By the time we got to Banjar, my then-boyfriend (and still dear friend) Jesse and I had been in Indonesia for a couple of weeks. His Uncle and Aunt live there, in Banjar, on the northern coast of Bali. After spending those first few weeks in hostel bunks and eating more food stall fried noodles than could possibly be healthy, I was relishing the fresh market vegetables and steaming hot shower on offer. We had our own room with a big comfortable double bed, a pool out front, a

Part One: The Concert The Summer of 2018 was not the best I’ve ever had. I was going through an unexpected breakup, my job was boring me to death, and there were heat waves that left my bedroom at upwards of 95 degrees. I was feeling restless, lost and uncertain – my confidence low. So I did what I normally do when I’m feeling out of sync: I stayed busy. I started hiking on weekends, made loads of plans with friends, signed up for a few trail maintenance crews. The summer wen

I had the perfect city date-night on the books. One of my besties, Lori, and I had reservations at a restaurant I’d been wanting to try, dessert plans, and tickets for a show at The Doug Fir, a hip Portland music venue. It was a beautiful summer day and, being someone who doesn’t go out much anymore, I was feeling very cool. Dinner was delicious, dessert the same, and by the time we arrived at the show I was excited to grab a drink and dance. The headliner was Chad Valley, an

Love and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

For me, world-building is one of the greatest aspects of reading, but the images we translate with our own minds don’t always match what’s on the page. A person's life, what they’ve experienced up until whatever it is that they’re reading, impacts how the story plays out for them. I think that’s why film adaptations of a novel can attract such high levels of scrutiny – how does the page match the screen match your mind? This past Fall, in anticipation of the eagerly awaited f

It had been a rough day. At work, in general. Word back from an interview was past due, close friends were in the throes of relationship turmoil, one of my favorite temps at work relapsed and was fired from his job. I walked out of my building into the nearly-raining night feeling tired and a little bummed out. I made the two-block walk to my train stop in a bit of a daze, and was met with a wave of music. It’s not unusual for there to be buskers on the corner outside of Pion

Imagine a square-shaped stage. People sitting on the floor all around. With no introduction, around 20 diverse women stand grouped together at the edges. Slowly, one enters the stage, then two, sometimes 3 at a time. Sometimes a single woman again, and so on, until all are standing throughout, each of them facing different directions. All of the women are dressed in black with a white cloth wrapped around their hair. Suddenly, half of the group begins to rock forward while th

Okay, so maybe this particular Michael Jackson was an Italian imposter. But in makeup, a bright red jacket, white socks, and black loafers, he strutted around his small section of the square in a fairly successful imitation of the King of Pop. My classmates and I watched among a large half-circle of tourists – all taking photos or videos and occasionally staying long enough to drop a coin or bill into the performer’s hat when he passed it around the crowd. Until I started tra

Mozart’s The Magic Flute was my very first opera. I was in college at the time, still at BYU, and my boyfriend decided to surprise me with a trip to Salt Lake City. It was to be a night of firsts: my first opera, my first date with Luke outside of a bedroom or a BYU apartment, my first night in public where open affection was the rule of the day. Opera, to my delight, made Luke lower all his defenses against the world. Neither a night at the opera, nor Luke really, would have

When I mention I’m going to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival I often get a similar set of questions: When? Where? Do you, like, dress up? I can imagine people assembling a scene in their heads. Maybe a large field full of white tents. A long weekend of Elizabethan nerds in whimsical dress (I can say that, right? Since I fall into the category). Swords and/or jousting might be involved. In reality OSF is something of the opposite. The festival runs eight months out of the year