someone jumps or does a trick.

Later, we bowled with Ally's nalgene. Mainly that means we just rolled it across the floor and on the sidewalk as we walked to my car.

After a series of roll-abouts, we decided it was time to get back to work, so I trapped us in with my computer charger. The library is a prison. But it's our favorite type of prison. So it works, you know?

Finally, after some real hard work, we rewarded ourselves generously with the second half of the Hills Season 2. Another example of a violation of social norms. Das tight.

Here's to the good life.

We should probably talk about this guy named Howard Hughes.

"I intend to be the finest film producer in Hollywood, the greatest pilot in the world, and the richest man in the world."

Who knew, but I'm sort of extremely fascinated by the man.

The guy was a straight-up genius, in every sense of the word.

Mostly, he'll be remembered for his pretty reclusive and eccentric lifestyle,
and for the "crazy" behavior he exhibited as a result of his rather severe obsessive compulsive disorder. But his mind is unlike any other in the history of human existence. 

My interest in the life of H.H. admittedly began after watching Leonardo DiCapprio's astounding betrayal of him in the movie The Aviator. (Speaking of genius, can we touch on Leo's acting abilities? Incredible. You can bet I'll be seeing Titanic again in theaters in a few weeks). Not coincidentally, a few days after watching the movie for the first time, I learned that a man who lived up the street from me had worked in Hughes's inner circle. So, I took the opportunity to learn about a man 
who made is mark in history by doing something so seemingly rare in today's world: working hard.

_________

Hughes was born into money; his dad was an oil tycoon who manufactured drill bits. Both of Hughes's parents, however, died when he was real young. Hughes used his inheritance to get a start in the motion picture business. He filmed his first movie, Hell's Angels, and it cost him almost 4 million dollars. He filmed and re-filmed it several times, and just when the production team thought they were finished, Hughes decided to re-film it again, this time as a "talkie." 

Sound technology in motion pictures was new and costly, and everyone that Hughes was crazy, but that movie made back double of what it had costed Hughes to produce it, and its premiere was the biggest and most glamorous in the history of Hollywood.

After Hell's Angels, Hughes became obsessed with aviation. He founded an aviation company, and for the next decade, he broke and re-broke every aviation speed record, including the fastest trip across the Atlantic, and later, the fastest trip around the world. Hughes, hired by the United States Airforce to create a plane that could carry soldiers, cargo, tanks, trucks, and weapons, later designed the largest plane in history; a "flying boat." The Airforce told him he couldn't use aluminum in the plane's construction, so he just used wood instead. 

Later, Hughes was summoned to a senatorial committee charged to investigate Hughes Aircraft's inability to deliver several aircrafts it was paid in contract to develop for the U.S. Airforce. Hughes, in his testimony, claimed that Senator Owen Brewster, the senator who was heading the committee, was being bribed to investigate Hughes by a friend, Juan Trippe. 

Juan was the founder and CEO of Pan American Airlines, which was at the time promoting a bill in the Senate that would prohibit any other airline (including Hughes's) from flying trans-Atlantic routes, effectively giving Pan Am a monopoly on the market. If Juan could bring down Hughes and push the bill through, he would have complete control on flights around the world. In the hearing meant to condemn Hughes, Hughes turned it around a brought the attention to a corrupt politician and a wealthy businessman who was exploiting the American system in order to exploit the American people. 

The Aviator's portrayal of the committee hearing is excellent, but I couldn't find a video. Instead, I quote Leonardo DiCaprio's portrayal of Hughes:

Senator Brewster: "Mr. Hughes, did you receive $32 million dollars to manufacture XF-spy planes for the United States Air Force?"

Howard Hughes: "I did."

"How many functional planes did you deliver?"

"None."

"Did you receive 7 million to manufacture a prototype for a flying boat known as the Hercules?"

"I did."

"And did you deliver that plane?"

"I did not."

"So by your admission in this chamber, Mr. Hughes, you have received 40 million dollars from the United States government for planes that you never delivered."

"That is correct."

"Well excuse me for asking, Mr. Hughes, but where did all that money go?"

"Well it went into the planes, Senator. And a lot more. I put my money into the planes. My money. See, the thing is, I care very much about aviation. It has been the great joy of my life. That's why I put my own money into these planes. And I've lost millions, Senator, and I'll go on losing millions. It's just what I do---"

"---You've made your point, Mr. Hughes."

"One second. I have just one more thing to say here to this committee. And that has to do with the Hercules. Now, I am supposed to be many things which are complimentary. I am supposed to be capricious. I've been called a playboy. I've even been called an eccentric. But I do not believe that I have the reputation of being a liar. Needless to say, the Hercules was a monumental undertaking. It is the largest plane ever built. It is over five stories tall with a wingspan longer than a football field. That's more than a city block. 

Now, I put the sweat of my life into this. I got my reputation all rolled up in it. I have stated several times that if the Hercules fails to fly, I will leave this country and never come back. And I mean it. 

Now, you can subpoena me, you can arrest me, you can even claim I've folded up and taken a run-out powder, but, well, I've had just about enough of this nonsense. Good afternoon."

"I intend to be the finest film producer in Hollywood, the greatest pilot in the world, and the richest man in the world."

Hughes was worth $1.5 billion dollars at the end of his life in 1976.

He died on an airplane. 

Trailers for sale or rent.

I probably had to get out of dodge and go camping this weekend.

And by probably, I mean I absolutely had to.

I think it's safe to say it was a good weekend.

For those of you Southern Utah junkies,

we visited the following sites:

Horsethief Campground (BLM style)

Mesa Arch

Upper Rim Outlooks (2nd & 3rd)

Neck Spring 

Moab, UT

Moab Diner

And naturally we made a couple stops

in the metropolises of Price, UT (for some ice & ketchup)

and Wellington, UT (for a lighter). 

I'm fairly confident I could have started a fire

with my bare hands, but I do try and live by

the Boy Scout motto.

Additionally, Ally and I were extremely resourceful

and tore apart some of the BLM fence (barbed wire say waaa?)

to make our own marshmallow-roasting sticks.

S'mores are the third requirement for a successful camping trip

(after a tin foil dinner and a headlamp).

Finally, I need to talk about our tent.

A snuggly two-manner. And boy was it snuggly,

as evidenced by Ally's initial reaction upon seeing it:

"Oh glad to see you brought your tent

for your American Girl dolls."

Needless to say, the small-tent jokes never got old. Still haven't actually.

Last night I got into Ally's truck for round two of The Hunger Games

and she took one look at my small, leather side-strap bag and said, "Oh glad to see you brought our tent with you."

I've been trying to come up with a reason I shouldn't go camping over finals week, without success. So I imagine you'll be hearing more about those Southern Utah mountains soon.

The American Ethos.

Life is way too good to be true. 

Take today for example.

I just woke right up and didn't even need to shower this morning because I had already showered last night! And then I just went to church like no big whoop, came back, and drove up to the MTC with my girl Ally, because we like to break the missionary rules. We took a quick pic with our missionary girl, Hermana Allen, and probably got her into some big trouble. But it's like, who cares? Because she's leaving for Bolivia tomorrow. What?

It's been raining and snowing all day, which, to be honest, is when I'm happiest. I'm all about the sunshine, but give me a rainy day and a little warm peach cobbler and I'm golden. After a pretty good dinner with the best friends ever, I've just been working on a paper. And I'll be honest, I hate it, but that's okay. And I forgot to say that somewhere in there, Brady and I actually made peach cobbler, which is now cooling on the stove. So remember when I said, "give me a rainy day and a little warm peach cobbler and I'm golden?" 

Yeah. I'm golden.

If you don't think my life is great yet, just wait for the best part(s).

Snowbird just got 20 inches of new powder, and guess where I'm going tomorrow?

Yep. Snowbird. And it's not even my favorite place in the world, but you know what is?

Moab. And guess where I'm going this weekend?

Canyonlands.

But it's close enough and I can't wait. 

In conclusion, so what if I'm seriously deficient in my
classes and school work right now?

Girl got time to hit up the weirdest movie I've ever seen last night (John Carter) 

and take a quick break from this hellish paper to brag about myself. 

And I'd say, that means life is dope. 

Late night mexican food is never a good idea.

Yesterday was another one spent in the deep bowels of the SWKT. The computer labs down there have become a regular meeting spot for me and myself, and Ally. It's pretty fun. My friend Karissa has been trying to find me down there for days. 

"Do you have to be CPR certified to work down there? Because I feel like, if someone were to stop breathing, the only ones who could resuscitate them would be a fellow student in the pit..."

Maybe that's why the computer labs share a floor with the College of Nursing. 

In other news, Ally and I missed PBT two weeks ago. But we remembered yesterday, and Jeff halfway joined us, so everything turned out alright. 

The focus of this picture is that pen (it's real). 

But actually, it should be Ally's impressive concentration.

For our 328 class, Ally and I carry around a flash drive. Our TA hasn't taught us anything yet in our lab, but he keeps telling us to "get organized." So we both carry around our matching Transcend flash drives to maintain an acceptable level of organization. 

There is a little bit of a bump in our friendship, though, because my dog chewed up the lid to my flash drive, and Ally never lets me borrow hers. Not even to try it on and remember the good old days when Trudy had a lid to cover its storage unit. We fought about it a little yesterday, and I then I tricked Ally into thinking my Transcend was hers. So mine got to have a lid for a little while. But those jokes never last long, and when you push a joke too far, it just becomes a little embarrassing.

"I came into this world,

not chiefly to make this a good place to live in, but to live in it, be it good or bad."

---Henry David Thoreau

I usually steal my neighbor's WiFi,

but for some reason,

it is non-existent this evening.

So, I'm confined to an uncomfortable, straight-back

desk chair and wired internet

while I wait for 6 emails full of pictures to send.

I've probably been sitting here for 30 minutes.

Why do I have to sit at my computer

and watch those emails send

rather than spend those 30 minutes doing

something more worth while?

Good question.

Probably because finals are over,

I have these 4 days

to relax and not worry about school,

and because wasting time feels dang good.

But if we're being honest,

even if I was still in school, and even if I

did have a lot to accomplish,

I would still probably sit here and

watch that little blue email

bar slowly fill itself up.

Almost there....

I have complied my tentative summer reading list.

It is as follows:

Re-reads:

I'm convinced that books are the

reason why summer break exists.

It's definitely finals week,

and finals, as everyone well knows,

do weird things to you.

We all have our coping mechanisms.

One of mine just happens to be

accidentally staying up until 3am,

taking self-timed pictures in

front of my apartment complex

with some pals who happen to

have the same philosophies that I do.

Never mind that I had already

faked going to bed 3 times

the night these pictures were taken.

Another great coping mechanism is telling yourself

that you're going to go to bed no later than 11pm,

because of your 7am final the next morning,

but then accidentally playing

jacks until past midnight.

Jacks. Really?

How do college students come up with these things?

Mostly, how did I end up playing jacks?

On a more important note,

I discovered that I have an

uncanny knack for that game.

Also, what is my problem?

I added some towels to my crutches,

and they feel much better.

Hopefully the broken blood vessels under

my arms will start to heal.

Also, crutches glamour shot:

Fun. 

Those crutches are set for someone who is 5'11".

Which is funny.
But not as funny as me

opting to limp around the whole weekend,

rather than carry around those torture sticks,

But walking from the couch to

the kitchen multiple times required little walking.

I did get to take a little visit downtown

on Saturday afternoon, which was a treat.

I keep forgetting how many winnas

there are hangin' out on TRAX.
Trains stations are where you can meet
new friends; or your new rapist.

Anyway, there are only two weeks of school left.

Wut?

That's right.

Countemonetwo.

Also, blog titles seriously never fail to mock

my intelligence or creativity levels.

I can never think of any.

Titles are dumb.

Thisisrealife.

I'm sitting in my History 220 class right now.

I honestly learned more about

US History in 5th Grade.

We have an assignment due on Thursday

which requires us to

"look at the compromises that lead

to the Civil War," and then "come up with something

better, because those obviously didn't work."

Hard to say exactly how I feel about that.

But not really that hard.

Meanwhile, my crutching adventures are going well.

Today someone asked if I wanted his chair,

rather than sitting on the floor.

Then he asked if he could get me a pizza.

What is going on?

This happened tonight:

Obviously it was the best choice I could have made.

LOST is real life.

I love LOST.

An experience with a close friend of mine

has recently caused this particular scene

to replay over and over again in my head.

"Why do you find it so hard to believe?"

"Why do you find it so easy?"

"It's never been easy!"

Could this statement be any more true?

We go throughout life believing

in one thing or another,

and at some point, no matter what that thing is,

our devotion and faith to it will be tested.

Passion and love are things

that make life so wonderful,

but they are also the emotions

that make life so difficult.

If we did not love or care for anyone or anything,

decisions and burdens would bear no weight.

This is the beautiful irony of life.

Life isn't about what is easy,

but it is about love and passion and emotion.

It is about taking something that we love,

and fighting for it---and that has never been easy.

But so what, right?

Since when has anything good in life

come when you sit around

and wait for it to arrive?

Titles are dumb.

Hey, it's me. Taylor.

Just so you don't get confused,

I'm Taylor Berhow. Not Olson. Not Swift.

Easy to get us all mixed up, though.

Yesterday in my US History class,

we were creating a "soundtrack" for

the Revolutionary War.

(Like, I definitely did that in 5th grade.)

But anyway, we came to the battle that I had chosen

a song for: the Battle of Yorktown.

Clearly, I chose "Change" by T-Swift.

I told my friend, Hunter,

that if my song didn't get

chosen, I was going to drop the class.

I'm pretty sure he thought I was kidding.

He'll learn.

Rest assured, the class chose mine.

(Even over "Beat It," "I've Gotta Feeling,"

and "Never Say Never.")

My teacher cracked some smart comment

about how apparently even 12 year olds

can write good music.

As if Taylor Swift is 12.

Not even funny.

But this is coming from the same professor

who 2 weeks ago did not know

who Jimmer Fredette was.

Honestly? Is she kidding?

Does she live in a washing machine?

Turns out she wasn't kidding,

but her not knowing who

Jimmer is doesn't even make sense.

Anyway.

Life is good here in Elwood City, aka, Provo.

Lots of studying, facebook fasts

and whatever else college kids do these days.

But I've really been on a facebook fast.

Oh hi, it's Friday. I've been off facebook

for two whole weeks.

But yeah.

College-student blogs are the best.

Everyone is doing it,

and this has been a gr8 first post.

I'll probably go and not listen to a substitute TA

teach our Poly Sci lab about nothing now.

Bai.