With your pen and notebook, you've blown me away.

If you care to read...

I was rifling through my old Opinion Writing class notebook and it made me laugh. (A shout-out goes to Nancy W.)

Things I secretly like.

I secretly like the smell of cigarette smoke in the winter. In the bitter cold, while walking through campus or a Salt Lake street. I don't like anything about smoking at all. I think it's a pretty nasty habit, and usually the smell makes me gag. But there's a certain brand of cigarette, when mixed with icy weather, that lends itself to a sense of comfort in my mind. I have no idea why. Maybe it's because of the record store. At one point, probably half the staff there smoked and I remember when Garrett would go outside and light up. I thought he might freeze and snap in half because he was so skinny. I would have kissed him right then and there in the snow and tasted his smoker mouth. I wish I would have. I wish I would have done a lot of things.

I also secretly enjoy the smell of the fumes in printmaking class. The ink being stretched thin over the plates. The rosin kept safe in the box, only to burst out through the seams when someone blasts compressed air through a little hole. The spray paint and propane torch. Oh, and the hard-ground being lushly painted over gleaming copper surfaces, like black molasses. And the less pungent soft-ground melting softly in the heat. And the mineral spirits used to clean off the ink from the plates-- I think this one is my favorite. It's also probably not very good for me to smell-- it's basically paint thinner. I love opening the bins of used, soiled rags and getting a whiff of the ink that has been carefully lifted up by oil and mineral spirits. It's the smell of hard work, passion, and a little insanity. I wonder what goes on those bins when no one's looking.