Showing posts with label random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random. Show all posts

The Post with all the Wisdom and Insight

I envy those blogs that impart cutting edge, important, frank wisdom. Sometimes I want to be the person who makes a statement, and then people pass it along, saying things like, "A must-read post for anyone who's ever felt afraid!" Or "Brodi Ashton weighs in with the final say on the latest brouhaha over the bangs-or-no-bangs controversy" Or something like that. 

So, writer peeps, let's have an important discussion. Below, I have three essential topics on which I have insight... on... for them (okay, that sentence totally got away from me. It happens when I'm trying to be insightful).

1. I keep having this recurring dream that one of my legs is shorter than the other. Like, a foot shorter. Then I try to walk like a typical person, and I look strange. And all the while I'm thinking, how did this happen?

And then I remember something one of my childhood friend's mother told us: "If you keep standing like that, with more weight on one of your legs, and your hip sticking out like your a hussy, it will stunt that leg's growth."

And then, in my dream-self-brain, I think, Ohmyheck, she was right!

So, dream interpreters, what does this mean?

2. Last night, as I was falling asleep, I was brainstorming ideas for my Everneath 2 revision when an epiphany hit. The only problem was, I was too tired to write it down. (Writing it down would've involved rolling over to my nightstand, grabbing the notebook there and making a few notes.)
So I thought of a key-word for the idea: "Patchwork". 

I ingrained the keyword in my head. "Patchwork, patchwork, patchwork... remember patchwork."

And then, for a test, I'd let my brain relax for a few moments, and then I'd be all, "What's the word, Brain?!"

And I'd answer myself, "Patchwork!"

This morning I woke up, and the first thing that popped into my head was, "Patchwork."

Only now, I can't remember the associating idea. The epiphany. It's gone. Lost in a NyQuill haze.

So, writer peeps, what did Patchwork mean?

3. While I was driving down the street, I saw an old man jogging. He was wearing a white v-neck shirt, and the low point of the "V" reached almost to his bellybutton. And yes, there was chest hair. And bellybutton hair. 

When he caught me looking, he nodded, as if to say, "I know. Can you believe how much I rock this look?"

And then he winked. As if to say, "You're welcome."

I mouthed the words "Thank you."

So, yon Bloggerville, how much do you love bellybutton hair?

Discuss!

My Hair Disaster. Do not adjust your Computer Screen.

I don't know if it's the weather.

I don't know if it's hormones.

I don't know if it's an attack of the crazies.

But about once a year, I feel the need. THE NEED. To dye my hair at home.

As Edward is drawn to Bella, I am drawn to the Nice-'N-Easy aisle at the Rite Aid. 

Each time, I say, "This time it will be different. This time it won't be a disaster."

Isn't that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?

As I went to take a picture for the blog this morning, I was face to face with all of my hair disasters over the years. This is a screen shot of my computer. Take a look at the bottom row of pictures:
There's the time I tried to go brunette:
But it wasn't "brunette enough" for certain people (Bree Despain).

So I went to Walmart. 30 minutes later, it was this:


Two weeks later, it faded to this:
and it settled into a nice greenish dirty blond color. My hair rejected the brunette.

This time around, I tried blond. The first dye job resulted in orange roots.

The second resulted in brassy roots.

Most people would've stopped at that point. Most people are smarter than me.

I tried to compensate by using purple to counteract the brass. The bottom half of my hair turned actual purple. The top half became a bright yellow.

It looked like I had a dead canary on my head. There are no pictures because I cried. I literally bawled my guts out. I woke up the next morning with that sick sinking feeling that you get when you wake up with a dead canary on your head. You know that feeling? Probably not. Because you wouldn't get yourself in this situation.

I went to the store to by some more purple. When I got home, Sam tried to wrestle the box out of my hands. The conversation may have sounded like this:

me: "I have to fix it!"

him: "You've been trying to fix it for 24 hours now!"

me: "But this time will be different!"

him: "Your hair will fall out!"

me: "Better bald that than the Canary-Head!"

I pushed him out and slammed the door shut. Locked it behind me. And like a crack addict who just scored a hit, I greedily tore open the box and laughed maniacally at the mirror. The girl in the mirror showed a lot of teeth, and an entire ring of white around each eye. She was spooky.

Anywho, it only took six dye jobs (no, that is not an exaggeration) to get to this:
 And honestly, the picture doesn't do the purple and yellow streaks justice. 

Enjoy it now. Because it's all about to fall out.

By the way, I originally wanted to dye my own hair so I could save money. 

I spent $60 on hair dye and $30 on deep conditioners. Oh, and $20 on two hats that I plan on wearing for the next few months. 

Here's to frugality! *clink*

Please tell me I'm not the only one who does this. Pretty please.

Four Things on a Monday Morning (With Pictures!)

Four Things!

1. Sam was getting a root canal the other day. I sent him a text to let him know I was going to be in my Zumba class.

Here's what the text said after autocorrect:
I figured this was the best way to break it to him.

2. We love our pop tarts. So much that when Kid B saw them in the store, he brought them to his face and snuggled them against his cheek.
Fighting the waif look one box at a time.
 3. Yesterday my family got together to watch our church's general conference. The men in were captivated.
I can hear better with my eyes closed too.
4. Do kids ever look cuter than when they are on a bridge in the mountains?
They're cute until you realize that Necie (the lone girl) is triumphantly displaying the snake she just killed. Kidding. 
So, how was your weekend?

My Ode to a Body Part... and Why I Don't Have a Future in Poetry

I've had a dilemma in my life. I can either be physically fit... or I can be writer. I haven't figured out a way to do both. 

But I vow here and now that those days are over. I've been doing Zumba (and by "doing" I mean "stumbling over my two left feet and spontaneously clapping) and then I've also been doing Pilates (and by "doing" I mean "watching the people around me work their cores, and marveling at their strength").
Anyway, after a few weeks of this, something strange happened. I went to bed one night, and when I woke up the next morning, I wasn't alone. There was something small and unfamiliar near my stomach region. 

I ran to the bathroom mirror to find this:
Objects in mirror are less defined than they appear. Also, objects in picture are not my abs. They are a representation. To picture my abs, take this picture, add seven layers of fat and then subtract the hip dents.
That's right. The stranger in my bed was a stomach muscle. (Okay, there's a sentence I never thought I'd type).

I was so excited, I had to write about it.

So here is my ode to my stomach muscle.

ODE TO MY STOMACH MUSCLE (I'm not really creative with titles)

Oh stomach muscle.
Little stomach muscle.
You are so little
You are more like a chicken nugget taped to my belly

Are you so lonely
stuck on my tummy with no other
stomach muscles to keep you company?

Are you so cold
without that warm layer of fat
that for so many years cushioned you
from the harsh elements of the world?

I will keep you warm
I will cover you in t-shirts and cardigans and Spanx
I will keep you company
I will cradle you
and love you
I won't jar you or jerk you around
and we will sit on the couch
and watch movies
and read books
and we will never have to go out
and... wait. 
Stomach muscle? Where did you go?
Crap! Stomach muscle?

The only problem is that my stomach muscle is not a loyal friend. If he is neglected, or unappreciated, he will disappear on me, without a word. 

What about you? Anyone out there sit in a chair for a living? What do you do?

And... what are you up to this weekend? Anything fun? Will you be writing poems about body parts?

Top Five Signs you have a Book Coming out in Three Months

Hey y'all. I thought I'd start this Wednesday off with a list. Because that's what I like to do. 

Top Five Signs you have a book coming out in three months:

5. You wander around the house, making declarations (in passive voice) of all the things you are NOT going to do.

ex: 

"Hair shall henceforth be air-dried, and no amount of forthwithing will entice me to useth the flat-iron."

and

"Dinner shall forthwith be microwave-worthy, or it shall not be."

(Then your hubby answers: "It shall not be... what?" and you answer back: "It shall not be... made. At all. Or stuff.")

4. When you venture out of the house and into the sun, you flatten the palms of your hand against your eyes and dramatically shout, "It burns! It burrrrrnnnnnns!"

3. Casual conversations become critiques of your book. 

Neighbor: "Are you going to the pig roast on Friday?"

you: "How come nobody understands the strength of Nikki and Jack's love?!"

Neighbor: "Huh?"
you (thinking it was a logical train of thought): "You mentioned pigs, right?"

Neighbor: "Yeah?"

you (realizing logic is probably something you never had): "Nevermind."

2.You bemoan the fact that the New Years Holiday is encroaching on your launch date. Thankfully, you have an agent who reminds you launch dates are like birthdays: Except for the participant, nobody really notices them.

And the number one sign you have a book coming out in three months:

You make stupid lists like you're David Frakking Letterman.

The Tomato that Launched a Thousand Accusations

Hello, y'all. 

I wrote you a song. To be sung to the tune of "Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall":

Ninety-nine days til my book comes out
Ninety-nine days left to go
If only each day didn't feel like a year,
I'd still be sane by January 3rd. 

Sing it loud! Sing it pretty!

If you're looking for a way to pass the time, you can enter the Goodreads massive EVERNEATH giveaway here.

So I have a friend who keeps me in tomatoes. About every other day, she brings me a bowl full of these beauties:
The bowl is usually full, but I ate them before I took the picture

Today, as I was sitting at the computer snacking on these little beauties, Sam was wandering around the kitchen, getting ready to leave for work.

We were talking about random stuff. He crouched down, presumably to pick up some crumbs off the floor, then he ran something under the sink. He walked over to me, asked me a question, and nonchalantly put a tomato into the bowl. 

me: "Did you just sneak a tomato into the bowl?"

Sam (looking guilty): "No."

me: "I saw you." Pauses as realization hits. "You picked up a tomato off the floor... and tried to sneak it back into the bowl!"

Sam (caught in the act): "I washed it off first."

me: "I doesn't matter!" Digs the offending tomato out of the bowl. "You tried to trick me into eating a tomato off the ground!"

I handed him the tomato. 

Sam: "I knew you wouldn't eat it if you saw it, even though it's totally clean because I washed it."

me: "I would've eaten it, if you hadn't been so sneaky about it. It's not the fact that it was on the floor. It's the deception involved."

Sam: "You know tomatoes are covered in dirt from the outdoors before they hit your mouth, right?"

me: "Yes. But outside dirt is much cleaner than inside dirt."

sam: "So, you wouldn't have eaten it!"

me: "Shut up."

This is what comes after thirteen years of marriage. I knew he would never want a tomato to go to waste, and he knew I'd never eat one off the floor. Some people would think it's boring to know everything about your partner, but on the contrary... this morning it was very exciting. Passersby stopped to listen, hands cupped to ears, wondering about the fate of the offending tomato.

Accusations were thrown. Punches were not. But they were contemplated. 

So, how well do you know me? I love these tomatoes more than anything. When I finished off the entire bowl, and I wanted more, did I eat the offending tomato?

Why I'm Not Even Trying Anymore...

I'll be honest: Most days I don't shower. When choosing an outfit for the day, I say to myself, "I think I'm on day four of this particular jeans and t-shirt combo. Should we go for five?" Then I smell the armpits.

Inevitably, I answer "yes". 

Then when I go to do my makeup, I think, "I'm just gonna have to wash it off again tonight..."

So it's not like I'm known as "Brodi Ashton: She cared too much about her appearance."

But online, I'm a different person. I'm a little like a wilting flower.

Up until yesterday, I had things like Google searches for my name or for key words like EVERNEATH. But it's becoming a bit overwhelming, especially since a billion ARCs of EVERNEATH went out to bloggers last week. 

So I de-brodi-fied my computer. No alerts. No twitter phrase searches. No checking goodreads. 

And it felt GOOOOOOOD.

But then this morning, I turn on my computer in my study, and I realize I haven't de-Brodi-fied it. A twitter message from an EVERNEATH search pops up, saying something like:

"And then there's that one EVERNEATH. It's like they're not even trying anymore!"  
(I paraphrased, because I deleted the column before I could memorize it)

I hit the "delete search" as fast as I could, but the image of that tweet is burned on my brain, like bad porn. (Yes there is good porn and bad porn).

Now that phrase is infiltrating every aspect of my life.

I was in the shower and I forgot my face soap. I was all, "Mysterious tweeter was right. It's like I'm not even trying anymore!"

I went to put on my t-shirt/jeans combo that was on day five, and again, I was all, "I'm really NOT even trying anymore!"

I started writing this blog, and was all, "Why try anymore?"

Then Sam was noticing my extreme mania this morning, and he's all, "This is what you're like on a break from revisions? I'm not even going to try to understand the mechanics of your crazy anymore."

And I said, "I'm sorry you have to live with me."
He smiled and said, "I wouldn't not have it any other way."

Me: "Wouldn't not? WOULDN'T NOT? That's a double negative! That means you would have it any other way! It's like you're not even trying anymore!"

How about you? Would you not want me no other way? Or do you read my blog and think, "She's not not even not trying anymore!"

Since I have de-brodi-fied my online experience, if you want to get my attention with something nice to say, you can contact me through my "contact me" button on my blog. (Or of course leave a comment)

If you have something negative to say, please send an email to Sam. 

ADDED: I will still be on twitter, and participating in conversations, so feel free to @reply me anytime!

Can you Name That Literary Character? And Win an ARC of EVERNEATH!

So many things to get to today!


1. First off, my sis-in-law is giving away an ARC of EVERNEATH on her blog. The rules to enter are pretty easy and straightforward, so give it a go by clicking here.


2. Second, the winner of the signed copy of BACK WHEN YOU WERE EASIER TO LOVE and an EVERNEATH guitar pick necklace is...


ANGEL SNYDER!

Please email me with your mailing address. My email is brodiashton at gmail dot com.


Thanks for everyone who entered, and participated in the Facebook trivia contest. I mailed out like 24 necklaces over the weekend. :)


3. NAME THAT LITERARY CHARACTER


I went to a blogger/writer social on Friday night (hosted by Mary Campbell) and we played a game where you stick the name of a literary figure on your forehead and you have to ask questions to figure out who you got.


I figured out the literary figure on my forehead in three simple questions. See if you can guess as well:


Question 1: "Is it a male or female?"
answer: "Male."


Question 2: "Is he hot?"
answer: "Yes. Way hot."


Question 3: "Is he supernatural or just plain human?"
answer: "Plain human."


Can you guess the literary character? (Don't scroll down if you want to try.)
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;
;






Okay, so the answer was Fitzwilliam Darcy. Did anyone get it right? It was simple, really. All you have to know is "hot" and "not immortal".


4. It was my birthday yesterday.


Check out the gift my mom gave me:


Because nothing says "Happy thirty-somethingth Birthday!" like Katy Perry nail polish. I love my mom, and I'm grateful for the gift, but I just want to know the thought process behind it.


Was it: Hey! Brodi loves glitter! This looks perfect.


Or: Hey! Brodi wanted to be a Firecracker for Halloween one year!


or: Hey! Brodi has nails.


She also got me this sun hat:


I can only assume that in her mind, I'm either turning 12 or 80.


It's okay for me to say this. My mom doesn't read my blog. Don't tell her, okay?


I painted my nails:


For the record, the bottom coat is "Teenage Dream" and the top coat is "The One That Got Away."


So, what's everyone up to? I should be getting my "EVERNEATH 2: It's Everneath-ier" revision letter on Friday, so I'm trying to enjoy my last moments of freedom. 

Stupid Fortune Cookies that Didn't Live up to their Potential... and a Surprise from my Editor

I went to dinner the other night with writer peeps Bree Despain and Emily Wing Smith. It was Chinese food. After dinner, we opened our fortune cookies.

You know how fortune cookies are usually all, "Something amazing is coming your way!" or "People are talking about you right now... and it's good news!" or "Remember that thing you were worried about? Well, it's all better!"

This restaurant was different. The first fortune was pretty innocuous:
"Stick with it! Patience is crucial to your success."

Fine. It's sort of a mantra I'm already familiar with, but fine. Thanks for the reminder. It's not necessarily a guarantee of success, though, is it? Patience may or may not bring it, but you should be patient regardless. 

Fortune Cookie #2:
"You have remarkable power which you are not using."

This one sounds like it could be great: "You have remarkable power!"

But then it takes a dip: "...And you're squandering it."

So, really it sounds like my mother: Why can't you live up to your potential?

There's no hope in this one. There's no silver lining. No promises of, "But if you work on it, you could totally use all of your power!" No amount of patience will bring you success.

It's basically an indictment of you as a person. The fortune cookie has sentenced you, with no hope for bail.

Then there's Fortune Cookie #3:
"Never mess up an apology with an excuse."

So, not only do you have something to apologize for, you're messing it up by trying to excuse your crummy behavior. 

How about you, fortune cookie? You're not taking your own advice! You're using the excuse that you're a fortune cookie to spread your own misfortune that the only thing you're good for is to be eaten!

*deep breaths*

Now I'm sure my next fortune will read:

"Expect to be shouting at inanimate pastries in your very near future."

Then I can be all, "What do you know? Fortune cookies really do work!"

Thankfully I opened a more exciting package than the fortune cookie this weekend. The mailman dropped off a large padded envelope from my publisher.  When I opened it, I found this:


Yep. It was Rafa's new book, with a note from my editor! 

Suddenly, my fortune is looking bright. And tan. And a little bit muscular.  

By the way, Rafa is playing in the finals of the U.S. Open today against Novak Djokovic. Anyone watching? 

Anyone else have bad luck with fortunes? Give me some of your best bad fortunes! (Real or make-believe)

How You Can See some of my Pioneer Heritage in EVERNEATH... and The Dead Elvises have a Logo

Hey y'all. 


Sorry about the blog silence on Monday, but for those of you out of Utah, Monday was a state holiday where we celebrate the Pioneers...
This pic would be more accurate if it showed people dying. The plight of the pioneers was not a pleasant one.
... and the dude who looked over the Salt Lake Valley and said, in a large booming voice: "This here's the place. Let's put up some tents."
Brigham Young. And his sidekicks.
That guy in the middle is my great great great grandfather. Once a year, the Daughters of Brigham Young get together for lunch, and we divide ourselves up according to which wife we are descended from. 

I always sit with the other descendants of the "Third Wife from the Left"
If you've read EVERNEATH, you may notice a similarity between the Daughters of Brigham Young and another group in the book. There's some behind the scenes trivia for you!


To celebrate Pioneer Day, we set off firecrackers, just like the pioneers would wish us to do. Sometimes we dress as pioneers and walk down State Street.




Sometimes we dress as Bumble Bees.


You can almost hear the whispers of our ancestors saying, "That'll do, Pig. That'll do."


So, these are just some interesting tidbits about me and where I come from. 


A couple of things to mention:


1. My first ever podcast is up! 


Robison Wells (VARIANT from HarperCollins) and his cohorts Sarah Eden and Marion Jensen invited me to record two of their weekly podcasts at The Appendix.


In the first one, we discuss perseverance, editing, and other funny stuff. Shenanigans ensue. So, take a listen!


2. EVERNEATHY stuff:


In EVERNEATH, the immortals are part of a band, called THE DEAD ELVISES.  Well, my cousin's hubby drew me this:


www.tarlsscribbles.com
I heart it so much, I think I'm in love. In love long time. I keep thinking of all the things I want to do with it! T-shirts? Stickers? Tattoos? Toilet Paper? 


The possibilities are endless. 


What do you think? Isn't it cool? And... which wife are you descended from? 

Five Things About Me This Week: Including the World's Tallest Weed

Hey y'all.

1. I forgot to post the sneak peek teaser quote on EVERNEATH's facebook page. 

I am sorry. Thursdays are hard for me, because they are the only other day of the week that starts with the same letter as another day of the week, and so sometimes when it's Thursday, I wonder if it's really Tuesday...

Never mind. I just suck. It's up now if you want to check it out. (It's time to meet Nikki's best friend Jules)

2. Kid C said his prayers last night. 

He prayed that, "Grandpa will feel better, Japan will be able to clean itself up, and that the world will have no more wars... because I really hate wars... and that the world will have a great day."

So, Japan, if you're listening, try to clean yourself up a bit. 
Kid C. He's a pirate. With a stick. Doing Yoga.

3. For those of you new to the blog, you may not know I have an intense fear of "Plants that grow fast". 

One day, a vine grew through my wall... through my wall.... and I thought I was gonna die.

Yesterday I walked out to my backyard and discovered weeds that were taller than me. Okay, I'm exaggerating... its smallness. 

It was as tall as Sam. 
I don't know why he's looking forlornly off in the distance.

This says a couple of very disturbing things about me:

1. I am lazy.
2. I let an egregious amount of time pass between visits to my backyard.

So I did something I never do: I weeded. With a shovel. 
First dig of the day, I dug up a sprinkler line. It was a stubborn line too. I had to put the full force of my weight on the shovel before it came loose. I looked left, then right, and then - confident Sam didn't see me - nonchalantly shoved it back in place.

And that, my friends, is why I don't weed.

4. For Mother's Day, Sam bought me an iPad.
For Father's Day, I bought Sam a University of Utah t-shirt. 

Best. Wife. Ever. Am I right? 

High fives! Who's with me? *waits patiently*

*waits some more*

... Self Five!

5. The other day, I personalized an ARC of EVERNEATH for the winner of the contest (Lesli Lytle). 

I wrote in cursive, and apparently it's not like riding a bike, because I messed up quite a few times. And I had to subsequently scribble out a few mistakes.

Even on my Betsy Ross, I still flubbed up on the "o".
So, I will not be trying cursive in the future. And I'd love to have a tag line I can use for the signings. Here are some I'm considering:

1. Enjoy reading! Try not to end up in the Underworld!
-Brodi Ashton

2. Remember, there is no such thing as redemption, and there are no heroes!
-Brodi Ashton

3. Even if you're getting the life-force sucked out of you, try to see the cup as half full! 
-Brodi Ashton

4. Remember, it's never too late! But sometimes it is.
-Brodi Ashton

I don't know. Which one gets your vote? If any of you have read the book, feel free to help a girl out. 

*added: I forgot to mention this great "mini-review" of EVERNEATH. 

You tell me: Does it Bother You to Read about Puke?

Housekeeping:

1. The winner of the EVERNEATH arc is up on Debbie's and Windy's blogs. It's the first book I've ever signed, and I was a little nervous. Seriously, why would someone want my autograph? So, I embellished a little. 

Now, it's actually worth something.

2. Each Tuesday and Thursday, I will be posting exclusive quotes from EVERNEATH on the EVERNEATH facebook page. The first two quotes (introducing you to Nikki and Jack) are up. Scroll down the wall to find them. (I just saw I have 199 "likes". Quick! Go be #200!)

On to the post:

More Evidence a Critique Group is Invaluable

The other evening, we had a critique group, and I submitted my first couple of chapters. In them, one of the characters pukes. 

Here's where an astute critique group comes in. Bree Despain was very concerned about the puking. 

Bree: "But... where did it land."

me: "Where did what land?"

Bree: "The puke. I mean, you said it was 'firehose proportions'. Did it... spray everywhere?"

me: "I don't know. It was just puke."

Bree: "But then... she... talks afterward."

me: "Yeah?"

Bree: "I mean, does she have little bits of... puke stuck in her teeth?"

me: "Fine, I'll give her a piece of gum."

Bree: "But... then won't the gum have little bits of puke in it?"

me: "Fine. She can rinse her mouth out, and then she can chew the gum."

Bree: "And then... what about her nose-"

me: "She'll blow her nose!"
Bree: "And then you say some of it lands on that guy's shoe."

me: "Yeah..."

Bree: "I mean, that is just disgusting. And the smell..."

me: "Okay, how about this? When she feels it coming on, she leans over the railing of the porch, and cleanly pukes in the bush. The wind is blowing in the opposite direction, so there's no smell. After she pukes, she takes the garden hose, washes her mouth out, farmer-blows her nose, and then unwraps a piece of gum."

Bree (considering): "That doesn't seem very realistic."

me: "ARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!"

She's right though. The last thing I want people imagining when they read my book is the pungent smell of rancid puke. I mean, sure it's fine for the blog on a Friday morning. But in a book? Not so much. 

What do y'all think? 

I don't know about you, but when I'm at a movie, and I see the couple wake up in the morning... and kiss... in bed... all I can think is, "Hello! Disgusting morning breath!"  So I can totally see where she's coming from.

Thing #1 and Thing #1: the Jacob and Esau of Tomato Plants, and the Hairy Beast I met

Hey y'all. 

Before we get to the post, I'd like you to know EVERNEATH has a Facebook page! It's here: www.facebook.com/everneath

So, if you feel inclined, please stop on by and "like" the heck out of it. :)

And now, it's time for...

Thing #1 and Thing #1!

Thing #1

If tomato plants can ever be described as "crazy", this is the time.

Both of my tomato plants were planted at the same time, in similar pots, with similar soil, and equal water/sun exposure.

Yet look at them:
One of these plants is not like the other...
How does this happen?

Now, I could relate this to the publishing world (why does one story get published and another doesn't?) or the parenting world (why does one kid in the same gene pool and the same environment have issues and the other one doesn't?) but today, I'm thinking... they're just tomato plants.

Maybe there is no higher meaning.

Like any respectable ancient civilization, we took the weaker plant and sacrificed it to the gods by hurling it off a cliff, and yelling, "Only the strong survive! Viva la strong plants!"

Thing #1

This next one is indeed a THING. The other day, my cousins and I took our kids to the "This is the Place" Heritage Park.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the vernacular, "This is the Place" Heritage Park is so named because when Brigham Young arrived in the Salt Lake Valley with the pioneers, he said, "Let's make this a really long pit stop!"

The park is a mini-pioneer village, and it is filled with mini-pioneers. It is a place stuck in time, where traditional chores are valued...

Here you see two swarthy men performing the daily task of "Breaking Stick"
... Child Labor Laws are scarce...
"Mush, Tommy. MUSH!!"
... And the people are much larger than usual...
Here, we see giants riding an actual pioneer train.
We also caught a glimpse of one of the strangest animals I've ever seen:
It's kind of a mix of a cow and a horse. So, it's a "Corse", of course... or a "How". Either way, it's a hairy beast. 

What about y'all? Anyone doing anything fun for the holiday? Anyone know what this animal is? Anyone else worried that they've relaxed the restrictions on aerial fireworks, which basically means they've put surface-to-air missiles in the hands of thousands of 8-year-olds?

Have a great weekend!