New Blog Address

Dear friends, I have decided to change my blog address.

The new address is breannewhite.blogspot.com.

My defyingraviti blog will automatically redirect to the new site, but put the new address in your blog roll if you want to get updates.

Quick Update

Details about my recent (meaning: I am still on it) trip to come. For now:

I think I could really get used to being treated like a VIP. I love not having to buy my meals. :)

I'm pretty sure I broke my toe.

Sinus infection + really bad razor burn on my right leg + broken toe = not-so-great nights' sleep (especially when I have to get up at 4 am).

I realized I hate it when people interview you and they say, "Do you have any questions?" and that is the whole interview.

I love free wireless in airports and hotels.

"Would you like fries with that?"

The actual title of this post is, "Would you like fries with that? Or, in other words, the moral obligation of a Humanities major."

It's a little long, though, so I thought I would just stick with the first part.

The other day I was at an evening symposium on the representations of WWI and WWII in England. It was quite interesting, actually, but the main reason that I had gone was because one of my former professors, Kristen Matthews (whom I loved, loved, LOVED!), was in charge of it and invited me to go.

So I went. And after it was all over, I started talking to Dr. Matthews and another of my professors, who also happened to be there. Another woman, an English professor who teaches in Arizona and a good friend of Dr. Matthews (do you have all of these relationships down yet?) was also talking to us, and she said something about English PhD programs--something along the lines of "they should keep those programs small--like 2 or 3 people, or none at all!" All three of us looked a little shocked, so she started to explain.

"I had a student who was just finishing up his undergrad, really bright and had done really well, who came in to talk to me about attending graduate school," she said. "He told me that I had a moral obligation to convince him NOT to go to graduate school in English."

At this point Dr. Matthews looked over at me with a look that said, "I hope you don't expect me to have that same obligation, because I would never convince you not to go to graduate school," and I looked back with a look that said, "First of all I would never expect anyone to have a moral obligation to convince me not to do something that I wanted to do, and secondly I would never as an English professor that also went to graduate school and obviously has a job now to convince me to not follow the same path because there are no jobs."

Yeah. It was a pretty intense look-exchange.

It got me thinking, though. What is it about majors in the Humanities that make people think I will be dishing out fries after graduation? I, of course, am adamant that these years of work will amount to a wonderful job that contributes to the well-being of society and ultimately changes the world. But not everyone has that same idea. Especially with the economy the way has been these past few years, many people think that a college degree is only useful if you can grab your diploma with one hand and your first paycheck in a full-time career with the other.

But really, are there any degrees like that these days?

Anyway, I thought I would make a short list detailing just a few of the benefits of having English majors in society. Because really, majors in the Humanities = helping the world understand what it means to be human. (Do we really want a world that gets paychecks every month and nobody knows how to be human? No.) So here are just a few of my favorite things about being an English major.

1. We have John Donne and George Herbert. Does anything else need to be said? Not to mention poetry in general. What would this world be like if we didn't have poems like "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways" or "The Road Not Taken." Think about what would be missing with your life if we didn't know anything about the poetry of Langston Hughes, Emily Dickinson, or T. S. Eliot.

2. Books can change the world--even fiction books. Ever read Grapes of Wrath? Uncle Tom's Cabin, A Christmas Carol, or War and Peace? They changed the world when they were written. And English majors make sure the world stays changed because of these books (not to mention writing their own books that can change the world). In fact, if you're curious, there are several lists of books that have changed the world. The Online Education Database has one, for starters.

3. Shakespeare. Have you ever read Shakespeare and thought, "That's beautiful. I have no idea what that means." You could take a class on Shakespeare at a university from...someone who studied English in graduate school! And believe me, it would change your life forever.

4. Critical thinking and research skills. I have developed my research abilities and critical thinking skills so much in my English classes. I know what to look for in an academic argument, I know how to figure out if sources are reliable, I know how to construct a coherent and convincing argument, and most of all I know how to think logically and critically about almost any subject, issue, or even ideas or situations (not because I am just amazing, but because that is what they teach us in the English major). I just went to a luncheon where the MBA program told us why women in the Humanities would make such great MBA students. Critical thinking + marketable skill = everyone is happy.

5. Writing skills. Have you ever had to read a college textbook and thought a-this is the most boring thing I have ever read in my life, b-did this person ever take a writing course in college, or c-if I have to read books like this in graduate school I am changing my post-graduate plans? Yeah. I have. And I did change my post-graduate plans for that very reason. Much of my time spent as an English major has been spent writing. And even though my best writing doesn't necessarily come out on my blog, I know what good writing is. I can recognize it, I can work to produce it, and maybe one day, I will write textbooks that are interesting.

There are several more, but I think I will stop here. What do you think--is English really a useless major?

Valentines day. It's about...Love.

When I was a child Valentines day always meant new socks. (Who wants flowers, anyway, when you can get something practical like socks?) My mother or sisters might correct me on this one, but from what I recall, each Valentines day for several years we each got a pair of socks and a note from Mom detailing what she loved about us.

For me, socks became the defining symbol of Valentine's day and, in a larger aspect, love in general. Love = socks. Socks = love.

It was a real disappointment to come to college and no longer get socks for Valentines day. Plus, for 3 of the past 5 years on Valentines day I have been in countries where they don't even celebrate the day of love. Lame. No socks = no love in my life. (No wonder I am having such a hard time with graduating from BYU single! I need to get married so I can get socks on Valentines day!)

Anyway, just a couple of weeks ago, on Valentines day, I came home and found this waiting on my doorstep:

It's not quite like a pair of socks, but I could tell that this had been given with love, too. In fact, it was this girl (and her boyfriend) that had left this thing of beauty, this symbol of love, on my porch for me to see:

Remember that random couple from temple square on New Year's? Yeah. Actually she is my old roommate. Who just happens to also be my current next door neighbor.

Isn't that one of the most wonderful things you've ever heard? It falls in place right behind the announcement made when Kinder chocolate was available in the US and when laptops were first introduced. My (ex)roommate, who already has a boyfriend of her own and already probably got flowers on V-day, cared enough about me to get me flowers (since she knew I wasn't getting them from anywhere else!).

She's great. And I realized. V-day is not about flowers. It's not even about socks.

It's about love.

Just to celebrate, I thought I would leave you with a picture of (one of) the love(s) of my life:

My nephew. Can I just say that he just started saying my name, and now I am in love. He is even more adorable now that he wakes up and says, "Ahh-Bee?" (which is toddler for Aunt Breanne) while looking around for me.

Love that kid!

The Middle East: Some Helpful Links

The other day I was talking to my sister and she started asking me some questions about what is currently happening in the Middle East. She noted that if you don't get in on the action right away (by reading the newspaper), it is hard to jump in in the middle and know what is going on.

I will admit, it is quite overwhelming, trying to keep track of which countries are protesting and what kinds of governments they have and why they are protesting. So today I found this great link from the New York Times that I thought I would share with you. I found it helpful.

Also, there is a great link on CNN.com, and if you are in the mood to just read about it on a blog (from an intelligent sounding American--she and her husband were on my Jordan study abroad), you can click here.

Good luck!

The Girl Effect

I thought after my rather depressing post of yesterday I would post this clip about "The Girl Effect." I think it's pretty powerful because really, women CAN change the world.



(You can read more about "the girl effect" here.)

Lara Logan and Thoughts on the Middle East

Today I read my blogger-friend Bridget's blog (I've never actually met her, but last week I had a dream that I finally did--does that count?) and found about what happened to Lara Logan in Cairo in the wake of the protests.

I really appreciated Bridget's blog post about her own experience in the Middle East, and since I don't think I can write about my own experiences in the Middle East quite yet (it still makes me too angry), I think Bridget did a wonderful job of explaining many of the problems that come with being an American woman in the Middle East. You can read her blog post here.

And, as an additional note, there is an article from NPR discussing harassment of women in the Middle East (both native and foreign), in the wake of Logan's attack. You can find the article here and another article and recording here.

Valentine's Day Elevator

Today I got in an elevator in the library, hoping to go from the 5th floor to the 3rd floor. I was unpleasantly surprised when, a few short seconds after the doors closed, there was a grinding sound and a quick drop (during which time my stomach flew up to my mouth), and then the elevator jerked to a halt in between floors 4 and 5. At least, I think it was between 4 and 5. The doors wouldn't open and the elevator was just sitting there. After my stomach dropped back to its usual place and I realized I was stuck, I calmly pushed the 3rd floor button repeatedly, figuring that this was the best way to get the elevator to move (and not fall all the way to floor 1).

I guess it must have worked, because after about 30 seconds (I was just about to call the operator!) the elevator started moving again and stopped on the 3rd floor. I was unpleasantly surprised a second time when, after a valiant struggle, the doors opened about 3 inches and stayed there. I pushed the "door open" button repeatedly and then tried to pry the doors apart by hand (which tactic has worked every other time I have been stuck in/outside of an elevator), but once again, it was to no avail. The doors closed and I was once again stuck inside the elevator.

Thankfully someone pushed the elevator button on the 6th floor before I called the operator, so I just rode it up and then back down to the third floor. This time the doors were sluggish, but they did open wide enough for me to squeeze through.

As I reflected on this incident, I realized that the elevators must be programmed to respond to certain holidays. Since today was Valentine's day, the elevator was most likely giving the guys a chance. I mean, what could be more romantic than getting stuck in an elevator with a guy after you have almost dropped to your death and then the doors don't open? It sounds like destiny on so many levels.

The only problem though? I was alone.

Cheese

I recently decided that in order to ease my financial burden (at least partially), I could no longer buy cheese. It's just too expensive.

But I love cheese. Especially toasted cheese sandwiches. And so my body has been going through withdrawal for the last few weeks. I think about cheese all the time.

*Sigh*

The other night, I came home from campus and I was starving. If I had cheese, I would have made myself a toasted cheese sandwich. But I didn't. I was out of strawberry jam, too, and I just bought peanut butter last week but it was disgusting. It tastes like the peanut butter in Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, and I don't like Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.

You see the problem.

No cheese. No (edible) peanut butter. No jam. No frozen dinners (which are almost as expensive as cheese). Actually, in an effort to ease my financial burden, I have cut back on everything except cereal and fruit snacks--and food storage.

I realized I only had one option. I opened my cupboard to see what random assortment of cans I had in there that I could throw together to make something edible.

Canned salmon. Pineapple chunks. Garbanzo beans. All things that are great with cheese, but not so great together.

But then I saw the ramen. Ramen + Kidney Beans + Corn + Tomato Paste = dinner.

Doesn't it look delicious? My roommate was almost jealous of my delectable dinner, but she had made her own dinner of Thai food. I decided I wanted to eat international food, too, so I ate this with chopsticks.

Everything tastes better with chopsticks.

Egypt

I've been thinking for a long time how to blog about the events in Egypt. Because, even though I never lived there, I lived right next door for 8 months and I went there twice. It's like hearing that your neighbor's house from that place you lived last year is burning down. Or maybe, that they are remodeling and somehow, when the wrecking crane came in, it knocked down the gas line that unfortunately hadn't been turned off, and then it started a fire and the house has been burning for hours, and the neighbors (including those in your old home) are afraid that their homes will catch on fire too.

Yeah. I don't know if that analogy worked, but that is kind of how it is for me.

Not to mention that I have some friends currently living in Egypt, and I kind of worry about them, even the ones that have already left the country.

When I first heard about the protests, I was excited for the Egyptian people. Whether there are better options or not, and whether Mubarak has done good things for their country or not, it was exciting to see Arabs uniting to bring about change in governmental policy. There are so many things that could be changed--especially when 40% of the country lives below the poverty level of earning $2 a day (even in my poorest minutes I spend more than $2 a day!).

As the protests continued mostly peaceful, my excitement grew.  Other Arab countries were noticing and doing things to effect changes in their own governments, and it seemed like Egypt would be a model for a peaceful change to democracy. I almost got a Twitter account, just so I could keep up with the action like the rest of the world.

Of course, when the pro-Mubarak protesters charged in with camels and machetes, all of that changed. With the rest of the world, I watched in horror as the protests turned violent and people strated getting seriously wounded and dying. Horrific images and videos showed up on youtube, and then journalists started getting harrassed, beaten, and arrested.

Now that it has been several days since I started writing this post, the protests have become mostly peaceful again. The people in the square seem to have no intention of leaving anytime soon, and several concessions have already been made in government structure and wages. It seems like perhaps once again this can be an exciting day for Egypt. Perhaps the horrors of watching Egyptians fighting Egyptians (with molotov cocktails and rocks, no less) will help the other Arab nations to keep things relatively peaceful as they, too, are demanding change. And perhaps the Western countries will be able to breathe a sigh of relief when change happens and they can still buy oil for acceptable prices. Because really, isn't this struggle about the American economy, anyway? (please excuse my sarcastic tone here.)

Anyway, here are a few very helpful links if you are just jumping onto the Egypt protests news:

Sherwood Family Blog: Her husband works for the embassy in Egypt. She and her children were evacuated. She posted several of her journal entries from when the fighting broke out. This one is a very personal, and heart-wrenching, look at what it was like to be there.

Al Jazeera English: Yes, their station hasn't been available in America because it is driven by an agenda that is quite different than American news stations (and American government policy). But let's admit it, they really do have the best coverage of what is going on in Egypt. And, they can actually pronounce the Arab names of cities and people, which is always a plus.

Google Crisis Response: Did you know that google has launched a crisis response page? What will they think of next?

Freezing

Yesterday I woke up 6 inches away from this. This is on the inside of my window.

It's cold!!

Christmas: Nativities

So this Christmas my sister Kaitlyn gave my other sister an adorable Christmas Nativity advent calendar. She made it herself. Isn't it adorable?

Anyway, it made me start thinking about (and taking pictures of) nativities. My mom likes to collect nativities, and she has quite a variety.

My mother's sister once made her an adorable nativity featuring our family acting out the scene (with dogs and two children borrowed from her family). The scene she caught was one of my youngest sister climbing into the manger with my little brother while everyone reacted in ways that expressed quite well their personalities.

My mother is struggling from her kneeling position to do something about it.
My father, having just closed the Bible, is completely oblivious.


The one with the blue nails is me: "I wish I could help, but it would mess up my nails!"
My sister is rushing in to stop it.
My brother is just holding his head in despair.

My other two sisters sit on and watch with bemused expressions, while my two cousins peek out from under the cow.

Then, we have the classic nativities. First, the olive wood, carved, of course, by my good friend Omar in Jerusalem.

You can tell that he lives in the Middle East because he carved 3 camels for the three wise men, instead of the one "representative" camel that is in most nativities. He knows that three men can't share one camel!

Then you have the cutsey nativities.

And, the faceless nativities.

And then you have what I affectionately call "European Middle-Eastern," meaning European artists who did their best to make the nativities look Middle Eastern, but their features still look like they could fit right in in the hills of Germany.

This last picture is my favorite of all the nativities. Can you imagine riding a camel like this for weeks or months?

Leftover Guilt

Today I was walking back to my car after spending a delightful time in the library. I really do like spending time in the library--perhaps a little too much, because they tried to charge me rent there once last semester. They said there was a 12 hour limit/day/student, and I had passed that 28 times so far Fall semester. So I switched to another building to study.

Anyway, since this is a new semester, I guess the rent-thing doesn't apply anymore. But I digress. I was walking back to my car and I saw a police car parked right next to it. And I suddenly panicked. Had I parked illegally? Was my car dripping large amounts of oil or anti-freeze? My mind quickly scanned everything I had done in the last 48 hours to see if my sudden guilt and fear had any foundation. As I drew closer to my car, I saw, much to my relief, that the police car was actually parked next to the car right next to my car, not next to my car, and the police was talking to a guy (presumably the owner of the car) who was holding a flashlight and looking in the windows.

I quickly got in my car and drove away before they could question me about whatever was going on with the guy's car. After all, being parked right next to him, I was a likely suspect.

As I drove away, I started to think about what has caused this unnatural fear of the police--because actually, every time I see the police I feel a little twinge of fear. Skipping over the fact that I speed perhaps more than once a year and ignoring the many books I have read about militaristic-type governments in the Middle East and Nazi Germany, I finally realized that this fear began when I was a young child.

I was 5 or 6 and we had gone on an extended-family camping trip reunion up Provo Canyon, as I recall. The reunion was fun, as I recall, and I got to play with my cousins and do other camping things, like slide down a muddy hill and eat dutch oven cooking. As we were packing up, I had found some beautiful wildflowers (which looked like weeds to an adult but violets to a small child) and picked a few of them to take home as a memento of the trip.

After I picked them, I continued walking along the trail, waiting for the rest of the family. It was then that I saw, to my horror, a sign that said something along the lines of, "It is illegal to pick the wildflowers."

(This one is from Israel. I didn't have any pictures from Provo.)

Illegal?! I had just broken the law!! I looked down at the already-wilting purple flowers, the evidence of my criminal act clutched in my tiny fist. I panicked. I went and hid in the car, or something else very grown-up like, while I waited for my parents. On the ride home, I felt sure that the police would be waiting at my house with a warrant for my arrest.

I seem to recall that I asked my parents about the legal state of one who has picked flowers from a national park, but whatever they said did little to allay my fears. I resigned myself to life as a criminal.

Well, the police weren't there when we got home. They didn't come all that night, and I think by the next morning I had thrown away the "evidence" (my flowers) and moved on with my life.

But apparently the guilt is still there, and I don't think I will be surprised at all to run into the police one day and have them say, "Breanne? We have been informed that you picked wildflowers at a national park when you were 5. Please come with us..."

Christmas: Lights

I am trying the bigger picture look. Is it overkill?

I like this one mainly because it looks like pink fire.

Temple Square has these beautiful paper-bag cutout things with nativity scenes as well as words like "love," "joy," and "peace" written in several languages. Like Arabic, written below.

This could make it into a new ad campaign: "Christmas at Temple Square"

My friend Kerry and I striking the "Taiwan pose"

There was a random couple there that let me take pictures of them--after they heard one of the sister missionaries say to me, "I know you. You're a professional photographer, right? I see you here all the time." :)

Joel was enamored by the huge tree in the window.

Snowmobiling in sub-zero weather

We went snowmobiling on New Year's Day. It was the perfect day to spend outside on a fast machine with the freezing wind whipping past and ripping into your seven layers, permanently taking all feeling away from your lips, hands, and toes.

Can you see how cold it was? It was frigid. 5 degrees at the parking lot--and a wind chill of -40 (or something!) on the snowmobiles.


Doesn't this just look like a postcard? Or a Christmas card?


The snow was "epic," Corban said.

Photo Shoot: Losaunne

Christmas day. It's freezing cold. And I want to test out my new camera. My amazing sister, Losaunne, volunteered to be my subject. You can tell how cold it was by how red her nose and ears get as the pictures progress. :)

Hey look, a truck! Let's stand by it to take pictures.



I told her to look serious.

This is probably my favorite.

She was really happy to be done. :)

Christmas: Ornaments

So, I've been really quite busy, actually, which is why my blog activity has been so abysmally small. But, I got a new camera for Christmas. It is a beautiful camera. Really. So the next few posts will be rather picture-heavy.

I tested out the features on my camera on a lot of things. This post will be about ornaments. Enjoy.




Ahh, the cinnamon Santas. I can't remember when my mother made these, but I think it was when we lived in Texas. They have been an integral part of our tree ever since.

As children, we made ornaments almost every year that had our picture in them. It's kind of like a "look how big I'm getting!" tree because you can trace the growth patterns of the children by the Christmas ornaments. It's a thrill, really.


A few years ago my mom started a tradition of giving us all a Christmas ornament every year that represented what we had done that year. (I got a red car ornament this year--a subtle hint about how many times it broke down in the past 12 months!) However, when we get old and move away, we are supposed to give an ornament to my mom that somehow represents our life that year. The only one who is good at doing that is my sister, who made this precious thing for my mom last year (3 grandchildren, including my sister's first child, were born within weeks of each other).

Gotta love those Christmas traditions!