Identity Crisis

So I think a lot of people define me by my red hair.  Why do I think this?  

It all started last semester...  (flashback)

Because of my schedule, I had many a morning that I hadn’t showered by the time I needed to head up to campus.  For a large chunk of the semester, my hair was large and chunky.  And long.  This caused for some wild manes when I didn’t get the chance to style it.  Solution?  I tamed them.  With hats!  Or beanies and a hood. 

In my many travails across campus, there have been a plethora of occasions in which I would hattedly walk right by people I knew quite well, make eye contact with them, and they would not realize that it was me.  Other days when I would see them, we would stop and have riveting conversations.  Sparks would fly.  Fireworks would work fires everywhere.  And what was the only difference between those times and these?  Visible hairiness.  I have also noticed that when I wear a normal hat with no hood, the recognition rate is about half-n-half.  Difference?  About half.  And the peeping forth of tufts of amber.

Now, I love my red hair.  I am quite proud of it.  There are few who likely possess my fondness of a red headdress.  But there’s more to me than just bodily features.  I’d appreciate it if you’d recognize that.

...but while you work on it, you’re welcome to gaze lovingly upon my flowing red locks.  Or forever.

Purgolfactory

I love springtime.  It is always at this point in the year where life takes on a new shape and new meaning.  Everything seems fresh, and rightfully so—many things are.  But there are a few things about spring that don’t seem fresh.  And for some reason I seem to smell them every time I walk across campus.  Especially here:

Behold!  Blossoming trees line the banks of this lovely sidewalk, creating an aesthetic masterpiece! But is it a beautiful spring visage or olfactory purgatory?  Or purgolfactory?

For some reason, the blossoms on these trees smell like something I can’t begin to describe that smells musty gross.  We will refer to them henceforth as ‘butt flowers.’  For some other reason, someone decided that these would be the ideal trees to plant all over the entirety of Provo, including the otherwise lovely campus of one Brigham Young University.  Normally, the sweet smell of spring blossoms enhances the springtime feeling of renewal.  Here, it only enhances the gag reflex.

In one of my classes we were asked which sense we would live without were we ever to be placed in a situation where we would lose one.  Smell.  Every time.  Especially with those trees.  The effect is even more overwhelming when combined with other potentially fatal scents.  Like man cologne.  The other day I was walking down this makeshift road to hell and noticed that I had a fellow traveler.  I was just on my way to class, but I quickly became aware as to why he was on the road to hell.  The dude smelled as powerful as an Abercrombie & Fitch store all by his lonesome.  The combination of his man odor with the butt flowers awoke within me the pains of a damned soul. Purgolfactory.
 

The BYU grounds crew does such a good job with most everything else.  What do you think it would take to get them to replace... oh... every tree on campus?  


But would they even stand a chance against the mighty forces of purgolfactory?