"Final Swing at the Books"

With all 7 of my autumn finals over (so NOT a holy number), 

I'm preparing for my last semester, here at BYU.
Yes. Already.
It's gonna pile up paloodles.

Once January hits, I'll climb back into my study hole
and lurk there until spring.
What business do I have taking SIX intense classes
and keeping my radio announcer job?!



I'll get breaks, though, by traveling during the semester:
Planning a trip to Hong Kong for fun-dles,
and Alabama {as a performer for Kami-Con}.



After tossing that graduation cap to the side,
I'll venture out and explore the world even more.
Paris, Munich, Chicago, Orlando...
Almost there!

{images © their respective owners}

"Radio Drama: My Old Man (うちの親爺)"

A radio drama my classmates and I recorded 

for our JAPAN 322 (short fiction) class.

My Old Man (うちの親爺) by ashleysmusic

Taylor: Narrator/Son
Noel: Father/Uncle
Me: Daughter

We translated the original Japanese story 

into (somewhat) coherent English.

I was editing this until 3am. @__@ #webettergetagoodgrade

"The Fox's Trick"

The Fox's Trick

キツネの技

~ Shimazaki Touson

Little fox hiding in the garden

In the evening when all are away, sneaks

Into the autumn shadows of the grape arbor

Secretly stealing a cluster of dew-tipped grapes

But my love is not a fox

Nor you the grapes, yet

In secret, with no one knowing,

My heart has stolen you

{images via WeHeartIt}

"Japanese Slip-Up of the Day"

Professor: 

"What are you trying to say?"

Me: 

"'kokoro ga ai de mera-mera shite mo', 
'Even if she's burning with love.'"

Professor: (laughing) 

"No, that's,
'Even if she explodes with combusting fire... in love.'"

Me: 

Japanese is HARD, friends.

"mera-mera" = "exploding in flames"
"mero-mero" = "falling in love"

Burn some incense for me.

{image via WeHeartIt; gif via Hetalia}

"Come At Me, Bro"

This summer, 

I have to finish the classes I began in Japan.

So I can like, graduate, or something.

First project:

Translate all my blog posts about life in Japan

into Japanese.

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

{images via WeHeartIt}

"2011 War of the Winter Semester"

"Fall seven times, get up eight." -Japanese Proverb

The epic battles of the 2011 War of Winter Semester are underway.

We will win this war, folks. I have faith in us all.

My progress on the battlefield:

New Testament: The Epistles VS. Ashley

Faced off at midday on the sixteenth of April.

Ashley slashed with a blade of religious upbringing.

New Testament: The Epistles ducked and rolled.

Ashley shot an arrow of symbol knowledge.

New Testament: The Epistles fell to its knees.

New Testament: The Epistles swung upwards with a timeline attack.

Ashley fell on her back.

New Testament: The Epistles stabbed with a sword of which prophet said this?

Ashley was K.O.d.

Human Development VS. Ashley

Faced off at the nineteenth hour on the sixteenth of April.
Ashley attacked with hours of studying.
Human Development's knees wobbled.
Ashley tornado kicked with I actually know this stuff.
Human Development collapsed.

Biology VS. Ashley

Faced off at the seventh hour on the eighteenth of April.
Ashley swung a mace of 3 study sessions.
Biology faltered to the edge.
Biology pounced with trick questions.
Ashley flew away on her glider of No, I really DO know this.
Biology fell to its certain death.

Japanese Linguistics VS. Ashley

Faced off at the seventh hour on the nineteenth of April.
Ashley shot a volley of study session fireballs.
Japanese Linguistics stumbled, but continued to charge.
Japanese Linguistics rammed with earlier in the semester questions.
Ashley swung wildly.
Japanese Linguistics whipped a syntax structure chain around her wrists.
Ashley struggled, pulling Japanese Linguistics over the edge with her.

Two more battles to go,
and this war will be decided.

{images via WeHeartIt}

{gifs via their respective owners}

"Completing JAPAN 302 in Two Weeks is Silly"

"Of course there's a lot of knowledge in universities: the freshmen bring a little in, the seniors don't take much away, so knowledge sort of accumulates..." -A. Lawrence Lowell

I've been a little busy lately.

Maybe if I rub my books all over my head

the kanji will stick to my brain.

It's worth a shot.

{image via here}

"Jeanelle Loves History"

Jeanie: "Good ol' Abraham Lincoln."

Me: "...Thomas Jefferson?"

Jeanie: "Same difference."

Jeanie: "Didn't we bomb Pearl Harbor? And isn't it in Japan?"

Jeanie: "How did they get there? I thought Egypt was in South America...?"

Jeanie: "Didn't George Washington give the Gettysburg Address from a canoe?"

Jeanie: "Russia is the big one at the top of the earth. So, Russia and the North Pole are the same thing, right?"

Jeanie: {After talking about Alexander the Great} But then Brutus just up and killed him!

This is a test of YOUR history knowledge. Can you tell what's wrong with each one?

Oh, how I love best friends. They keep you alive when life gets dull. :)

{Photos are public domain.}

"Thank Heaven for Friends"

"...when thou art come into the hand of thy friend... go, humble thyself, and make sure thy friend." -Proverbs 6:3

If it weren't for friends, I'd be stuck reading textbooks on Fridays.

{Oh, I mean... ahem.}

No, my grades are fine, promise.

...For now.

{tee hee}

{Music: "Living in a Bubble" by Eiffel 65}

Matt and Logan came over to play yesterday, and we had quite a rambunctious time.

And this morning, I was able to share couch cushions with even more wonderful people.

We ate delicious pancakes and watched General Conference together.

It was incredible. ♥

"Should've Brought a Fork"

{Image via Nik/Callioperose}

"The most common actions--a walk, a talk, solitude in one's own orchard--can be enhanced and lit up by the association of the mind." -Virginia Woolf (Montaigne)

In my Creative Writing class, we're exploring the art of recording the mundane.

The beauty of normality should be considered, says my teacher. And I agree.

But I'm still writing my fiction. Because I can.

This is an assignment I've worked on for the class, glorifying a typical morning in the life of me.

Please enjoy.

"Should've Brought a Fork"

by Ashley S. Harmon

Cramming the teal toothbrush between my teeth, I shot the mirror a savage look. Late mornings tended to dampen my ability to act civilized, even to myself.

Body washed of sleep. Hair baked to a crisp. Face painted for battle.

Now, I just needed breakfast.

I spat noisily into the sink and rinsed my mouth of the excess mint. Combating morning breath was never a joy, but in a civilized world, it was a must. Perhaps when I reached my senile years, I’d find an excuse to be stinky.

My feet found a pair of shoes and flung me to the kitchen. My hands snatched up portable snacks for lunch and stuffed them into my satchel. My arms swung wildly, desperately trying to balance my fast-flying legs in the morning rush. And then, all in unison, my limbs stopped moving.

I still needed breakfast.

Such a thought would fail to bring my body up short under normal circumstances. I made deciscions in the blink of an eye, reacted automatically to every surprise thrust into my face.

But today, I was out of spoons.

Yogurt or cereal, bread or granola? The wheels in my head whirred to life, scrambling to calculate every possibility in the least amount of time.

Cereal. I crave blueberries.

Ignoring my lack of the necessary utensil for eating such a thing, I dumped out a bowlful of my favorite morsels, drowned them in milk, and fled for the door, my satchel banging heavily against my thighs. I paused before exiting completely, debating whether to use my fingers or a fork to eat the bedeviled gruel. No, there wasn’t time to go back.

Just slurp it, I dictated before slamming the door.

I was well into my commute to the office when I noticed a major flaw in my plan. In the time it took to buckle in and beeline for the freeway, my beloved breakfast had sunk into a soggy clump. If I tried to tip back the bowl and swallow, I got a trickle of milk and a face full of mush.

Muttering to the steering wheel, I resigned to plucking out little pinches and jamming it between my lips before the milk could drip onto my pants. Driving with my knees, I dug my fingers into the sop and ate.

It was during my adaptation to the discomfort of sticky, cold fingers when another obstacle presented itself. I leaned forward, struggling to bump the radio’s power button with my elbow and failing with every waggle.

There I was, a prisoner to my breakfast. The seatbelt strapped me to the seat, the milk and cereal sullied my fingers, and the atmosphere was choked of human sound.

And it all could have been remedied if I only brought a fork.

Grating my teeth, I shoveled the rest of the grainy stew into my mouth and swallowed the lump. The empty bowl found an instant home on the passenger side floor. My fingers wedged into my mouth and were sucked of their stickiness. And the road became a little safer, my hands replacing my knees in steering the wheels.

I punched the radio on, settling into my seat as the comfort of human voices chased away my solitude.

Next time, I'd spare a second and grab a fork.