War Paint

No I did not go paintballing,
nor did I try to tie dye my body.

No I did not go to 'Color Me Mine,'
nor did I make a mess coloring easter eggs.

No I did not cross the border illegally,
nor did I try to turn myself into an avatar.

No I did not paint my face to fight in the war,
and no I definitely did not mimic Tobias by trying to enter the blue man group.



Though all of those are probable scenarios of what could have happened to my face, I must admit that I simply drove twenty minutes to Spanish Fork, Utah with a car full of friends for the annual festival of colors.



For college students throughout Utah, this day is comparable to their wedding/graduation/christmas.

It is anticipated for months and the people come in thousands (over 20,000 this year), being forced to park five miles away from the hindu temple.

I have asked many people what their favorite memory from BYU is, and nine out of ten times, they usually say "the festival of colors."

It is either that fun, or it proves the lack of entertainment in Provo. You make the call.



Where else do you get to feed llamas, eat Indian curry, buy six different colors of chalk/paint and throw them into the air, while chanting pagan songs?

I can't think of anything else like it nor have I experienced anything as insane.



It is one of the highlights of the semester and even though I felt like I was going to die for a whole minute, it was worth it.

The fish tacos from the newly opened Rubios, helped force the chalk even further down my throat. Delicious.




Cheers to paint, colored snot, dyed hair and pagan festivals.