Thoughts From a Gun-Lover's Daughter:

When I was a little girl, I used to sit on my dad’s lap and play the most violent shoot ‘em up computer games. My hand would be on the joystick and together we would shoot and kill hundreds of monsters that exploded into blood and gore and a pile of bones on the pixilated screen. I adored my dad and I adored those lazy Sundays playing Doom with him. When I was a bit older, he took me to the real shooting range. Before I entered fourth grade, I could hit the bull’s-eye of a gun target at 25 yards. I was a tiny girl, but I was a mean shot with a .22 handgun.

Thus, I was raised to be the gun-loving daughter of a vehement NRA member. And while my dad loves target shooting, he never hunts. He is harmless and even-tempered. But he loves guns. And I loved guns because they strengthened our bond.

Despite my childhood, I am a fervent supporter of gun control. The argument that “people who kill people, not guns” is plausible; but I would argue that guns make killing easier. The FBI reported that firearms executed two-thirds of homicides and one-half of suicides in 2011. A study by the Harvard School of Public Health reported statistical evidence that wherever there are more firearms there are more homicides. Violent crimes are often committed out of passion and opportunity. Thus, if guns are easily accessible, then crime is easily perpetrated. Building a cumbersome wall around dangerous opportunity is vital to reducing crime. The most determined criminal may resort to other means, but if violent crimes can only be accomplished through intricate planning, the average criminal will be deterred.

Moreover, the argument against gun control hinges on the Constitution. The Second Amendment—the right to bear arms—is the crutch on which the entire anti-gun control argument leans. But why? The Constitution is not canon and so it should not be treated as such. The Second Amendment was written in 1791; certainly times have changed since our forefathers drafted those words. Also, if there is consensual agreement that bearing arms is a human right, it must be noted that human rights are still subject to stipulations. Even our right to free speech comes with an asterisk on slander and libel. Gun control regulations, like mental health background checks and restrictions on the types of firearms, do not mutilate our founding fathers’ vision for a free country.

If we count the number of massacres in our country beginning with the tragedy at Columbine and end with the most recent at Sandy Hook Elementary, the numbers are astounding in relation to the rest of the developed world. When we compare the United States to countries that have similar cultures and comparable levels of security, like Canada, Australia, and the United Kingdom, our murder rates are off the charts. The difference is their laws; it is either impossible or very difficult to own firearms in these countries. However, it took devastating shootings for these countries to institute gun laws. In Australia, a massacre in 1996 that killed 35 people was the final straw. Within weeks, its government passed gun reform laws that banned assault weapons and tightened licensing. And the laws worked. Firearm homicides in Australia have dropped by 59 percent from 1995 to 2006. I ask, what magnitude of massacre will induce the United States to reform its laws?

There is a plethora of studies and counter-studies and counter-counter-studies that argue statistics back and forth endlessly. However, instead of politicizing the argument, we need to take off our blinders and realize there is a problem. The United States has the highest rate of mass shootings in the developed world, a murder rate that is 15 times that of other wealthy countries, and 2012 saw the highest number of shooting causalities in decades. And in none of these cases was there a civilian who fired back.

If an infectious disease were ravaging our country’s children, the public and the government would do everything in their power to stop the epidemic. Even if extreme religious groups who believed only in faith healing were protesting modern medicine, the CDC and every top research university would disregard and scorn their protest and continue to look for a cure. The faith healers would have a right to their belief, but society always has a greater right to protect its people. A cure would be found and given to every child in the country. Should not it be the same case with gun control? Guns are killing children. The status quo is failing. We need further restrictions. We need it to be extremely hard to buy a gun so that sane, pacifist people like my dad can still enjoy his weekend clay pigeon shooting, but people like Adam Lanza never harm anyone again.

--- An article submitted and printed in the January issue of Brigham Young University's student run paper, the Political Review.

Landed a super cool internship for only super smart cool people like me:

It's time I publicly announced my upcoming internship in Washington D.C. for next semester (January-April). I have been hired as a research assistant at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars. The Wilson Center is a prestigious research organization (rated among the top fifteen think tanks in the world) where permanent scholars and visiting scholars study various topics, mostly related to international relations. However, it has numerous departments varying in all different subject areas. Their mission, as noted by their website, is “to commemorate the ideals and concerns of Woodrow Wilson by: providing a link between the world of ideas and the world of policy; and fostering research, study, discussion, and collaboration among a full spectrum of individuals concerned with policy and scholarship in national and world affairs.”

See more here: http://www.wilsoncenter.org/

I will be working as a personal research assistant to two visiting fellows. When they hired me, they gave me a list of five scholars to choose from and naturally I selected the two women. They are both intelligent, distinguished, ambitious women with top credentials.

Alison Brysk. She is a professor of global governance and international studies at UC Santa Barbara. Her research specialities include human rights, law, foreign policy, and female empowerment. Her project at the Wilson Center to which I will be contributing is titled: "Women's Rights as Human Rights: Constructing Political Will."

More here: http://www.wilsoncenter.org/staff/alison-brysk


Erica Marat. She is an expert in security studies of Central Asia, with specific interests in military effectiveness, state-building, defense, nationalism and identity, and political Islam. She has traveled widely, attended graduate school in Central Asia, and currently teaches at Georgetown. Her projects is titled: "Reforming Police Forces in Postcommunist Countries: International Efforts, Domestic Heroes."

More here: http://www.wilsoncenter.org/staff/erica-marat

Finally, the Wilson Center itself. It is part of the Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center-- an impressive, expansive, stone complex near the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue. It's beautiful. Here are pictures:

More here: Google Plus Photos

Needless to say, but I'm excited. One step closer to being powerful and important. And one step closer to marrying my rich Senator of a husband.

My kind of man:

For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of seeing this. Watch.

Life Advice for a Budding Adult:

As I am a young adult in a stage of flux and decision-making, those older than me feel the need to bestow their sage words of life wisdom upon me. It's actually kind of nice, when it's not annoying. At school, I have attended numerous lectures on campus given by successful people who love to tell us youthful, inexperienced, ignorant college students how to "make it." Most of it goes in one ear and out the other because I am either already aware or because I am too overwhelmed.

However, recently one of my very favorite professors offered three things to do every day to be successful and happy in life. I love them. I am going to remember his words forever.

He said, every day to make sure to:

1. Engage the Lord.
2. Engage His children.
3. Engage your dreams.

I think that adequately sums up how to be happy and fulfilled. So thank you, Dr. Kirkham.

Dear You:

It was really hard to concentrate on your presentation about the disenfranchised West Papuans of Indonesia in class yesterday when there was 6'4" of perfectly formed man in front of me. Seriously. How have I not seen you before? Do you come to class? Or are you too beautiful for class? I would agree with the latter. Your flawless mocha brown skin, your dark illegal scruff, your impressive tribal tattoos, your straight, defined jawline, your well-muscled, but not bulky body... let's face it, you're perfect. And completely out of my league. It makes sense that you're on the football team. I mean, I wouldn't have known that except for my post-class facebook/internet stalking. I guess you're really good too. Not that I'm into sports or anything, but I could be. For you, I could be.

Thanks to God for making you.

Love and Marriage:

My facebook is constantly overflowing with disgustingly cute couples. There are engagement pictures in the woods, wedding pictures outside the temple, and kissing pictures on the beach. There is so much gross happiness, it makes me sick and jealous at the same time. And I think, you know what maybe I should get married. Because the idea of getting to wear a glamorous white dress and have everyone fawn over me for a couple of days sounds wonderful. Also, a glittery diamond on my hand would be lovely. All those things sound nice.

But then I think... better not.

I want to be just me for a while longer. Give it a few more years (or a decade), okay people. And I'm obviously not ready when all I care about is getting to wear a pretty pretty princess dress.

I Have a New Girl Crush:

I've been watching a new show. It's called Party Animals and despite the misleading title, it's more about politics than it is about parties. Political parties, yes. Party parties, no. It's about interns who work for British MPs in London and have to juggle work, love, and friendships. I like it because I pretend that it's me running frantic around the parliament buildings, writing speeches, and doing research for Britain's top politicians. Anyways, to get to the point. I have a new girl crush: Shelley Conn.

She's beautiful and I half want to be her, half want to be with her.

Also, Matt Smith is in the show, just so you all know.

Aspiring foodie:

Last week, I went to the local grocery store chain in Provo, Utah to pick up some essentials: rice, olive oil, salsa, milk, cheese, produce, etc. The place is called Smith's and if you go late on a Saturday night in sweats and messy hair you will likely see everyone from your dreaded TA, to fellow students you know you know, but can't remember how, to former lovers, to, if you're real lucky, current crushes. Sometimes you say hi, sometimes you pretend to not see them. Either way, at the end of the night you make a quick vow to never go to the grocery store again in your oversized, bleach-stained high school swimming t-shirt. Until it's next week and you're out of milk and once again you're too lazy to change out of your leggings or put makeup on that pesky pimple.

However, this post isn't about seeing tall, dark, and handsome while perusing the yogurt section and looking like a bag lady, it's about how even though I live on an extremely meager student income, I still impractically insist on being a food snob and buying the most expensive products. Let's just say, I'm not very good at being poor.

First of all, rice. The other day I was scouring the shelves for rice. And all I could find was bags upon bags of cheap long-grain or medium-grain rice. What is this? Where is the jasmine rice? Who stocks these shelves? I looked harder. I found a few specialty bags of basmati rice. Okay, that's great and all if I want to make Indian food. But I don't. I want jasmine rice. Finally, packed away in the corner, I found a very small, very elite, very overpriced bag of jasmine. And I bought it.

Olive oil. I blame my mom for making me an olive oil snob. You can't just buy store brand oil olive, I don't care where it says it comes from. Also, American olive oil is out of the question. So the olives are grown in Napa, California which has the exact same climate as Tuscany? I don't care. I want real Italian, extra-virgin olive oil. The end.

Cheese. Maybe it's my northwest heritage or maybe I'm just an elitist, high-maintenance prick, but I will only ever buy Tillamook cheese. It's just better, you guys. The taste, the texture, the everything. I want my Tillamook cheese or I want nothing.

While I may be a food/brand/quality snob, I also know that my food tastes pretty excellent because of it. So even though I'm poor poor poor, I'm not going to apologize for it. Or stop.

If it's Important to you, then it's Important to God, Right?

Last night Jim asked a sincere, worried question to my father, "Will there be pots and pans during the millennium?"

Nearly Healthy and Happy:

First of all, I'm a little embarrassed about my last post and how pessimistic it is. I thought about deleting it. However, it is a post I wrote during a dark moment and it displays honest feelings. I am not going to apologize for it. In fact, that little depressing post just reinforces how far I've come physically--and mentally--in the last three weeks.

In short, the last trip to the hospital was successful. Successful in that they diagnosed a problem and fixed it. From my recent tenure in the medical world, I can tell you that that is a rare thing. I had a bad case of gastritis and gastroparesis. Basically, my stomach stopped functioning. It is a common side effect of this surgery--about 40% of patients experience similar stomach issues. It's likely that I had gastritis for weeks and that was the cause of feeling so sick for so long. (I kind of wish they had caught it sooner, right?) However, a regimen of Prilosec counters the inflammation quickly. Within a few days, I was feeling much, much better. And now I cannot even describe to you the transition I've experienced the last few weeks. I am feeling myself again. I am feeling optimistic and happy. I am not throwing up daily--or more--and I've started to gain the fifteen pounds I lost back. Life is clearly looking up.

Since I'm feeling better than to merely lay on the couch watching Alias all day, I am feeling the effects of being stuck at home in the middle of the summer with no job and with hardly any friends. It literally feels like I haven't seen anyone outside my immediate family for weeks. To say the least, I am looking forward to returning to school in a month.

Thank you, thank you for your love over the last three months. You know who you are. Even the smallest texts asking about my welfare have meant so much. I am frankly embarrassed about the outpouring of love and concern. I feel embarrassed talking about my health, but I know that you ask and you read this because you care and that's why I continue to post. However, I have committed to myself to make this my last post about my pancreatic saga. The surgery is over. I am finally healing well. The likelihood of a return is minimal. Therefore, I am moving on. The blog will return to posts about other aspects of my life and probably to some posts about cats. Which means that I will likely lose all the readers I've gained during this event. But that's okay. I like it better that way.

To end and to finalize the close of this event, here is a picture of my very first day out of surgery and in the ICU. I know I should probably be embarrassed about this photo, but it kind of makes me laugh. And laugh in a oh-my-gosh-that's-so-sad way. Only hours after coming out of the operating room, the physical therapist came in and made me sit up in bed, stand up, and then move to the chair. I first told her there was no way I was moving, let alone bending to sit up when I had been cut into only hours before. I cried. She was relentless. And I finally did it. It was painful. In this picture, you can see the what I had going on those first few days. Including a lovely drain coming out of my nose. Also, you can see how plumped and fatty my little body was due to heavy IV fluids. Yes, this picture is both embarrassing and sad, but for me, looking at it now, twelve weeks later, it's closure.