Trip

Well, I figured I better write something because my last post is entitled "recent thoughts" and after about 2 weeks or so that title went from descriptive to dishonest.

I've been pretty busy lately. I turned 29, went to the San Diego Zoo, traveled across the country to Massachusetts, New York, Connecticut, and Rhode Island...and I visited the famous places at each of those locations.

I'm actually preparing right now for a meeting with someone at the Harvard Graduate school. I have an appointment to talk to one of their admissions counselors. It seems like, should I choose to attend, it would be relatively easy to get into the program. I looked over the admissions averages and I'm way above the norm in just about every area.

Of course, that is no guarantee. Depending on the needs of the program, the applicant pool, and many intangible preferences of the admissions committee, I might not get in. But, all things considered, the odds are in my favor should I choose to go.

One very beneficial thing about this trip is that it has given me the chance to look at the law schools around here that I'd be attending if I decide to become a lawyer. It has been very helpful to walk the campuses and see the people in the different programs. It has taken the idea of law school from some vague idea and made it concrete. I now feel like I have at least a vague notion of what my life would be like should I choose that path.

As of now, I think the idea is still shelved. I have a few options that I think fit me better and I'm going to give them a shot. If, in a few years, I don't think I made the right choice I can always redirect my career then. And If I do redirect my career I'll have the added experience of working in business to complement my resume.

The funny thing about this trip is that probably one of the most memorable things I've seen happened just a few miles from my friends apartment...and the event itself was really mundane. What I saw was a couple playing frisbee. But it wasn't just any game of frisbee. It was the worst game of frisbee every played.

Let me paint the picture for you.

Both frisbee participants were tiny people. I would give their nationality, but that would make me sound racist. All you need to know is that they were small, physically uncoordinated, and wearing bright clothing better suited for an anime character. Well, now I think I might have outed their nationality, but hey, I tried.

Anyway, moving on. So, they were playing frisbee. And what a game of frisbee. The guy would stand there legs very far apart with his hands up in front of him like pincers. He would open and close his hands in anticipation. The girl he was playing with would psych herself up with a few hesitant fake throws. When she finally summoned her courage she'd toss the frisbee....horribly. It would veer any direction but straight. But luckily, the little man was ready. He'd burst into frenetic action and hustle like crazy to make sure that frisbee didn't touch the ground....only problem was he wasn't very fast. For all his energy, he never bent his knees. So, he'd wobble from side to side like a midget on stilts...or like Forrest Gump when he had those metal braces on his legs, and by the time he reached the frisbee it was already comfortably resting on the grass.

The sweet thing was his lady didn't care. She would cheer on his vigorous hobbling with similar enthusiasm.

The whole picture was very strange. It was very uncanny valley. They were doing something mundane, but in such a strange and horribly inept way that it looked foreign. It's like they were trying to get used to gravity, or like they were the inept creation a novice cartoonist.

I video taped part of their exchange. When I pull it off my phone I'll post it here.

Well, I better get going. Hope you all have a great day.

Recent Thoughts

Here are three things I've thought about recently:

1) They should make an app that takes pictures of Jelly Bellies, scans them, and then tells you the flavor. I really like most Jelly Bellies, but I can never tell what I'm going to get when I bite into one. Also, I can't really use complimentary flavors when I am eating them blindly. I eat watermelon, then cherry, and I'm going strong on a fruit theme....and then BAM! Coffee flavor!

I think there is probably an optimal order to eating Jelly Bellies...with each flavor building off the last in an orderly and increasingly delicious way...but right now this is just conjecture. If someone has given this some thought let me know.

And all you computer programmers get on this app, please. I think the Google goggles app would be a good framework to build from.

2) Easter egg hunts are a microcosm of capitalism. When the hunt starts you have to rely on your wits, creativity, and speed for success... and you have to pit these virtues against your competitors. Success is for the person who wants and works the hardest, and who has the skills to make their ambitions real.

But, sadly, there is a downside to the thrill of competition: Some people won't get as many eggs. These unfortunate souls sit sadly on the sidelines...in some corner with their sad, solitary Cadbury egg. They sit there wondering why they can't compete, and with nothing more than empty calories to console them.

This past Easter we had a predetermined amount of eggs for each family member. Everyone benefited the same from their search, regardless of effort. This meant everyone wandered aimlessly around the house without any drive or excitement. This is bad. This is what happens when big government (in this case my parents...sorry Mom and Dad) step in and kill the drive to excel by rewarding mediocrity.

There is no easy Easter egg distribution solution. The invisible hand favors the fastest and most aggressive Easter egg hunters, and it gives the invisible finger to the slow and the passive. Perhaps a combination of free market eggs and control? Maybe if we had an egg threshold and upon reaching that high threshold you paid a tax on your future findings, or perhaps a flat tax for everyone to be distributed to the neediest amongst us, or perhaps everyone gets a certain amount of eggs assigned to them, but then there's another class of egg that is a free agent and the property of whomever finds it first.

Who knows. All I know the matter is this: I know how I'll teach my children about capitalism.

3) Yesterday in church some guy gave a testimony that was easily 10 minutes. During the first few seconds of his testimony he grabbed the pulpit with both hands, and sorta just perched there. You could tell from his posture that he intended to be there for some time.

Within moments he had his scriptures out and he was giving a talk on authority. The man had long hair and was unshaven so he quickly addressed that and said this gem: "White shirts are connected to the priesthood, long hair to connected to culture, and this varies from season to season."

That's a poetic way of saying I'm not cutting my hair and I'm waiting till it's cool again.

I really love his line about white shirts. I'm gonna have to remember that one.

He also said, "The quorum of the 70 is half a prophet." I took this to mean that a prophet is a unit of measurement. The prophet, according to this fellow, is twice a 70...or 140. So, a prophet is equal to 1 prophet (the unit), which is equal to 140. If the quorum of the 12 is equal to 1 prophet that puts them at about 11.66 (repeating) each.

Maybe I'm taking him too literally.

Anyway, that guy was full of funny things. Maybe I'll mention more of the notes I took on his testimony/talk later.

*****

Well, that's all I'm thinking on right now. Hope you all have a great day.

Website and Apology

Hello,

I was directed to this today. This blog is very helpful.

I refer you to this blog with an apology for all the times I have provided evidence for her arguments.

http://philosiology.blogspot.com/

I'm Lame

Okay, so today I finally sent in my federal tax return.

When I got to the point where I was going through the pre-mailing checklist I noticed that it clearly said to "attach" the W2 form to the other documentation.

(Going to change tense now for narrative effect)

Ever obedient, I realize simply mailing the documents together is not an option and I begin searching for some means of securing the W2 to my 1040 paperwork.

My first thought is to use a stapler, but I figure that the men in suits will probably separate the documents, and removing staples causes tearing. So, being the considerate guy I am, I decide that a paper clip is the way to go.

I look everywhere, but there are no paper clips to be found.

At this point the stapler seems attractive.

I get the stapler.... it's out of staples. That won't work.

I look around the room in frustration and my eyes finally rest upon a bobby pin lying on the ground. I figure that's just about as good as a paper clip so I attach my W2 to the tax return with a hair accessory.

I address the envelope and am about to mail the return when I notice that the bobby clip's tips angle outward (for ease in gathering hair together). Just as a test, I push on the envelope where the angled tips are and they start to push through.

Frustrated, I stare at the envelope. I'm loath to open it since it's already sealed, but I also don't want punctures in the letter I've worked so hard to prepare....so I peel back the flap of the envelope and assess the situation.

I decide to modify the bobby pin.

I get my toolbox,find my diagonals, and cut the tips off the bobby pin.

Now I have a very strange and femininely colored bobby pin (my bobby pin is hot pink) about an inch and a half long attaching my return to my W2.

It looks sorta cute.

I figure this will work and I place the whole package back in the envelope.

Unfortunately, due to my reopening the letter, the sticky film on the envelope is now ruined.

I decide I better tape the letter closed.

Sadly, I can't find any clear tape. The best I can find is some packaging tape on an industrial-size roller.

I use the blade attached to the roller to cut off a piece of tape about 4 inches long. But, the blade cuts unevenly.

This bothers me.

I try to find some scissors to straighten the edge....but no scissors are to be found.

I look around for a while. I see a butcher's knife. I use this to chop off the tape and place it on my envelope. I smile wryly at the thought of how silly I must look chopping a small piece of tape with a huge butcher's knife.

I finally mail my return.

I know there are over 100 million people filing this year, but I doubt any of them struggled to attach their W2s to their 1040s as much as I did.

It's the little things that make us feel special.

The Little Prince

I just made a roadtrip to Utah with my dad last weekend to pick up the rest of my stuff. All I had left in Utah were books and a few awkwardly shaped objects that wouldn't fit in my little car. I only spent one full day in Provo and that day was mostly packing.

The drive was far more pleasant than usual. This is because I usually make the drive alone, but this time I had my dad with me. We talked about many things: electrical ground wires, airplane wings, religion, and stimulus money just to name a few. So, while I hate long drives, this one was fun and entertaining.

While we were driving together I read The Little Prince for the first time. This book is billed as a kid's book, and it is certainly written like a kid's book, but it is so much more than that. It's a very special book. Every page is loaded with the unfettered clarity of a child's thoughts, with the clean grasp of foundational principles that children enjoy, but often give up as a rite of passage into adulthood....and as I was leaving Provo, I needed to be reminded of some of the basics. About the value of love and friendship, and even loss, and how they are all intertwined. The Little Prince is about all of this, and it was the perfect book to read while my heart was heavy with memories of Provo.

So, I decided I better share that book here on my blog. Only parts of it of course, but enough for you to see why the book is so powerful; I'll limit my post to parts of the book that deal with love and friendship.

Before I begin, here's a little context for the passages I'll share:

The story is about a pilot who is stranded in the desert. He meets a boy there known as "The little prince." The little prince lives on an asteroid. The asteroid is so small it's barely bigger than him. He has a flower on that asteroid. That flower thinks highly of itself and demands a lot of him, and he eventually leaves the flower and the asteroid in search of adventure. He visits many other planets during his adventures, and eventually ends up on earth, where he meets the pilot that wrote the book. His interactions with various people and his retelling of those interactions to the pilot make up (at least most of) the book.

So here we go. Oh, and just so you know, I'll mark all my interjections with an asterisk to avoid confusion.

As the boy leaves the asteroid this is his goodbye to the flower....

"Goodbye" he said to the flower.

But she did not answer him.

"Goodbye," he repeated.

The flower coughed, but not because she had a cold.

"I've been silly" she told him at last. "I ask your forgiveness. Try to be happy."

He was surprised that there were no reproaches. He stood there, quite bewildered, holding the glass bell in midair. He failed to understand this calm sweetness.

"Of course I love you, " the flower told him. It was my fault you never knew. It doesn't matter. But you were just as silly as I was. Try to be happy...Then she added"Don't hang around like this; it's irritating. You made up your mind to leave. Now go." For she didn't want him to see her crying. She was such a proud flower...

*Then the boy says later about the flower:

In those days I didn't understand anything. I should have judged her according to her actions, not her words. She perfumed my planet and lit up my life. I should have never run away! I ought to have realized the tenderness underlying her silly pretensions. Flowers are so contradictory! But I was too young to know how to love her.

*From this interchange the book sets up a very valuable lesson on love and friendship. The instruction necessary to appreciate the boy's relationship with the flower comes from his meeting a fox.

The story goes like this:

"I'm a fox," the fox said.

"Come and play with me" the little prince proposed. "I'm feeling so sad."

"I can't play with you," the fox said. I'm not tamed.

"What does tamed mean."

"It's something that has been too often neglected. It means, 'to create ties.'..."

"'To create ties'?"

"That's right," the fox said. For me you're only a little boy just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you have no need of me, either. For you I'm only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, we'll need each other. You'll be the only boy in the world for me. I'll be the only fox in the world for you..."

"I'm beginning to understand," the little prince said. "There's a flower...I think she's tamed me..."

"Possibly," the fox said. "Anyway, I'm rather bored. But if you tame me, my life will be filled with sunshine. I'll know the sound of footsteps that will be different from all the rest. Other footsteps send me back underground. Yours will call me out of my burrow like music. And then, look! You see the wheat fields over there? I don't eat bread. For me wheat is of no use whatever. Wheat fields say nothing to me. Which is sad. But you have hair the color of gold. So it will be wonderful, once you've tamed me! The wheat, which is golden, will remind me of you. And I'll love the sound of the wind in the wheat..."

"Please...tame me!" he said.

"What do I have to do?" asked the little prince.

"You have to be very patient," the fox answered. "First you'll sit down a little ways away from me, over there, in the grass. I'll watch you out of the corner of my eye, and you won't say anything. Language is the source of misunderstandings. But day by day, you'll be able to sit closer..."

The next day the little prince returned.

"It would have been better to return at the same time," the fox said. "For instance, if you come at four in the afternoon, I'll begin to be happy by three. The closer it gets to four, the happier I'll feel. By four I'll be all excited and worried; I'll discover what it costs to be happy! But if you come at any old time, I'll never know when I should prepare my heart. There must be rites."

That was how the little prince tamed the fox. And when the time to leave was near:

"Ah!" the fox said. "I shall weep."

"It's your own fault, "the little prince said. "I never wanted to do you any harm, but you insisted that I tame you..."

"Yes, of course," the fox said.

"But you're going to weep!" said the little prince.

"Yes, of course," the fox said.

"Then you get nothing out of it?"

"I get something," the fox said, "because of the color of the wheat."

*After all this the little prince learns what gives things value. On his journey he saw many flowers like his (the flower on his planet that he thought was one of a kind was a rose). This made him doubt that his rose was special. But after he tamed the fox, he knew better. So he finds a patch of roses and tells them:

"You're not at all like my rose. You're nothing at all yet," he told them. "No one has tamed you and you haven't tamed anyone. You're the way my fox was. He was just a fox like a hundred thousand others. But I've made him my friend, and now he's the only fox in all the world." You're lovely, but you're empty," he went on. "One couldn't die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think you my rose looked just like you. But my rose is all her own, is more important than all you together, since she's the one I've watered. She's the one I put under a glass. She's the one I sheltered behind a screen. Since she's the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she's my rose."

*Then the prince returns to the fox, and the fox drives the whole lesson home by saying,"Anything essential is invisible to the eyes, it's the time you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important, people have forgotten this truth, but you musn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you've tamed. You're responsible for your rose."

***********

I don't know, I think that's a really precise and beautiful way of explaining what we all mean to each other. How and why we value people. How love works. Why it's possible to be married to just one person when there are so many countless possibilities promising better compatibility or options. It all comes down to working for them and giving yourself, to being tamed by them. By doing this you become responsible for them and they for you.

It's so simple when it's written down in a child's book.

Of course I recommend reading the entire book. It's very short. But if you read it with the right attitude it will teach you a lot.

Anyway, I better go. I hope you all have a great day.

Vampires

I thought I'd begin today's post by making a seemingly ridiculous statement, and then spend the rest of the post justifying that seemingly ridiculous statement into a semblance of coherence.

Here goes:

Having a friend that's a girl is sorta like a dhampir.

(For those who aren't up to date on their mythology, a dhampir is a half-human and half-vampire hybrid)

In mythology, a hybrid usually goes one of two ways. Sometimes you get a hybrid that has all the strengths of both. For a dhampir this is a creature resistant to garlic, able to walk in the daylight, but also with the strength and powers of a vampire. All the pros and none of the cons.

However, there is a flip side. Sometimes you get a hybrid with the weaknesses of both. For a damphir, this means a sad creature that is humanly weak, open to sickness, is compelled to drink blood but is too physically weak to procure it through force...and is vulnerable to sunlight, garlic, and any of the other weakness vampires have in that mythology.

So, dhampirs either have the strengths of both sides or the weaknesses of both sides.

Given that, this is why they're like having a friend that's a girl.

Sometimes you have a friend that's a girl and she gives you insight from the other side. In many ways she's like having a friend that's a guy, but with all the insight of the opposite gender. It's like having a friend behind enemy lines. This sort of girl you can be straight with, talk to almost like one of the boys, and you don't have to worry about offending her or romantic etiquette. You can just be yourself. This sort of girl has all the strengths of a guy-friend, but she also has all the powers and insight of a girl. It's an amazing combination, the best of both halves of a hybrid.

Sadly, much like the dhampir, there is a dark side to this hybrid. Sometimes you have a friend that's a girl that has the weaknesses of both sides. You can't really talk to them after a while because you suspect they like you, or you might suspect you like them, or they suspect you like them when you really don't, or you suspect that they suspect you like them and you really don't...and any other combination of the "will they or won't they" dilemma that has been putting food on the table of romantic comedy writers for as long as the genre has existed.

This is a horrible thing. You can't be honest, friendly, or even sometimes supportive, because the threat of a relationship stands between you at all times. So, this sad little hybrid has none of the "jeans and t-shirt" sorta support you get from your friends, but also none of the excitement and mystery you get from a relationship. You get the worst of both situations...just like the poorly mixed dhampir.

Anyway, that's the thought have for you this morning. I realize it isn't very practical, and it exposes a far too intimate knowledge of vampire taxonomy. But nevertheless, that's what I was thinking about.

Now I better go be more productive.

Have a great day.

What I Saw

A few days ago I saw something wonderful. I was driving along the street, minding my own business, when I looked to my left, and this was what I saw:

There was a man in a business suit, he was in his late 40s or early fifties. He had a scruffy beard that was completely at odds with his immaculate suit, and his bald head. On his feet (even more at odds) were a pair roller blades; his pant legs were tucked into each boot to prevent them from flapping around in the wind.

So, imagine all of that. It's a very strange picture. But it gets even better. The man wasn't working too hard to move forward because he was being pulled on his rollerblades....by a poodle. A prissy and well manicured poodle.

This man was taming the wilds of Provo, mushing along without a care... with a poodle fueling his locomotion.

It was beautiful.

Little things like that make life great.

Today I want to salute this man and his flair for the ridiculous.

Bishop/Goodbye

Well, I had my last interview with the bishop yesterday. It was nice talking with him. He's probably one of the best bishops I've ever had. All we really talked about was what was going to happen next and the state of things in the ward...oh, and he also apologized for taking so long to get me released.

That last part was a bit frustrating. A few weeks ago the bishop told me that I'd be released in one week, but three weeks have passed and I'm still going. I guess there was a problem talking with the stake presidency because a high councilman was released (if you're not Mormon none of that probably makes any sense...basically the person in charge of submitting the name for my replacement was replaced so there was a disconnect between the person who picks my replacement and the person who approves my replacement).

Our meeting yesterday was mostly an apology for taking so long to get me released and a bunch of reassurances that I can leave whenever I feel the need to.

I had planned to stick it out till my replacement arrived, but given that next week is stake conference (no regular meetings so they can't make the change) it will take 2 weeks...which means paying another month's rent.

My car is going to be ready to drive again tomorrow (supposedly). After the repair I should be set to leave anytime.

Speaking of meeting with my bishop, a few weeks ago we had a really bittersweet conversation (which I'll get to).

It's strange to think on leaving Provo. I've had a lot of great times here. A lot of great memories. I think the biggest downside is that I'm not leaving with a bang, but a whimper.

My years in Provo have been pretty eventful, with friends so close they were nearly family. Slowly but surely they've all moved on and it has been hard replacing them. I still have some wonderful friends here, but I'm beginning to feel like a relic; I'm beginning to feel like I missed my exit.

Just yesterday a girl I've known for about 4 years told me that she'd miss me and that I was the oldest friend she had in Provo (not in actual age...just time we've known each other..but that might be true too).

A few other people have said similar things. It's nice to now you'll be missed, but at the same time that's no excuse to stay in the same place and stagnate.

One thing that gave me pause was a talk I had with my bishop a week or so ago. He took me aside and said "I'm rarely this pushy, but since you're leaving I don't feel so bad....I want you to know there are some amazing girls in this ward that you should date."

He then pulled out his membership directory (it's a picture directory of every member) and pointed to each girl he thought would be a good match. What was funny was how nearly every girl he pointed to had her picture circled in blue highlighter. I asked him why and he said "Oh, they're all the girls I was thinking about calling as the next relief society president....I take relief society president selection quite seriously."

I patiently waited while he went through his list of eligible women. At the end he looked up, smiled, and said "I'm really sorry I ran out of daughters."

I really love my bishop. He's a good man and I know he really cares about me. When he offered me his hypothetical daughter's hand in marriage I felt great as I thought on how he trusts and cares for me....and this is when he sucker punched me. He said, "You know, getting married isn't as scary as you think."

This then lead to a long conversation on my singleness. You see, he figured that my singleness must be due to the fact that I'm afraid to get married, because on the surface he couldn't see any reason why I should be single when there are (and this I totally admit) wonderful women all around me.

You see, in a marriage driven culture where people see marriage as life's crowning achievement, a single person is a pitiable figure. People look at singleness as a defect rather than a circumstance. Even worse, if you're a likable enough person without any obvious and hideous flaws, people attribute your singleness to something dark resting below your surface. Well, that, or they decide you're not interested in marriage because you're too busy selfishly pursuing fun.

Well, regarding me, neither of those things are true. I don't have any dark secrets lurking below the surface. I am what I appear to be...and I am certainly not less than what I appear to be (in fact, in moments of self-love I think quite the opposite). And for the second problem (selfishly pursuing fun) that can't be true because I'm not any fun.

I don't think people believe me when I say this (my bishop didn't...but more on that later), but I think my singleness is a tribute to marriage rather than the avoidance of it. Marriage is something I find so important that I want to do it right. As a kid, I was always a bit of a romantic. I loved great love stories (I loved action and all that too..but I was also precociously infatuated with love stories).

Here's a little anecdote I'll submit as proof for that last remark:

When I was young my brother and I would sometimes spend the night at my Grannie's house. One time when we were staying with her we couldn't sleep so we decided to go through her movies. There weren't many to choose from and we eventually settled on her VHS copy of "Sleepless in Seattle." Now admittedly that is a very cheesy movie, and even as a young boy I was aware of this at some level (but my sensitivity to schmaltz wasn't fully developed yet). Anyway, later that night when the movie was over and I was finally ready to sleep, I remember saying my prayers, and in my prayers asking if I could find someone and be happy with them like the characters in that movie (I also told the Lord that if she looked as luminous (word from the VHS box) as Meg Ryan I would be cool with that too)).

Well, I held onto that romanticism through most of high school. I was always a bit old for my age and I could see that nearly every high school relationship was a cheap knock off of the real thing....so I waited.

I waited all the way up to my senior year...when I found a girl I thought would be perfect. Unfortunately, I was too young to act cool and fall in love with romantic comedy nonchalance. Instead, I wore my heart on my sleeve. Which, I guess, is a problem, because with such ready access to my heart it took very little effort for the girl to pluck the heart from my sleeve, throw it on the ground, and grind it under her heal...all the while saying I was the best guy she'd ever met.

A few months later she apologized in tears and asked if we could get back together, but by then it was too late. The damage was done. I knew I'd never trust her again and I told her as much.

You see, my problem is I want something permanent. So, while I can forgive nearly anything within a relationship, I can't look past anything that sets a limit on the relationship. That (the frailty of the relationship) scares me to death. I mean, what if one day the person you love decides they don't love you anymore? What can you do? Not much. What could leave you more powerless? The only thing you can do is make sure you never fall out of love with them. Sadly, this is no guarantee they'll work as dutifully to the same end.

In love you always entrust a portion of yourself to the other. This is a terrific leap of faith, but it makes one of the most rewarding experiences in life possible. Unfortunately, this rewarding experience comes with the terrible risk: that someday the person you love will return the portion of yourself you entrusted to them and say they don't want it anymore.

Does that scare anyone else as much as me? I hate pain and powerlessness and this seems to me to partake in the upper limit of both. Anyway, moving on...

So, I told her nothing would happen, but I don't think I ever got past how scared she made me...cause when we broke up things seemed perfect. One week she told me she loved me and the next she said we needed to break up, and I couldn't figure out what changed over the course of that week. She had liked me for 2 years so it just didn't fit. Such fickleness freaked me out.

In fact, I was so freaked out by this that I don't think I've entered into a relationship naturally ever since. Since then I've scanned every possible relationship for cracks that might lead to a possible break. I decided to be very careful and not be caught by surprise again.

The problem with this approach is that if you look hard enough at just about anything, and you have any degree of imagination or critical thinking, you'll find cracks. The leap of faith necessary to get into a serious relationship requires that you look past the cracks in the hope that the cracks won't travel, weaken the structure, or cause a break before the two of you can do something about them.

My problem is that I just can't make that initial leap unless I've had some time, and few girls are patient enough to give me that time....and if they are patient enough for a bumbling person like me, they've probably got their own issues (cause what desirable girl in her right mind would wait for me while other guys are throwing themselves at her). It should be a no brainer. On the one hand she's got me overthinking and bumbling, on the other she's got some guy saying how amazing she is. Done deal.

Okay, so nearly all of the stuff I just wrote came to the surface in one way or another as the bishop and I talked. I think I explained my situation to him relatively well. In fact, I was feeling sorta proud of my explanation because it was a very subtle excuse wrapped in a self-compliment. You know, sorta like when someone's asked about their greatest weakness in a job interview and they respond "My greatest weakness? I think it's that I care too much."

Well, similarly, my long and convoluted answer when boiled down to its basics went something like, "I'm not married because I value marriage too much."

A lesser man would have left me alone and said something like "Wow, you've obviously thought this through. So, you're actually single because of how much you value marriage. So you're not afraid to get married? You just want to marry the right person. Well good luck to you, my prayers are with you.

But, my bishop isn't a lesser man. He saw through a lot of the B.S. and said (paraphrased) "Well, you say you're not afraid of commitment, but you also say you're afraid to marry the wrong person, but you wouldn't be afraid to marry the wrong person if that wasn't a large commitment. I'll give you that you're not afraid of losing freedom and a lot of the other excuses guys use to avoid commitment, but you're still afraid of commitment."

I stepped back and realized he was right. The label "fear of commitment" did apply to me...just in a non-traditional sense.

Frankly, I'm scared to death to marry the wrong person. I've seen it done too often. I don't think I could handle a divorce, or even worse, a marriage that goes beyond the point of divorce.

So I've been waiting. Hoping for some sort of conviction, some sort of certainty similar to what others have described experiencing before marriage. But, I'm beginning to think that I'm not the sort to ever feel that kind of certainty.

Overall I think I had a very useful conversation with my bishop. If I was going to stay around longer I'd probably do things differently. I'll have to think on the discussion some more. Writing it all out here was helpful for distilling, but there are connections I still need to make.

Anyway, enough on that.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about my time here in Provo.

Academically I did a great job.

Serving in my church and my community I did a great job.

Dating, while I worked really hard at it, I did a horrible job. I met and dated some wonderful girls, but I probably missed something along the way while waiting for the blind certainty my disposition will never afford me.

I'm grateful for the time I've had in Provo. For all the friends, the laughs, and the opportunities.

Five years ago when I came to Provo I had two major motivations. The first was I wanted to study secular and religious things where one didn't trump the other. I wanted an environment where secular ideas would clarify religious insight, and religious insight would give purpose to secular ideas. I think I've experienced this.

The second thing I wanted was the chance to find a nice girl and start a family. Well, as this post has made abundantly clear, I haven't done that yet, but I have met a lot of wonderful girls. And among all those wonderful girls I think I've experienced, if only briefly, a glimpse of what it will be like when I'm lucky enough to find someone to share my life with, and at least a little hope that such a possibility exists.

Well, this post has becoming overly long, sentimental, and rambly (yes, that's a word now) so I'm going to end it. I don't know if I'll be in Provo for another week, or two, but if you're reading this and you live in Provo, I'm sure I'd love to see you before I leave. Just give me a call.

For everyone else in California...I'll see you soon. I can't wait to be near home.

Sunday Morning

Well, yesterday didn't go so well.

It all started bad when I had to wake up really early to go to PEC (it's a very early church meeting).

When I woke up for the meeting it was snowing pretty heavily. I drove to the meeting at what I thought was a safe speed (about 10 under the speed limit)...but I didn't account for my drowsiness and how that lowered my safest driving speed.

My problem occurred when I remembered (too late) that where I wanted to turn right there is a island that separates traffic between those that want to continue straight and those who want to turn right into the BYU parking lot.

Unfortunately, that little island is in the dead center of the right lane and you need to veer left to go straight or right to turn right, and unfortunately again, with the snow and my sleepy state, I was unable to do either.

I drifted into the island and my left front tire struck the curb at a 45 degree angle. This caused the tire to bend inward and (probably) break the axle.

This is the first time I've ever had an accident where I was at fault. I don't like the feeling. It might even be worse that I hit a fixed object and not a moving car. Hitting a fixed object just makes you sound stupid. It's not like you can complain that the concrete divide jumped at you out of nowhere.

After I hit the curb my car wasn't drivable. When I tried to give the car a little gas it made an angry sound. At first I wondered if it was because I was in so much snow, but looking at my left wheel made it clear my problems were greater than the weather.

What was really cool about all this (if anything is cool about all this) was how everyone around me was so helpful. If you're ever going to have troubles with your car....have them Sunday morning in Provo.

The moment I turned on my hazard lights there were about 5 bright eyed Mormon guys (all on their way to PEC too no doubt) ready to help. Provo is the good Samaritan capital of the world.

I was in a good place, cause not only were these people super helpful Mormon folk, they were super helpful Mormon folk on their way to a leadership meeting. Put simply, in a group famous for being helpful, these were the most helpful.

The first guy had a 4x4 with a chain. He got out of his car in the snow, pulled out his chain, got on his hands and knees in a suit, found a sturdy part of my car frame, and went to town. 4 other guys got out of their cars (also in suits) and helped me push the car along while the first guy dragged it behind his car.

My poor car didn't like the abuse, as we drove the front tire didn't even turn, but luckily the slick weather that caused the problem in the first place was now helpful and we were able to slide the car to a parking spot.

When we were done they all commiserated with me, offered me the best, and then shook my hand (and much to my embarrassment my hands were still clean but guy-with-the-chain's hands were covered in oil...that should have been me).

I went to the church meeting only slightly late. People could tell I'd been out in the snow for longer than the walk from my car and they asked why I was so wet. I explained I had an accident, everyone sorta nodded and the meeting went forward.

Oh well.

I was expecting to be released from my calling yesterday, but I guess that will have to wait. I carried out my usual duties while also dealing with calls to the insurance company (they were surprisingly helpful).

My car is now in an officially sanctioned insurance company repair facility. I'll probably hear an estimate of some sort today (if they're even open it being President's Day).

The timing really couldn't have been worse. I was going to drive to CA in a few weeks, but I'll have to take care of all this first. Hopefully it's not a great ordeal.

What was funny about the accident was how much it shook me up. Right after it happened I was sort of in shock. Someone told me that after I left the meeting the bishop (who came to the meeting late) asked around why I seemed so downtrodden and beaten up; I guess I wasn't as composed as I'd thought.

After the meeting I was still a lot earlier than everybody else so I started setting up the sacrament table for church. This was when I noticed that my hands had the shakes from the accident. After I got all the little cups in place on the tray my shaky hands knocked them all back out. It was very frustrating.

This was when I realized this was one of those days when it would have been better to stay in bed.

After I finally finished with the water cup trays I grabbed the bread trays. As usual, I tried to carry all four at once, but once again with my shaky hands I ended up dropping half of them when I moved. Luckily, when I dropped the trays the room that was empty when I'd begun was now full and I had plenty of spectators to witness my clumsiness.

I don't know why, but a lot of people find it humorous when I struggle. In most circumstances it's true that when someone falls and you don't know them personally it's funny, but if you do know them you have mixed feelings....both pity and a little laughter (cause hey falling is always a little funny).

Well, when I make a mistake I don't know why, but I don't seem to inspire much division in my friends. They are often excited to see me make a mistake. They usually laugh first and ask questions later.

This morning was no exception. As I dropped the trays a friend pointed her finger and laughed at me as I struggled to pick them up. Later, she confided that she enjoys watching me struggle...no matter what the endeavor: if I'm struggling it's amusing.

The rest of the day wasn't so bad after that. The speakers in church were quite good. The insurance company was helpful.

Hopefully the repair of the car won't be too expensive, difficult, or slow.

Well, that's my story for yesterday. Hope everyone else had a better day.

Valentine's Day

Well, it's coming up. Lucky us.

It's that special time of the year when lonely people reflect on their loneliness while couples parade around in smug complacency.

Or, if you're coming from the other side, it's that special time of the year when single people enjoy the thrill of freedom and possibility while couples despondently hide away in their sad routines remembering brighter days, back when their relationships were vibrant and new.

(You see what I did there? I took the glass is half-empty sorts from the single life, and I took the glass if half empty sorts from the couple life, and then I combined them to form a full glass of cynicism)

But I kid. It's actually not a bad time of the year.

Relationships deserve a holiday. I know it's fun to make fun of all the pomp of Valentine's Day, but the holiday does serve a purpose. It's important to pause and remember the relationships that are important to us. Especially when you consider that the people that mean the most are usually the most neglected. Often, they are so integral to our lives they become as commonplace as furniture.

So, it's good that there is a holiday (even if it's an overly marketed and guilt-ridden holiday) that asks us to put a little extra love and attention into the people that are so essential they go unnoticed.

Also, if you even for a second thing it's a lame holiday you gotta remember St. Valentine. That guy was awesome. He was a roman priest who would marry two Christians when this was against the law. The emperor (Claudius I think) had Valentine arrested for this, and rather than apologizing and saying, "Christian what? Where?" he tried to CONVERT the emperor!

In addition to being courageous bordering on reckless, he also worked a few miracles. You're no doubt aware of the tradition of valentine notes. Well, this tradition supposedly dates back to the night when Valentine, who was in prison, healed the blindness of his jailer's daughter. When he was moved from the prison he wrote the girl a kind note signed, "Your Valentine."

Of course, saints are usually martyrs and, sadly, Valentine is no exception. Earlier I mentioned that he tried to convert the emperor...well, that didn't go down so well and the emperor ordered his death. At first they ineffectually stoned him, but when that didn't work they decapitated him.

So, think about it, we got a guy healing people, winning and wedding hearts, too tough to die by stoning, and who is ultimately decapitated. This guy was a rock star.

Anyway, what I'm getting at is this: Valentine's day is important and should be celebrated. If you want to celebrate his day historically, your best bet is to find the person you love, give them a kind note expressing your affection, and then cuddle up and watch Highlander together (for the uninitiated, Highlander is a movie where a lot of heads get chopped off St. Valentine style).

If you want to celebrate the holiday unhistorically you could eat chocolate, watch the latest romcom, and stare into each other's eyes.

Whatever floats your boat.

Super Bowl

This morning I read something online about some controversy over a Doritos Super Bowl advertisement.

When I saw this story I realized that I hadn't watched a second of the super bowl, and consequently, I hadn't seen a single Super Bowl commercial (something I usually enjoy). So I decided to watch the highlights of the game (and by the highlights I mean the commercials).

My problem was that when I clicked on the link to watch super bowl advertisements, the video popped up with an advertisement and a header that read, "Advertisement for 30 seconds, your video will begin shortly."

I immediately closed the window once I realized what was happening: I was trying to watch an advertisement online, but before my advertisement would load, I had to watch an advertisement.

I just couldn't do it. That's too much. Advertisers advertising on advertisements? Meta-advertising?

Anyway, I thought it was pretty funny, probably more funny than a lot of the commercials from the complaints I've heard.

It's hard to match advertisers for shameless exploitation...but now I know there's one level deeper: advertisement advertisers.

Anyway, hope you all have a great day.

Poem

Here's a poem I wrote.

I call it "Cleaning Your Keyboard."

Here it goes.

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There ya go. I think it's very post-modern. I hope you enjoyed it.

The Wrong Thing

Sometimes I try to say the perfectly wrong thing.

You may think this isn't that hard to do, but it really is.

I know what you're thinking...."How hard can it be to be wrong?"

And I understand your reasoning. Most people look at being right in almost mathematical terms. They think of being right like taking a math test where, for or any given problem, there is only one correct answer and a countably (sometimes uncountably) infinite number of incorrect answers...so if you want to get the wrong answer all you gotta do is write something and you have a 1 over infinity chance of producing the answer you want (sorry, math friends, for treating infinity like a number).

Well, I gotta say that being perfectly wrong is a lot harder than that.

You see, in most day to day situations the right and the wrong answers aren't very clear. We usually deal in shades, and when there are shades we usually have a "more correct" and a "less correct" answer. And when there are degrees, the less correct answers range from "almost plausible" to "so stupid your soul cries."

Here are some examples.

Say a person asks you: "What were the names of the boats Columbus sailed on?"

Correct answer: Columbus sailed on 3 boats: the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria."

More correct answer: Columbus sailed with 3 boats: the Pinta, Santa Maria, and Santa Clara (nicknamed Nina).

Less correct: Columbus sailed on boats with Spanish names.

Even less correct: Columbus sailed on boats with Mexican sounding names.

Least correct: That's a trick question. Columbus wasn't a sailor. Columbus was a detective on a syndicated crime drama featuring Peter Falk. The show was so popular they eventually named a holiday after it."

As you can see. The answer can be traditional. The answer can be more correct and snooty. The answer can be ignorant. The answer can be ignorant and painfully ethnocentric. And the answer can be stupid and a little bit funny.

So, what I'm getting at is there are a lot of wrong answers and each wrong answer (and right answer) has a particular flavor....and somewhere there is the most wrong answer. Finding this wrong answer requires you to 1) know the right answer, and then 2) deviate from that answer as much as possible. This requires skill, and this is why coming up with the worst answer can be a really fun and creative game.

Here's an example of the absolute worst answer.

Last Sunday a girl was telling me about eating disorders. She was telling me the statistics of how many girls have them etc., and I was listening attentively. Now, I agree it's horrible how many people (women in particular) suffer from eating disorders. I also agree that eating disorders, in a large measure, are the result of the unreasonable expectations placed upon women.

But, I also know that there is very little I can do about this, and that I'd much rather laugh than talk about such a depressing topic. So, when she said"Did you know that only 3 percent of women are happy with their bodies?" I thought about all the answers available to me. I weighed the direction the conversation was going. I thought on the objectification of women and how their objectification leads to mental illness and dissatisfaction with life....and I said, "Wow, I bet that 3 percent is really hot."

That, I'm pretty sure, was the worst possible response.

And I'm almost 90 percent sure she knew I was joking.

Anyway, this is a fun game. You should try it out. Just don't play with people who don't like you/are looking for evidence against you/are easily offended. Oh, and don't play this game if you plan to run for public office.

Actually, on second thought, do play this game if you plan to run for public office....it will make your campaign more interesting.

Hope you all have a great day.

Baby Talk

Note: This post has a new title now. The reason for this was I was trying to find a post yesterday and I couldn't because my post titles are so undescriptive. Well, that was one reason. The other was the 1st comment on this post which points out (almost fairly) that I frequently title my posts "update."

Hello Everyone,

Well, first off I wanna say how great it was to have my family together for Christmas. I came back to Utah last week; it was hard to say goodbye to everyone.

One of the best parts of this visit was my little niece, Summer. She is an amazingly cute baby. Somehow her smile is larger than her face, and if you're around her too long it's downright painful because she has more smile endurance than just about anyone, so if you smile back your face starts to hurt.

The only downside of having her with us was her short battery life. She's only awake for a few hours at a time, and she loves to sleep at the worst times...like Christmas morning at 10 o'clock.

Spending time with her made it pretty clear that she's probably going to be an adrenaline junky someday. She likes to be held upside down, she likes flying around like an airplane, she likes being used like a marionette to mimic crazy dance moves (for example: the song "Jump" by Van Halen (with extra high throws in the air when the chorus yells "jump!")).

One time I was even able to rock her to sleep by playing songs with "rock" in the title. I started by rocking her to "Rock You Like a Hurricane" and then I went on to "Rock is Dead" and then "Rock and Roll Band" and then finally the little bit slower "I am a Rock." She was completely out of it by the end.

One thing I don't get about babies is how women talk to them. When Summer would enter a room it was as if every woman in the room were alerted to this by some mysterious extrasensory perception rooted in estrogen.

Once their mysterious extrasensory perception alerts them of the child they surround the mother and baby and then proceed to say the most inane things in a high pitched voice....making sure to say the exact same thing more than once (in case the baby hadn't caught their cryptic message's powerful meaning the first time due to their inexperience with language).

It goes something like this:

"Oh, you're just a little princess aren't you? You're just a little princess AREN'T YOU! Oh, yes you are, you're a little princess."

Then the next woman in the circle has a go and says "You're just so precious! So precious!"

The next lady sees lady #2 is done already, looks down at lady#2 for lack of baby cooing creativity and then starts to showboat a bit with some alternating endearments like "Aren't you just the cutest thing? Oh, she's so beautiful you have a beautiful baby. Yes, you are a beautiful baby aren't you, oh yes, beautiful baby."

As you can see here, that's a person balancing two conversations: one with the baby, and one with the mother. The ability to flatter both simultaneously, and to shift from the high pitched baby dialect to the more formal dialect traditionally used to flatter mothers is a sign that the woman (in this case woman #3) is experienced in the art of baby cooing.

And it goes on like this for as long as the endurance of the baby will allow.

Since I'm not a baby expert I just try to tell the baby things I'd find interesting. For example, when I was home I explained to Summer the etymology of words I liked, how the electoral college alienates voters, and the limitations of the scientific method. I told her to stop me if something didn't make sense or she disagreed.

I took her silence as proof that she is an intelligent and agreeable child.

Oh, and here are some pictures of Summer to give some context to this post.

In other news I did finish that song. Here's the video:

It would have turned out a little better but my fingernails were a bit too short (and I recorded too late in the day so the video is really dark).

I wish I could compromise and only have nails when I'm playing guitar...you know, have retractable claws like a great cat. It's so frustrating to have nails when you're typing or doing something with your hands, but it's even more frustrating to try and play a classical style song when you don't have fingernails...you're just plucking the string with the meaty part of your hand and this is not only uncomfortable, it also sounds horrible.

While recording this song I was so frustrated that I almost went with my sisters to get some fake fingernails.

Cause, you see, my sisters get their nails done ritualistically every time they're both in town. And when they returned from the nail salon after during this last visit they found me sitting on the couch, vulnerable, wishing I didn't have such short and utterly unmusical nails.

When I saw their new long and strong fingernails I thought "that's what I need, I could play with those."

But, that thought was short lived cause then I got to logistics.

To get nails like that would require me to enter a nail salon (and probably be the only guy in said salon). Also, I'd look weird cause I'd only want fingernails installed on my thumb and index finger (is that the right word? "installed"? Does one "install" fake nails? Whatever.)....yeah, I just couldn't make that many compromises.

So, I thought things through and realized that the music would have to suffer for the sake of propriety.

Anyway, that's about all I have to say this morning. Hope you're all doing super.

Hello

Hey everyone,

Sorry it's been so long since I last posted.

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's. My Christmas was as wonderful as usual, and my New Year's was as uneventful as usual...so by my estimation everything was perfect.

One of the really nice things about Christmas is how it brings the whole family together for a few weeks, and this year was no exception. The Christmas was made even more special because we had little baby Summer with us. She's an amazing baby. She has the perfect temper and she rarely stops smiling.

While we were all together my dad created a minus track for the song "A Final Dream" from the album Beethoven's Last Night so my sister, Katie, could record a lullaby for her baby. She did an amazing job. I can't think of a more beautiful lullaby.

A Final Dream

In other news I tried to record that song I was working on, Asturias, but I really struggled to get a nice recording. My big problem was my fingernails were a little bit too short. Also, I haven't been playing the song much lately so I was a little bit rusty. Hopefully I'll get a good copy finished during the next few days to share on here. That was a really hard song to learn and I'd like to have it recorded.

In other other news, I had a really strange dream a few nights ago. I think it might have been caused by the combination of watching A Christmas Carol and all the family interrogation regarding why I'm not married yet (happens every year around the holidays).

As usual, the marital prodding started out with kind wishes...things like, "I hope you have someone next year" etc. After everyone got that out of their system we started the problem solving portion of the discussion. This goes something like "Well, if you did X then Y would probably happen." You can substitute X with anything from "be kind" to "never take a girl on a date to a hospital," and Y with anything from "not freak people out" to "get married."

Anyway, after defending my singleness (and not even a few weeks ago watching A Christmas Carol) I had a dream where I was sort of put on trial and I had to defend my dating past. I guess that isn't too similar to the situation in the Dickens' classic, but it had a similar feel because I was dressed like Scrooge, it happened at night, and I was constantly referring to everyone ruining my slumber as "spirit."

Actually, now that I think about it there was a little bit of Defending your Life in my dream. That's an older comedy starring Al Brooks where, after his death, he had to defend a few key moments of his life from a relentless prosecutor and show that he had behaved correctly.

Well, in this dream I sat in a remarkably comfortable nightshirt all Scroogelike and I was visited by a spirit that accused me of pushing everyone away. Then, the spirit paraded a whole bunch of girls from my past and I had to explain why things didn't work out.

Sometimes it was really easy. For some all I had to say was something like "She was really really dumb and I only took her on one date cause I thought it would be fun....I stopped calling cause I didn't want to have really really dumb kids." Other times I could say "She wasn't a very good person." After these simple explanations the Ghost would just nod and then move on.

The difficult part was later in the dream. The more recent girls I've dated from the past few years were brought up and they weren't dismissed as easily. Each time one of their faded and slightly translucent images appeared I felt like I was making up excuses. The conviction I felt with the earlier manifestations disappeared. Eventually I just had to admit that, regarding one girl, the thing that had ruined our relationship was fear; I had ruined everything because I was afraid. When I admitted that the spirit looked pretty disappointed with me (always a bad idea to make the spirit mad).

What was the most frustrating was how poorly I argued my position in the dream. I've never been handled so well...that spirit really knew what he was doing. He made me look like a stammering, romantically challenged idiot.

Well, I better get on with my day. That was my dream. I know it was pretty strange. Please keep your psychoanalysis to yourself :) I'm only sharing it cause I thought it was pretty funny. If dreams really are the unsorted files from our daily memories than I think my unsorted files are about 30 percent movies, 30 percent classic literature, 50 percent guilt, and 10 percent basic addition.

Hope you all have a wonderful day!