Longfellow's Christmas

Today I discovered this little gem from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's concert in 2008. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

Demon Washer

The past few weeks have been CRAZY. I won't spend time telling you about the horrifying amount of research papers I have had to write (approx. 50 pages due this last week) and the extreme number of personal statements I have composed (18 different ones), in addition to 20 hours of work and 19 credit hours. Whew! Just reading that makes me tired.

Suffice it to say, at times I have felt a little possessed.

Apparently, so does my washer.

The other day, I threw my clothes in the washer during the short 20-minute period that I had run home to change my clothes and grab some lunch before going to my other job. I didn't have time to put two loads in, so I just threw them all in together.

When I came out 10 minutes later, this is what I saw.


Here it is from another angle (please excuse the messy state of my kitchen):


Yes, folks, that washer used to be sitting right next to the dryer. Somehow it moved forward all the way and then, when it ran out of cord and couldn't go straight anymore, it turned a 90 degree angle. All by itself.

And that was when I knew my washer was possessed.

Things I've Eaten

With all the hype about delicious Thanksgiving dinners (mine sure was--who can go wrong with 10 pies, 3 turkeys, and a ham?), I thought I would throw up a few pictures of things I've eaten (pun intended). Some of them were pretty disgusting--while others only look disgusting. I'll leave it to you to guess which is which.

I think this one tops all in the category of looks. I was so terrified that this was either a-a plate of worms or b-a plate of baby snakes.

I used to think fish were disgusting--when this was brought out on my plate I was a little surprised. Now, though, I just crave whole fish (which, incidentally, are much easier to eat with chopsticks!!)

See my post on mansaf for details on this one.

A traditional Chinese New Year dinner--fish, bamboo shoots, cow stomach, shrimp, and several unidentifiable meat and vegetable dishes.

Frog legs.

Stinky tofu. That is the actual translation from the Chinese. And even though I said I wouldn't tell you which ones I liked (or learned to like) and which ones I didn't, I will just tell you now that stinky tofu (fried, boiled, baked) smells like an old diaper and has about the same consistency. They tell me it tastes better than it smells, but I never found that to be true...

This is some sort of Vietnamese seafood dish, with lots of tendrils of seafood--octopus, squid, shrimp, and some other things.

I never would have thought to put beans and fruit together on top of shaved ice before I lived in Taiwan...

Cow stomach in all of its glory.

They call this "hot pot." Isn't it cute that the little shrimp is staring at you?

This was an all-you-can-eat hot pot place. I usually just grabbed lots of squishy things and threw them all in together, so I'm not sure what any of these things are (besides the cabbage)...they were just squishy.

And despite the rather unattractive nature of this picture, I thought it would be fun to see fried squid in action.

i carry your heart with me

While we're on the subject of poetry, here is a gem by e. e. cummings:

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

I See the Stars

I wrote a poem for my creative writing class. (I actually wrote like 20...and still have to write more!) I kind of like it. Enjoy. (If you want to know what kind of poem it is--it is a Rondeau. One of the most famous Rondeaus? "In Flander's Fields.")

“I See the Stars”
I see the stars, the glittering skies
I hear the wind, a call to rise
My life of sin and death forsake
My soul once slept, but now awakes
A life of sin has turned from sighs

My heart is healed; I lift my eyes
To nature’s God, who did devise
My new life now, for mercy’s sake
I see the stars

A soul reborn, my old life dies
My heart to heaven upward flies
A life of love and peace to make
With God reconcile all mistakes
Conversion is my own surprise
I see the stars.

Macaroni and Cheese

When I was on my mission in Taiwan, I ate a lot of weird things. And sometimes I would get these cravings for American food--nothing fancy, just things like peanut butter and jam sandwiches or macaroni and cheese.

Ironic, I know, because for many missionaries that is all they eat on their missions.

One day my companion and I did a huge favor for the elders (which included riding our bikes and supplying them with water, maps, a knee brace, and a cell phone as they ran a marathon one preparation day). One of the elders had gotten a package from his mother, and in gratitude for us saving their lives he gave us a box of macaroni and cheese.

My companion and I were ecstatic.

We saved the macaroni and cheese for a very special day (actually just the one day in three months that we were at our apartment for lunch) and then made it.

It was delicious.

I swear I have never eaten such wonderful macaroni and cheese in my life. I wish I could show you the picture I took of it, but I must have taken it with my companion's camera because I can't find it. Just know that I dreamed about that macaroni and cheese for the rest of my mission.

Yesterday I was starving and, remembering the deliciousness of the macaroni and cheese from my mission, when I got home I made some macaroni and cheese. And I came to a startling conclusion.

I no longer love macaroni and cheese.

I think this is a sign of growing up--or just a sign of the decadence that I am able to indulge in while living in America. When macaroni and cheese tastes repulsive to me, I know I have too many options.

But don't worry, I still eat tuna on toast...

A Summer of Fun

This post is only a few months overdue. :) This summer I told myself I was not going to let the summer fun pass me by--after all, it had been two years since I had been in Provo in the summer, and I might not be back in Provo for a summer for a very, very long time.

I was taking a ridiculous number of classes and working, but that didn't stop me from exploring some beautiful hikes around Provo.

The first hike was to Battle Creek Falls: fun enough to do twice. The first time was with my roommate and her fiance.

Despite the look of pretended terror on my face, the hike was quite easy.

The best part about the hike? There is a waterfall less than a mile in. So just when you start to get tired or bored or the kids start crying, there you are at the waterfall.

Because it seemed like the perfect hike for a young married couple with a baby, I invited my sister and her husband and baby to come along the next time.

Peter was terrified of sitting in the baby carrier thing and cried for the first half of the hike, but he was quickly content when his mom broke out the food.

This is my favorite picture of the three of us. I think it really brings out my best feature--my left eye. :)

Early in May, some people from my ward decided it was time to take a road trip to Goblin Valley. I was game. I took my homework, fell in love with George Herbert's poetry (who, strangely enough, I hadn't encountered before--he took a seat next to John Donne on my list of favorite poets). My camera batteries died after about 5 minutes, so this is all you get.

Over the 24th of July weekend, I went with my sister up to Bear Lake. It was a dream.


And even though I don't have pictures, we can't forget about the Scottish Festival in Payson. I went with my roomate (the engaged one) and we explored my Scottish roots, found out that not only is my mother's Campbell side Scottish but my White ancestry also has Scottish roots. Unfortunately, my roommate didn't find any Scottish crest with "Borg," her last name. But we did eat funnel cake and listen to bagpipes. It was pretty awesome.

During finals week, my former roommates convinced me to go with them to pick raspberries at 6am. Then we bought the ones we picked and ate them. It was a pretty fun experience--nothing like an early morning hike through a raspberry farm in high heels before going to take a final. :)

Finally, early Labor Day morning my roommates and I hiked the Y. The best part, in my opinion, was this picture. I was pretty proud of myself.


Jealous of my summer of thrills?

Kerry from Taiwan falls in love with Provo

Wouldn't you fall in love with this too? My friend Kerry from Taiwan is studying here in Provo, and one day she told me that Provo is so boring and ugly. She missed Taiwan.

So I took her to Bridal Veil falls. Even though it was freezing and pouring rain, she fell in love with Provo.

Me too.

Creative Writing: The Piano Bench

I wrote this memoir for my Creative Writing class. My mother might dispute some of the details in the story. But this is how I remember it. Please look for irony, sarcasm, and my #1 trait of being stubborn. Enjoy. :)


I think I was born stubborn. This, of course, manifested itself in both good and bad ways. My mom often reminds me about the time I was three and learned to ride a bike. “Three-year-olds physically can’t ride two-wheelers,” she often says. “But you were not going to let that stop you!” She tells that story with pride as proof that I had the same stubborn tenacity as a child that has prefaced my collegiate work. However, there was nothing but frustration in her voice as she told me that summer day in my youth to “sit on the piano bench until you apologize to your sister.”

I was not going to apologize, I thought to myself as I settled down next to my sister on the piano bench. I was right! Although I don’t recall the specifics of the argument, it probably had something to do with the vacuum cleaner and our small staircase. My chore for the day was vacuuming, and my poor sister had most likely tried to pass me on the stairs while I was working. Some sort of argument had ensued, and my mother broke us up and set us on the piano bench. The details of the argument are hazy because what I remember are the long hours I was sitting on that bench.

My sister, never one to stay angry for long, apologized to me within 15 minutes and happily skipped off to finish her chores. I, however, was going to show my mother that I don’t apologize when I’m right. I knew that after a few hours, she would realize her folly and let me get off the bench. She might even excuse me from the rest of my chores because I had been wrongly accused!

Such was my childhood fantasy. I sat on that bench, angry, for several hours. The piano was conveniently situated in the middle of our small living room, between the staircase leading to the upstairs and the front door. Because of the placement of the piano, if anyone went anywhere in my house, they saw me on the piano bench. I had to endure several rounds of “Breanne, don’t you want to apologize?” from my mother as she walked back and forth with loads of laundry. “I don’t apologize when I’m right,” I thought to myself as I glared at her.

My mom, I think, had forgotten how stubborn I was—otherwise she would have given me a bigger punishment than just sitting. After several hours my mom gave me an order: “Apologize to your sister and finish the vacuuming.” I was relieved. Sitting on the piano bench was deathly boring and my back was starting to hurt. But I was also triumphant. As I muttered a half-hearted apology to my sister and finished the vacuuming, I laughed to myself because once again, I had won. I was more stubborn than my mother! I won the battle!

This story became a hallmark example of my stubborn tenacity. And through the years, I would remember this story, laugh, and continue with my determined, although sometimes defiant, pathway to greatness.

A Squished Spider in Shakespeare

I think we have already established the fact that I hate spiders. Really. I try to be adult-like most of the time, but spiders put me over the edge every time.

Even in my Shakespeare class.

Today we were sitting in class in a circle. I was sitting close to the wall, with my backpack sitting open in the chair behind me. One of my classmates was giving a presentation. We were all silent.

And then I saw movement on the wall out of the corner of my eye. I turned and saw a spider crawling quickly, almost over my open backpack. There was nothing else I could do. I was sitting next to the girl presenting and quickly said, "I'm going to squish a spider." (The whole class saw the spider at the same time I did.)

I quickly took off my shoe and slammed it, hard, against the wall. I then calmly put my shoe back on, apologized to the girl giving the presentation, and class went on. The laughing only lasted for about 30 seconds. :)

Taco Bell, round two

Remember snake girl from Taco Bell?

Well, today I went to Taco Bell at the Cougareat to grab some lunch. There were 10 students in line and twice that waiting for their food. Taco Bell goes through hundreds of customers everyday, and I just happen to be one of the million on an almost daily basis.

Anyway, at Taco Bell they usually ask for your name (although sometimes they ask for your favorite movie) and so today I was ready to give them my card and my name after ordering the chicken burrito, to go. But snake girl was my cashier and instead of asking what my name was, she said, "It's Breanne, right?"

I laughed and said, "I come here way too much." But actually, I think it was the snake incident that made me memorable...

Creative Writing and Me

I am in a creative writing class right now. You know what that means--even better blog entries! I thought I would put a few samples of my writing up of the more exciting stories throughout the semester. Round 1: a very short story.



The situation started innocently enough. The tense atmosphere in the Tel Aviv airport was no more than usual and perhaps a little mild, comparatively. The Israeli soldiers, most of them women, paced around questioning anyone who looked suspicious. In Tel Aviv, this was everyone who wasn’t Israeli, and even some who were. In such distressing times, security was more important than hospitality.

He was a German man, middle aged, and standing indiscriminately by his luggage. Perhaps it was his age or his impatient German manner, but the Israeli guard closest to us chose him for a random passport check. After looking through his passport, she began to question him. “Where are you going?” “Cairo,” he answered. “What will you be doing in Cairo?” The man, stifling his irritation, sighed. “I am attending a meeting of Lutheran church leaders for a week of training.”

His answers were short and impatient. Perhaps he didn’t know this was a dangerous combination in an Israeli airport, but he seemed eager to get his luggage searched (a standard procedure for all who fly out of Tel Aviv), checked, and into the boarding area. The guard, sensing his frustration, continued questioning in a methodical, condescending manner.

“Do you have an itinerary for your time in Cairo?”

“Yes,” he answered, “but it’s all in German,” seeming to hope that this language barrier was key to his quick escape into the boarding area.

“Can I see it?” The question was innocent enough, although her condescendingly sweet voice offered no explanation of why she would need to see the itinerary of this passenger, which was written in a language she did not speak.

By this time the man was visibly irritated. Other passengers close to him in line averted their eyes, trying to avoid the barrage of questions they would be assailed with if they showed too much interest.

“It’s in my luggage. Do you really want me to pull it out? It’s all in German.”

“Yes, please.” The Israeli soldier was insistent.

The man sighed heavily and pulled a small spiral bound booklet from his luggage. After handing it to the Israeli guard with a look that said, “See, it’s all in German,” she turned to him and said, opening to the middle, “Translate this for me.”

I nervously edged away, grateful it was my turn for my luggage to be searched. Since I was next to him in line, I was a prime target for questioning if I stood too close. I could still hear the man talking loudly as my luggage was being searched.

“It says that at this time we will have a meeting, at 12 we will eat lunch,…”
The soldier interrupted him. “What about this page?”

My luggage cleared, I quickly left the area. The atmosphere was so tense in line I didn’t even care when the male soldier searching my luggage had broken the perfume bottle I bought in Egypt. Even after he offered to get his supervisor to take care of the situation, I refused. I knew what would happen if he got his supervisor: “Where did you buy this perfume bottle?”

Texas Nephews

I actually only have one nephew in Texas. But the title seemed to flow better with nephew in the plural. And since I have blogged about my trip to Texas but nothing about the reason for going, I thought I would throw a few pictures up.

This is my nephew Talmage. Isn't he cute? His mom definitely thinks so (as do we all!) and posts an almost daily record of his progress on their blog (which we all appreciate Kaitlyn!). But as his aunt, I like to think I have bragging rights too. :)

Anyway, I was only able to visit my sister and her husband and son for two days--long enough for us to make a trip to the grocery store, make falafel, go to a garden-park in Houston, and stop by Coldstone (the highlight).

While there, Talmage decided he wanted ice cream faster than his mom was giving it to him. In a split second when his mom looked away, he grabbed the lid of her milkshake and threw it off, flipping ice cream everywhere. Then, with my sister distracted with trying to grab the lid and straw from him before he made too much of a mess, he grabbed for the milkshake with his other hand and stuck his hand in it, almost knocking the whole thing over.

My quick thinking saved the day. :)

He tried to look innocent

but the evidence was all over his face.

He thought it was pretty funny!

Population: Me

The other day I was driving to school. Yes, I live far enough away and I leave early enough and get home late enough that I justify driving to campus. And I was listening to an Evangelical Christian radio station. Sidenote: I really like listening to these Christian radio stations. First of all, I think it is a great way to reach out and understand people of other faiths. I like how they talk about family values and faith and God without feeling awkward about it. And a lot of the time I really like the songs they sing. What can I say, I love the Christian pop music scene.

And as I was driving and worrying about my oil, which I had just realized was leaking, and the traffic, which was clogging up around campus, and being late for class, I heard this song. And I thought, maybe God is trying to tell me something? Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

17 Minutes at the Alamo

While I was in Texas I drove out to Austin to visit UT-Austin (a possible future graduate school option) and then stayed that night at my friend Michelle's house in San Antonio (thanks Michelle and Chris!). I realized that I might not ever be in this close of proximity to that Alamo again and decided that I had to go see it.

As I exited the freeway and approached this historical monument, I looked down at the gas gauge and foud it to be nearly empty. Now wanting to search for parking and run out of gas in the middle of downtown San Antonio, and also not knowing exactly how many minutes I had before the tank was dry (because it was my brother-in-law's car), I began searching for a gas station. And searching. And finally, just when I thought the car would die for sure, I ran across this place:

It looked relatively safe (it had to be safe! It was right across from the cemetery)

so I hopped out and went to the pump. Unfortunately, this gas station was so ghetto that I had to go to the cashier to pay. And the gas station was a booth, with a cashier, some drinks and candy, and cigarettes inside of the booth. In order to pay for my gas before I could pump it I had to walk up to the window (see the woman bending over next to the window in the first picture?) and tell the cashier inside of the bullet-proof cracked glass that I wanted $20 of gas. I gave him my card and, since it was debit, I had to enter my pin. While I was wondering how I would ever do that, the side of the wall opened up with the key pad in it. I suddenly realized that if anyone needs to enter their pin, or if they buy anything, the cashier puts it in the "box" from his side and then shuts it on his side, which opens it up to the other side. Perhaps this is to keep the cashier (who was probably 5'11" and 250 pounds and didn't look like he needed defending!) safe?

Oh, and it wasn't intimidating at all that I was the only caucasion female there, and 7 police cars passed by in the 10 minutes I was there. I felt safe in the day, but I don't think I would recommend that place at night!

Anyway, back to the Alamo. I desperately wanted to see the Alamo, but I just as desperately didn't want to pay $10 for parking. I finally found a street meter two blocks away from the edifice, and after checking how much change I had with me I put it all in the meter.

All 35 cents. Which bought me exactly 17 minutes of parking time.

I walked swiftly (I would have run, but I am sure people would have thought I had just stolen something!) to the Alamo and, as proof, took pictures of the most important things there:
A door, of course

A cactus (an integral part of the Alamo!)

And the Alamo itself.


I then walked swiftly back to my car, unlocking it exactly 17 minutes after I put my coins in the meter. It reminded me of the time I went to the Egyptian Museum in Cairo and, after getting a short guided tour of the most important things, was given 30 minutes of free time. To see the whole Egyptian Museum (which is huge, by the way!). I was determined not to miss anything, and so literally ran through the whole museum looking at everything. I saw everything in that museum...but don't remember anything! Oh well, if it was there, I saw it!

It was probably a good thing that I didn't stay there for more than 17 minutes, because it didn't look like the safest place in town. I may or may not have parked 2 doors down from a bar with a creepy man standing outside keeping guard and watching me. And this was the building I parked next to:

And this was a cool picture I took out my window at the building just down the street:


Anyway, the Alamo is a lot smaller than I remembered from the 15-years-before when I had visited it for the first time. It was almost disappointing to go back as a big person and see how small it really was. And so I think 17 minutes at the Alamo was a perfect amount of time...

Road trip to Texas, round 2

I just got home from a road trip to Texas. It was ideal: drive out and fly back. That way, I got my "driving detox time" after summer term ended and before fall semester started, but I didn't go insane from too much time spent in the car by myself. It was much more chill (and safer!) than Road Trip to Texas, round 1 And best of all, I placed the trip under the guise of being incredibly kind and altruistic and driving a car out for my sister and brother-in-law, so I didn't even have to pay for gas. It was a dream.

A few highlights:

*Two days before I was supposed to leave and only a few hours after I had picked the car up, it started making a horrible screaming-clicking-knocking-thumping sound and broke down. Don't worry, after 4 hours Monday morning and a horrible experience at Certified Auto Repair in Provo (those guys are real jerks. I would only recommend them if you are looking for overpriced, shoddy service, and an encounter with certified jerks. But I might have been influenced by their motto, painted on the wall, which was, "Our desire is for your auto repair experience to be friendly and successful." How can you have a friendly experience? It was awkward grammar), I finally got out of Provo at 12 noon, only 6 hours later than I had planned.

*For some reason (involving a forgotten number password and a recent car repair), the radio and tape player do not work in the Saturn, the car I drove to Texas. 26 hours in the car with no music? I can barely even do 26 minutes in a car with no music! So we got an inverter and I brought along my cd player. I was listening to a book on tape, O Jerusalem (which is awesome, by the way), and in order that I might hear it over the roar of the car and the road and to keep it from continually skipping, I held the cd player on my lap. It was a thrill.

*I finally saw the Monticello temple.

*I stopped at a posh 2-star hotel in Albuquerque (Super 8) with free wi-fi. I walked into the hotel and said I needed to check in and the desk clerk said, "You're Breanne, right?" Shocked, I asked her how she knew, and she said, "You're the only one to check in tonight!" I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. They also put me in the handicapped room, which meant I had a bigger bathroom and a shower instead of a tub. The hotel, trying to be chic and up-to-date, had one of those curved shower curtain rods in the bathroom. (This is not THE shower curtain rod, but just an example I found on the internet. Of it installed correctly.)

However, they must have forgotten to read the installation instructions, because instead of the curve going out, allowing for more room and light in the shower, it went in. It was really awkward to try and avoid brushing against the shower curtain when it took up half of the shower. And I was going to take a picture, but I had left my camera in the car. So just try to imagine, and laugh.

*New Mexico is so much better to drive through late at night and early in the morning. I really timed it perfectly and instead of having to see hours of sun-baked ground for miles and miles, with nothing to disturb it except some trailers and an overturned car in a field, I drove through most of it at night and so didn't see anything but the freeway anyway. It was much more pleasant than last time, when I drove through NM in the middle of the day.

*Somewhere before Albuquerque, I drove around a bend in the freeway and saw, to my horror, a huge glowing-red building that looked, in the darkness, as though it was floating on nothing. It looked like the house of the devil himself, but was actually a casino. Or are those the same thing? Anyway, no picture, but know that after creeping me out just a little, it reminded me of this building in Jordan that I affectionately called the "Tower of Babel." It was actually a hotel, but looks like the real thing.


*Apparently in Texas it is entirely kosher to use the passing lane if you are going no more than one-mile-an-hour faster than the car in the right lane. And if it takes 5 minutes to pass three cars that's ok too, even if you have a line of cars behind you on a two-lane road.

*Remember my story about washing my car with the window-washing squeegees provided at gas stations? I found the perfect contraption for this somewhere in Texas.


Like I said, it was a dream. And I didn't feel once like I was about to die. More details about my time in Texas, including an exciting "17 minutes at the Alamo," to come.

Who moved my bread?

It's eight o'clock as I unlock the door to my apartment and stagger inside. After a long day of work, studying for the GRE, and preparing my Fulbright application, I'm starving. I haven't eaten since 1 pm. Too busy (and poor) to take an earlier dinner break, my thoughts now revolve around one single thing: a toasted cheese sandwich.

Cheese. Bread. That's all I want. That's actually all I have. In a fierce breakaway from the cereal addiction, I desire the only other food item I have in my fridge right now, and it's the only thing on my mind.

I walk to the fridge and open it to inspect its contents. I am surprised to see that it is overflowing with food items from Costco: a huge container of egg salad, 200 strawberries, 2 containers of pasta salad, and the largest packages of hamburger that I have ever seen. My roommate, the activities co-chair in her Asian ward, must have bought all this for an activity they will have in the (hopefully) near future. And it is all sitting on top of the small space in the fridge upon which my final two slices of bread used to reside.

Sighing, I bend down to search for my bread. I pull out the salad, heft the two huge rolls of ground beef (sick, I think to myself, as the blood runs along the inside of the clear plastic wrapping), and move the strawberries. No bread.

Oh no. Since moving to this apartment one week ago, I haven't been to the grocery store, and thus have only taken up one very small corner of the fridge. Milk, cheese, and bread. That's all I have. Thankfully a few days ago I moved my cheese to the "cheese drawer" and so it was spared the fridge invasion. However, my roommate, in making room for the huge packages of food, must have seen the two pieces of bread (end pieces, so worthless unless it's all you have) and decided it was time to throw them out.

Still hopeful, I check the top shelf. Three bowls of rice, olives, milk, and orange juice, but no bread. And with desperate hope that my bread somehow missed my first search, I check the bottom shelf one more time. Another round of the vegetable drawers (filled with carrots, even though my roommate doesn't like carrots...), the cheese drawer, and finally the freezer. No bread.

In desperation I start checking the cupboards and silverware drawers and finally, dejected, stand before the makeshift shelves of "pantry" food that belongs to my roommates. Maybe, just maybe, someone took the bread out of the fridge and put it on someone's shelf. My mouth watering and the hunger making me delirious, I finally give up and reach down to pull out my cereal box.

I look into the bowl as I pour my cereal in. On the bottom is painted the Chinese character for love. And I think to myself, good thing I love cereal...

Some of the best

Many of you know that I have taken a lot of photos the past few years. A lot. Here are a few of my favorites.

Taiwan






































Israel





























Jordan
















Egypt





















America