Rockstar Advertisements

These are the advertisements that I created for my Communications 230 class at Brigham Young University. My group's product was Rockstar Energy Drinks and our objective was to diversify Rockstar from the other types of energy drinks.

English Blog Assessment

 This semester at Brigham Young, I've had the opportunity to attend a Freshmen English class. In this class, I was asked to make a blog and post periodically. I've greatly enjoyed the assignment and have used it as a way to share some of my feelings. It has helped me to realize my thoughts and share them with others.

If I had the chance, I'd do it again. In fact, I'll keep this blog going and continue to build a portfolio.

It's a Beautiful Life.

 I'm sitting here in the CougarEat listening to a jazz band play Christmas songs while I eat a scrumptious Turkey sandwich. How could life get any better?

I think most times I fail to sit back and "smell the roses." I have such a blessed life and I should be happy all the time.

Procrastination

Procrastination is the name of the game.


Although we may think we're keeping up during the semester, we fail to realize the work load that comes at the end.

With projects, papers, and finals, as University students, we find ourselves over whelmed at the end of the semester. Even the best of students aren't perfect at doing their work beforehand, because throughout the semester, we had a constant pace of work. Not anymore. The time has come for the overhaul.

The time has come for Finals.

Sorry, I don't have much time for this post. I need to go finish a project...

Philmont Finished

            The breeze swept my face lightly on that mild summer day, as we continued the gruesome hike across the New Mexican mountains. The day was a beautiful one, garnished by birds chirping and the sounds of authentic wildlife. A ninety mile hike had never seemed so hard, and yet so peaceful. Fortunately, water bottles were available and none of us were deathly ill, yet.

Our scout troop from San Antonio, Texas had decided two years earlier to go to Philmont High Adventure Camp. We had prepared over those two years for a two week hiking extravaganza that would soon kick our butts. Averaging 7.5 miles with a 40 pound backpack would prove a lot harder than it seemed.

             In our troop, there were 5 scouts and 3 leaders that attended, all ranging in ability and athleticism. Some were marathon runners while others played the trumpet. One was a weight lifter while another was an accountant. From San Antonio to Philmont, we drove from 700 to 10,000 feet above sea level in elevation. Altitude sickness would be a key player in the trek.

“Bishop, I’m not feeling too good,” is never a phrase that a boy wants to hear from his father, especially at the beginning of a 90 mile hiking adventure. I sat by idly and listened as my Dad and my bishop who happened to be a physician spoke. Mumbles came, and at the end, I heard the words “altitude sickness.” My father suffered the whole trek with a sickness that couldn’t be cured. One day ended up especially bad.

            We had been hiking since five a.m. and now it was noon. The Sun was beating down and one of the scouts had wimped out, refusing to go any further with his backpack, so the rest of us split up his stuff and carried his pack for him. The steep incline of the mountain had seemed especially difficult this day, as we had no downward hike. Brandon and Marshall had gone ahead, leaving me about 100 yards back and the rest of them close behind. The water supply had been exhausted and we found ourselves in a bit of a tight spot. I was all alone, walking and thinking of girls left at home. Time seemed to stand still as I reflected on my sixteen year old life...

               ...Where were the others? Reality set in as I found myself completely alone. Looking up and down the path, I could see no one. I couldn’t catch up to Brandon and Marshall, so I decided to backtrack down the mountain to find the others. After about ten minutes of descending, I found them. They were towards the side of the path with what looked like a tarp covering one of them. As I walked closer, I found that my dad was on the ground under the tarp. His eyes were closed and I knew something was wrong.

                “What happened to my Dad,” I asked with a trembling voice. Bishop Parsons spoke up, “he is... well...” My mind raced for the worst. Had something tragic happened? Was he still alive? Reality set in as the bishop finished his sentence.

                “He is resting from the altitude sickness, but we are severely out of water. Do you have any?” My mind raced as I thought about my primary water supply. “I don’t have much, but you can have it.” The few ounces I had left ended up moistening my father’s dry and chapped mouth. (Later that night, upon looking through my backpack, I would find two unopened nalgene bottles full of water.) After waiting by his side for what seemed like at least an hour, the other leader suggested we wake my Dad and move on.

                We started up the mountain and were met by Marshall and Brandon, who had turned back when the lack of our presence was noticed. By this point, I was carrying my backpack with that other kid’s stuff and most of my father’s pack. I was downtrodden and weak. I felt close to fainting and couldn’t have continued, had it not been for Brandon.

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Brandon had come back for us and showed his compassion by taking most of my load. He had literally lifted my burdens. I no longer had to imagine an application to that scripture, but had an actual experience.

               Brandon had been my personal Saviour on the mount. I came to love both him and my Messiah a lot more that day as Brandon delivered water to my father. Brandon had shown a Christlike love that I will never forget. My father recovered and the day was saved. Peaceful times came once again to Philmont.

Family and Philmont

 This is my unfinished personal narrative.

    The breeze lightly swept my face on that mild summer day, as we continued the gruesome hike across the New Mexican mountains. The day was a beautiful one, garnished by birds chirping and the sounds of authentic wildlife. A ninety mile hike had never seemed so hard, and yet so peaceful. Fortunately, water bottles were available and none of us were deathly ill, yet.
    Our scout troop from San Antonio, Texas had decided two years earlier to go to Philmont High Adventure Camp. We had prepared over those two years for a two week hiking extravaganza that would soon kick our butts. Averaging 7.5 miles with a 40 pound backpack would prove a lot harder than it seemed.
    In our troop, there were 5 scouts that attended and 3 leaders, all ranging in abilities and athleticism. Some were marathon runners while others played the trumpet. One was a weight lifter while another was an accountant. From San Antonio to Philmont, we drove from 700 to 10,000 feet above sea level in elevation. Altitude sickness would be a key player in the trek.
    “Bishop, I’m not feeling too good,” is never what a boy wants to hear from his father, especially at the beginning of a 90 mile hiking adventure. I idly sat by and listened as my Dad and my bishop who happened to be a physician spoke. Mumbles came, and at the end, I heard the words “altitude sickness.” My father suffered the whole trek with a sickness that couldn’t be cured. One day ended up especially bad.
    We had been hiking since five a.m. and now it was noon. The Sun was beating down and one of the scouts had wimped out, refusing to go any further with his backpack, so the rest of us split up his stuff and carried his pack for him. The steep incline of the mountain had seemed especially difficult this day, as we had no downward hike. Brandon and Marshall had gone ahead, leaving me about 100 yards back and the rest of them close behind. The water supply had been exhausted and we found ourselves in a bit of a tight spot. I was all alone, walking and thinking of girls left at home. Time seemed to stand still as I reflected on my sixteen year old life...
    ...Where were the others? Reality set in as I found myself completely alone. Looking up and down the path, I could see no one. I couldn’t catch up to Brandon and Marshall, so I decided to backtrack down the mountain to find the others. After about ten minutes of descending, I found them. They were towards the side of the path with what looked like a tarp covering one of them. As I walked closer, I found that my dad was on the ground under the tarp. His eyes were closed and I knew something was wrong.
    “What happened to my Dad,” I asked with a trembling voice. Bishop Parsons spoke up, “he is... well...” My mind raced for the worst. Had something tragic happened? Was he still alive? Reality set in as the bishop finished his sentence.
    “He is resting from the altitude sickness, but we are severely out of water. Do you have any?” My mind raced as I thought about my primary water supply. “I don’t have much, but you can have it.”