lead my skeptic sight.

futile devices.

2011-12-15T00:25:00.000-07:00

words can't explain what happened.
but words are all I got.

some folk might see a waste of time in 'em.
they don't look past the surface of things,
too busy with the What to find the What For.

power.
there's great power in words.
don't need no dragon blood to know that.
the shapes a mouth makes can lay a body low
or set a flame to a kindled fire, even on the coldest of nights.
they can call down salvation and glory
or lash a heart like a cat o' nine.

yeah. words got power.
but they got no say in the matter.
can't help what they are, words, or what they do.
ain't but futile devices, noises and nothings.

unless they got a voice.

blinded by light.

2011-11-10T03:11:00.001-07:00

and sometimes

it's enough

to eat a sandwich

to take the night off

to listen to your ghost

to plot a course for fiji

and to know that someone cares.

season finale.

2011-11-07T04:06:00.000-07:00

This is how I broke your heart.

-----------------------------------------

I wrote about you once before, almost exactly two years ago. You remind me of autumn, of red leaves and frost and lingering, lengthening evenings. (Your smile says more of summer, of brightness and warmth and daylight. But I never knew you then. I never will.)

So I wrote about forgetting. And I did my part. I just didn't account for yours.

-----------------------------------------

It was your eyes, mostly. You never looked at me, because you knew what it would do. But I held you close that night, your golden curls woven through my fingers and your lashes on my cheek. And I kissed you, and I looked.

And you didn't look away.

Here's the part you don't know about: My heart broke first.

I couldn't bear it. Because I saw beauty there, and kindness, and the shaping of a helpless joy. Like a dying man in reverse, I saw the rest of my life flash before our eyes.

And I knew it didn't belong to me.

-----------------------------------------

So my heart broke. It grabbed my tongue and wrested words from it, words that even now I cannot comprehend. I will not. They are too painful to consider.

They did the trick.

-----------------------------------------

You have a new heart now. You need one, of course, to shine as brightly as you do. And as your helpless joy is shaped by another, you must be brighter than ever.

I broke your heart to save mine.

I just didn't expect you to break it again.

robin van persie and the evening news.

2011-10-30T03:06:00.000-06:00

if you want to know what it's like
then don't go to bed
learn how to cook
watch the red and the blue
and share your joy with the dawn alone

sleep in the sunlight
and travel at twilight

speak to all you read and never see
give your words away
and take them from those who know you least

see your love before you
and name its beauty
and never hold it again

close your eyes
and listen to the light
listen to the warmth and the cold
and the pain and the impossible
and clench, and cry, and burn, and shine
because you don't know how to stop.

it's like that.

polka dots and moonbeams.

2011-10-13T02:49:00.000-06:00

I went to the theatre alone.

I kept the ticket in my pocket. I didn't know what else to do with it. I had bought it on faith, and that didn't seem to be enough, but I clung to it anyway, if only to prove to myself that I tried.

I went to the theatre alone, but I met myself there.

I had stood above the entrance, looking down at the bright-lit tree and the bright-faced people and the wintering city outside. I wore black and wine and I sang. I was good.

I entered the theatre alone, but I met others there.

I took my seat on the wrong side, examined my ticket, and sheepishly moved down the row. I stood to allow the young couple passage. His hair spilled over the tops of his ears, and her shoulders glowed with beauty. The ticket's empty seat sat between us, a barrier separating life from life.

I sat in the theatre alone, but I met the drummer there.

He hammered out beats with stick and brush and hand and wrist. I could see him better now than then; the days of a decade lay in the grey of his hair and the size of my waist and the eyes of us both. But we traveled, he and I. We were younger and we were older and the music was the same, ageless.

I closed my eyes in the theatre alone, but I met her there.

I was a fool. I was out of my depth, and she well knew it. I just wanted her close, and I didn't know how to tell her. I was bumbling, honest, desperate, fierce, shy, strong, loving. And she leaned her head on my shoulder and the scent of her entered me, filled me, warmed me.

I opened my eyes in the theatre alone, but I met the song there.

I have forgotten the music. It used to fill me like her scent, but they both belong to others now, and I can only look on, absent, as they live on. But I saw the name of the song, and for a moment, I remembered. And I held the brass, deep and vibrant, in my hands again. And I expelled breath, and polka dots appeared, and I moved my fingers, and moonbeams shone. And I sighed, and was glad.

I left the theatre alone, but the song goes with me. I hope it never leaves.

tonight the sky.

2011-09-08T01:29:00.000-06:00

A strong late summer breeze met his face as he opened the door. It passed between branches and shook leaves with a firm but gentle force, and he welcomed its embrace as he walked down the path, avoiding the fallen, shriveled plums that littered it.

He didn't know where he was going -- only that he felt like driving. Most nights that was enough, especially when it was by choice instead of by necessity. He had read somewhere that, if you stood at the South Pole and faced away from it, every direction was north. This was like that.

He plugged in the device as he settled into the driver's seat, turning the volume up. An electric guitar melody, rhythmic and thrumming, began to spill from the vehicle's speakers. He rolled down the window and sat for a moment, enjoying the feel of the wind. He turned the key. The engine quietly roared to life.

He'd have preferred some company. He thought about the friends and acquaintances he had allowed himself to lose as he drove. He thought about the times when he could have asked any number of companions to join him on a quick run to the fast-food joint or the gas station or the 24-hour grocery store. He now made these sojourns by himself, and sometimes that was okay but sometimes it wasn't. He wasn't sure which kind this was, but he allowed as how it might be a third option: he felt lonely but enjoyed feeling it, like stretching out a muscle hours after a long run. The soreness was sharp but pleasurable.

He turned the volume up louder.

"Tonight bright stars
Are shining for you.
Oceans and big clouds,
Deep midnight blue."

He pressed the accelerator and thought of the day when he would sing that for her.

involuntary.

2011-08-21T23:10:00.001-06:00

He cradled the boy in his arms, feeling the softness of his cheeks as they listened to the band rehearse. Any son of mine, he thought, had better learn to appreciate jazz. And bluegrass. And Chopin. And good music in general. He turned the boy around to face him a moment, their noses touching as he regarded his father seriously. Who cares what he likes.

He deposited the boy in his grandfather's lap and walked across to the ladder where she was hanging decorations. She smiled down at him as he climbed up each step until they were face-to-face. Her arms snaked around his neck as her eyes, green as an ocean, locked onto his.

"I love you," she said.

He opened his eyes a squint. It had gotten dark. He fumbled for his phone on the nightstand next to him to check the time, then rolled over and closed his eyes again. But hers were gone.

waiting for my real life to begin.

2011-08-16T03:44:00.000-06:00

He once heard it said that every plan was a tiny prayer to Father Time.

Maybe that's why he didn't make plans. He and Father Time were not really on speaking terms. He preferred to think of the future only as much as the present required him to. It made the connections he didn't form, the friends he allowed himself to lose, the life he saw others living but that he could not find himself, all seem easier to bear. If he made no grand design for the next month or year or decade, then no matter what happened, he would always be surprised. Pleased. Content.

The truth was, he had no concept of the future. Perhaps he lacked the mental acuity to envision it. He could not conceive of any existence other than the one in which he presently found himself. To pretend otherwise was silly, fruitless, puerile.

His possessions, however, told another story. Stacks upon stacks of comic books, their covers creased and worn with repeated use and travel. Novels of brave deeds and biographies of braver ones, of heroes and villains and those that refused to join either camp. Stories of far away lands and dangers both real and imagined. They draped the walls of his room in wonder.

Yet as he read, he never pictured himself in the places of the characters. He had no part in such adventures; he was an observer, not a participant, not even in imagination. The journey of his life, he posited, must surely be better than the ones of which he read. Because it would belong to him.

And any minute now, his ship was coming in.

this is all yours for the taking.

2011-08-15T03:12:00.000-06:00

you once wrote about how you use crutches.

Not, like, metal things
that help you walk.
I'm talking about

flaws
excuses

the things you point to when things go badly.
or even when they don't.

you have this idea
that you could fix everything
if you wanted to
which makes it easy not to bother.

you cling to that
you wrap yourself in your shortcomings
so that if you fail
you know why
and how.

it makes you feel like
you can control something
even if it's something bad.

but I've got news for you.

you can't fix everything.

you will fall.

you will not be better than everyone else.

but you gotta try.

razor.

2011-04-25T05:02:00.000-06:00

i just saw
a picture of your face
an image i once envisioned
every time i closed my eyes
it left me gasping for breath
drowning in the memory i made

and i remember your scent
and how it lingered on my clothes for days
and i remember the songs i wrote but never played
and the thoughts i thought but never spoke
and the life i never told you i wanted

and i flail in the flood of you

the you that i dreamed

the you that did not exist

the you i will always love.

Sing in me, O Muse.

2010-07-31T03:10:00.000-06:00

I haven't written here in a while.

It's not that I haven't had things to write about. I could have, if I forced myself. But forcing myself has never been a way for me to produce my best writing.

My best writing always seems to strike when I least expect it. She likes to sneak-inspire me, clutching me from sleep and pulling me close in an embrace of words until my brain is buzzing and my fingers are shaking as I type.

Writing without that never seems as good. I guess I miss her when she's gone. And she's been gone for quite a while.

-----------------------------------

I have a small black notebook. It's partially filled with old, incomprehensible scribblings from when I served as a ward clerk. But it also has a few verses, random lines of thought, moments when inspiration didn't clutch at me so much as brush past me on a busy street. Many of them come from the creative writing class I took in college, an entry-level course I considered somewhat beneath me (call it curse or blessing, but I can produce iambic pentameter as easily as breathing) but which had a greater artistic effect on me than I anticipated.

The notebook, which I used to take around with me to school, to work, to church, now lies mostly blank. I take it out and look at it sometimes, but she doesn't seem to live in there any more.

-----------------------------------

I had a dream a couple of nights ago. I don't remember much of it now. I wrote seven words on the back of an envelope on my desk when I woke up: "Bookstore scene. Star Wars book. Holding hands."

I think she wanted me then. I think she was trying to reach out to me, trying to tell me to get my fat ass out of bed and come to her, trying to give me a gift that I'm not sure I deserved. At least, I seem to have refused it.

I wanted to write about that dream, and that scene. I wanted to narrate it, to flesh out the characters and emotions a little, to try and describe the comfort and love I experienced in that small gesture of taking a woman's hand in mine and knowing, somehow, that we were feeling and thinking and living the same thing at that fictional moment inside my head.

I think that's about as close as I can come tonight. Maybe that's close enough for now.

Maybe she was the one holding my hand.

when you're fast asleep.

2010-04-24T20:00:00.003-06:00

If a dream is a wish your heart makes, then my heart is seriously messed up.

Either that, or I've been watching way too much Buffy.

You know what, it's probably both.

celestial mechanics.

2010-03-20T14:30:00.008-06:00

spirits in the material world.

2010-03-18T02:30:00.000-06:00

If what I can sense with my senses is all there is to life, I'd be pretty unhappy.

I do more than see, touch, taste (too much of that one). I think. My boy René got that one right. And I feel. And you will never tell me that the things I think and feel are not valid, that they can be callously tossed aside or ignored or treated as anything less than what they are: proof of Life, and More Than Life.

Sometimes I have these moments where... I dunno, they're not out-of-body experiences... but they're just moments where I realize that the me I see, the meatsack in the mirror, the biped with the opposable thumbs wearing the Green Lantern t-shirt -- that's not really the Me I am. And I feel like Me is looking out through my/his/our eyes and everything becomes not quite there, and Me is just inhabiting me for a little while before moving on to someplace else. And then it suddenly becomes too much to take, the idea that I'm living this life on behalf of this other organism that is fundamentally identical and completely different and I think, if I could just get out of this me-ness and see that other life, just for a second, that I would change everything forever.

And I know that has all sorts of religious undertones (or other implications regarding my sanity, or lack thereof) and that's really not where I'm trying to go, exactly. Smarter people than I have got this sort of thing down to a science, quite literally -- several of them, in fact.

But I'm still here. And I still feel. And most days that's enough for me.

Henley knew it, and Madiba learned it.

I am the captain of my soul.

believe in what you want.

2010-03-13T05:33:00.000-07:00

I'm driving tonight.

It's a little after 2am.
I drive past the coffee shop, the one that always seems to have people sitting outside late at night if the weather is good, and since it's mid-March the weather is getting much better, and I wonder (as I always do) how late the shop stays open and what the people there talk about and how badly I would stick out if I ever tried to go there since I don't drink coffee and I don't socialize late at night and I don't do well in large groups.
I drive on.

I pass train stations on my left and fast food on my right.
I get to the bottom of the hill and start up the S-curve, the one that I usually take a straight line through, crossing and re-crossing the lanes at will because there's no one else on the road.
Except tonight there's someone else on the road.
I guess it's you.

I stay in my lane and you stay in yours.
Actually, you stay in yours for a little while, then you merge left into the center lane, closer to me.
You are a silver Kia and you have soft, unobtrusive headlights.
You seem to match my speed, staying just behind me on my right, as if you did not want your presence to be known, as if you were trying to stay unnoticed, as if you wanted me to notice.

We pass through intersections.
We pass under lime greens and stop at fruit punch reds.
We pass beyond shadow and into light and back again.

We see a shape.
Then three shapes.
The shapes are moving.
The shapes are alive.
The shapes canter across our path, and we slow to grant them passage.
They give us no sign or acknowledgment.
This is their time and they are unaffected.
Even though we turn our heads as we pass, the shapes are vanishing; they have permitted us to share for a moment but no longer, and they must press on.

We look at each other.

You are no longer a silver Kia.
You are young, and you are beautiful, and your hair is shadow and your expression light.
And you smile as you turn your head back from the shapes now behind us.
You smile at me, in delight at the sharing, and I wonder if you now see my expression, if I have stopped being me and become something other, the way you have.

I have to turn now.

You drive straight.

statute of limitations.

2010-03-09T02:48:00.001-07:00

It's not, like, a fantastic idea, as a general rule, to live in the past. I do think I've figured that much out.

I mean, it's just sort of... there. Whatever happened, happened, as Daniel Faraday would say. They are matters of record, even if the only record that exists is in your head, or someone else's head.

Except those two records don't always see eye to eye, or synapse to synapse. (And now I sound like Ben Gibbard.) There are events in my life of cosmic magnitude and limitless significance, and these chapters, essays, dissertations which I study and analyze and deconstruct in an effort to figure out What The Hell My Deal Is... those same events are mere footnotes in the ongoing autobiographies of the other parties involved.

It's probably better that way.

And maybe those events aren't quite as significant as I remember them to be. A guy named Leonard (just to round out the pop-culture references) once told me that memories aren't that reliable, that they're not even that good, that they're an interpretation and not a record. Maybe that's for the best too.

We all need mirrors to remind ourselves who we are.

-----------------------------------

My mirrors suck, though. In my mirrors I'm always having a bad hair day, it's always the not-so-good side of my face, the lighting's all wrong, I'm squinting, and I didn't have time to shave.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself in these mirrors and the recollection is so sharp that I gasp for air as the embarrassment and the pain and the shame and the guilt flood over me, drowning me, battering me like that time I went down that one water slide at Seven Peaks and I wasn't ready and forgot to cross my arms and legs and cover my mouth and I ended up with a bellyful of extra-strength chlorinated water and I was seeing spots in front of my eyes from the lack of oxygen.

It's a lot harder for me to find a good mirror. They're there -- but they're hazy and indistinct, and it usually takes some sort of external stimulus to resurrect them: the scent of a perfume (they say that olfactory recollections are the strongest), the taste of a certain dish at a certain restaurant, any number of pieces of music (my first kiss: "Jeremy," by Pearl Jam, and it wasn't on purpose, I swear, it was just on the radio).

Maybe that's why I like re-reading books, re-listening to favorite albums, re-watching TV shows where I know all the lines. Those are mirrors where I don't have the burden of a reflection.

-----------------------------------

It's been said that we all reach the future at the rate of sixty minutes an hour. But some of those hours contain more minutes than you might think.

I've been in another world for a long time.

2010-02-18T01:59:00.001-07:00

There's a lot of things I can stand. And a couple things I can't.

I'm only too aware of my faults. Boy, am I.

Some of them I can change, and I'm working on those.

Some of them I can't change, and I accept those as part of who I am, and make peace with myself, secure in the knowledge that I have other qualities that compensate.

(Some of them I can change, but I lack the courage or strength or willpower or desire or motivation to do anything about it. So I keep them around as a ready excuse, in case anyone ever asks; I can point to them and say, "See, that's why, and I'll do something about them someday, and then everything will be great." They're my crutch.)

(That's another post for another day.)

-----------------------------------

Here's the thing: I know I have strengths, too. I'm good at lots of things. And I'm not just talking about skills like playing the piano or quoting lines from movies (or writing obscure cathartic late-night missives that no one understands but me). I'm talking about qualities, traits of personality, things about Me that are Mine, that are Good.

There have been times in my life where I was more sure of that, and times when I was less sure. But by now I'm pretty confident in the qualities I have. And in the shadows I don't have.

So when someone takes those very qualities -- things that I've spent a lifetime cultivating, things that I use to buoy myself up when I remember all those faults, things that I remember when I get two flat tires in a week and another late night at the office and another meeting in the morning that I'm not getting paid for and a cold that won't go away -- when someone, someone I care about, takes those qualities and accuses me of not having them, of being the thing I always hated and tried with all my heart not to be, and then runs away, shuts down, prevents me from doing anything to prove that someone wrong, to show that I'm not That Guy...

I can't take that.

-----------------------------------

And yeah, I know it's not really my fault (and I can't help but think of Matt Damon bawling his eyes out on Robin Williams' shoulder when I say that, even though the comparison is silly and the difference in degrees is gargantuan). But it sure feels like it is. It's all my fault. When the chips were down and someone needed me most and I had the perfect opportunity to utilize 26 years' worth of compassion and empathy and love, to utilize Myself in the way that only I can... I blew it.

And I think, maybe I never had it in the first place. And that absolutely kills me.

-----------------------------------

I don't truly believe what I just wrote there.

But tonight I do.

I don't know what you just said because I was thinking about Batman.

2010-01-19T04:05:00.000-07:00

I was just leaving the bathroom for the evening, having taken my customary seat on the toilet (even though I didn't need to actually take the seated position but I wanted to read a few pages in the David Sedaris book that currently rests on the tank) when I happened to look myself dead in the eye.

I saw Age there.

It was no more than a glance, a fleeting passing wisp of a presence that I don't know if I've ever felt before.

Like most people, I don't feel old. More to the point, I don't feel like an adult. I feel like I got to about 19 years old and then went to South Africa and skipped a couple birthdays while I was there and when I got back I forgot how to remember the years I was gone and so I'm stuck in this anomaly in the space-time continuum where my hair gets grayer and I get fatter but my Me-ness never changes. It's like the inverse of Groundhog Day -- everything around me is altering, shaping, progressing, decaying. Somehow my body left my soul behind -- just after high school, I think.

Except when I caught that glimpse of Age in my eye in the bathroom mirror at 3:30 a.m., I suddenly saw and sensed and felt every one of my 26 years.

I guess I am an adult. It must've happened when I wasn't looking.

the worth of a game.

2010-01-19T03:18:00.006-07:00

I wrote this on the blog I write for at www.deseretnews.com. It's about the value of video games (if they have any [I think they do]). You should go read it.

I don't make plans.

2010-01-17T03:14:00.001-07:00

It's hard to tell.

I've got all this... something. Love, I guess. Compassion. Empathy. Charity. Something.

I'm like anyone else; I've been fed (gorged, really) on modern romantic comedies and Disney princesses and classics of unrequited-ness and fantasies that transcend time and space and dimension and (like Rob Fleming/Gordon said) thousands of songs about broken hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss. I don't think it has made me miserable, though. It's just made me confused.

It's not that I expect fantasy. I don't. I want reality.

I just can't tell when reality is there. If it's there. If it ever can be.

Everyone else seems to know when it's there. They don't just believe in it; they know. They can tell their eros from their philia, their agape from their storge. They have experience -- real-life, this-actually-happened proof. I don't. I've been close. But not close enough.

I can't tell if I'm living an unwritten life or just writing it myself, but badly. Or maybe the writing is there, but the performance is off, the emphasis all wrong, the metaphor over my head, and I stumble through the reading, uncomprehending, unfeeling, dull.

Because I know not what I do when all this... something, that I have, comes out. There are reasons there, obviously, somewhere inside my psyche, if you'd care to poke around in it (and I'm not sure why you'd care to, but some days I wish I knew how). But there's one reason that should be there. I'm not sure I can identify it.

When you're already willing to do anything for anyone, just because they asked, how can you tell when the asking is more important than the doing?

When everyone means the world to you, how can you tell when someone means the sun and moon and stars?

I don't know.

Yet.

merry.

2009-12-25T23:46:00.006-07:00

on sports, part two.

2009-12-19T02:02:00.000-07:00

FACT: being a sports fan is one of the easiest ways to establish an immediate connection with someone you've never met before. That can either be a Good Thing or Bad Thing, depending on the nature of the connection.

Case in point: I'm sitting on the couch, watching tonight's dismal Utah Jazz performance in Atlanta. Comes a knock at the door -- it's a friend of my roommate's. I've exchanged maybe two sentences with him in my life. He enters, strolls past the television.

"Who's winning?"

"The Jazz are getting killed."

"YES!" He triumphantly clenches both fists.

I raise an eyebrow. "What, are you from Atlanta or something?"

He grins and ignores my question, walking down the hall.

"Ah, so you just hate the Jazz."

Laughter. Still not a word, just the grin as he looks back over his shoulder at me. Then he's gone.

-----------------------------------

This part, I don't get. I don't have it in me. I can't muster the requisite rage, the ignorance, the belligerence, whatever it is.

And that's not an indictment or judgment on those that can and do, by the way. I've known plenty of completely rational, intelligent, sensitive men (and women) who, when faced with playing or cheering against a rival, become... well, not really any of those things.

And maybe that's the point for them, that channeling that kind of aggression and passion, venting it in a (mostly) harmless fashion, allows for a more peaceable and kindly existence outside of that sphere. Much better, you would think, to hate a rival sports team than, say, another race or religion or gender or profession or person of any kind.

But I can't do it.

-----------------------------------

Oh, I feel outraged and frustrated and angry when things are going badly. But it's because of the game, not the opponents, or the opposing fans, or anything else.

I think this is, again, the influence of my father, in large part. He taught me to be a student of the games, to appreciate fine play no matter where it occurs, or by whose hand. And I do, and though I have my favorite teams, I will always enjoy a singular performance by an athlete at the top of his game.

It's also because I've mellowed as I've gotten older (all of 26 years, as of Thursday), and my personality was never predisposed to that sort of thing no matter my age. I guess I don't get the allure of being deliberately obnoxious in order to provoke a reaction. (Okay, I do get it, I just don't want it.)

-----------------------------------

It's a combination of all those things, added to my current profession as a journalist. When you cover, for example, a BYU football game, you sit in the press box (which is its own little microcosm of strange that I'll have to write about sometime). And in the press box, there is no cheering. Of any kind. This is to maintain, even as a college student, the (mostly fictional) idea that the journalists are impartial and covering both sides with an equally analytical and discerning eye.

(I have since come to find out that different press boxes in different locations have vastly different standards regarding this principle, a fact that simultaneously amuses and annoys me.)

-----------------------------------

Here's another factor related to my profession: one of my current duties is to periodically monitor and moderate the user comments on each website article. There are a variety of ways that newspapers handle this feature, but because of the responsibility my employers have to their owners and their audience, we rule things pretty tightly.

But even so, the amount of rubbish that gets through is highly noxious stuff, and has contributed in large part to an alteration in the way I watch sports. It's the heady combination of the anonymity of the Internet, the socially-acceptable outlet of sports hatred, and a healthy dose of insecurity -- a recipe for remarks so irrational, so spiteful and mean, and (probably) so unlike the actual personalities of the people involved that it would be laughable if it weren't so horrifying.

Whatever the cathartic benefits of fandom, that cost is getting to be far too high for my liking.

-----------------------------------

Last month I attended the yearly rivalry game at LaVell Edwards Stadium, and for the first time in four years I was there in an unofficial capacity. The ticket was a gracious gift from my uncle, who also brought two of his sons. We sat in the west stands, away from most of the boisterous students and among the more taciturn, older crowd. (Note: I say "more taciturn," not "entirely taciturn," because some of the old men in the west stands are as irascible as any young hothead.)

I expected to yell. I expected to relish the opportunity to be free from the oppression of the press box and the pressure of deadlines and note-taking. I expected to cheer and clap and exult and despair and be a fan again.

I didn't.

-----------------------------------

I couldn't, somehow, at least not outwardly. I ended up watching most of the game silently, pumping a fist at a big play, sharing observations with my uncle, taking cell phone pictures and tweeting. I of course thrust my arms into the air and punched the sky in victory as the winning touchdown was scored, but that was about as exuberant as I got.

For all the reasons and explanations discussed above, my fanship has changed. But I think it's been for the better. While my outward observances have diminished, my inward love for the game has never been stronger or more personal. I think I like the fact that I appreciate sports in my own unique way. There is room yet for the passionate but reasonable sports fan, and I'm glad.

-----------------------------------

The problem is, not everyone sees it that way. Too often, to be considered a "fan" you have to conform to a set of stereotypes and shared assumptions that just don't fit. (Then again, this sort of thing has been a hallmark of every restricted societal group since civilization began, and it's part of why the pantomime hatred of the sports fan is dangerously congruent to the real thing.)

I headed home to my Salt Lake City apartment after the game, and as I traversed I-15 amid a sea of blue and red bumper stickers and car flags and barely restrained fervor and antagonism, I couldn't help but turn on the post-game radio shows. I flipped back and forth between the flagship stations of the two schools, listening to the different viewpoints and weighing them against each other -- I seriously can't turn off my even-handed journalist side any more, not even a little -- until I heard the discussion of a certain player's comments in a post-game interview.

I listened as he spelled out his avowed hatred for his opponents, an all-encompassing pathos that spared no aspect or individual associated therewith. Of course, my first thought was, "There's a week's worth of extra work for us at the office." But then I considered the ramifications of these statements, not for the player in question, but for the teams, schools, and each person who associates himself with them.

-----------------------------------

See, too often in sports fandom, there is no middle ground. There's no place for the moderate, the bipartisan, the non-absolutist. You're with us or you're against us. Friend or foe. That's the nature of competition. But it isn't my nature. Nor, I suspect, is it the nature of many of the people on either side of a rivalry.

I guess that's life, though. And like a true sports underdog, I'm going to keep fighting for my own little scrap of fanhood the way I see fit. Because I'm still far too passionate about, and derive far too much enjoyment from, the consumption of sport to ever give it up. It is mine, no matter what anyone else thinks.

jazz, the utah kind.

2009-12-19T00:09:00.001-07:00

If you're interested, I'll be writing more frequently here, about young men who try to make a leather ball go into a metal circle. A sampling from a recap of tonight's game:

The fourth quarter was probably the most entertaining part of the game for Jazz fans, as a lineup of Eric Maynor, Wesley Matthews, Ronnie Price, Andrei Kirilenko and Kyrylo Fesenko looked like the only players with "Utah" on their chests who gave a crap.

Of course, by then, the conversation in the Game Thread had turned away from the basketball game and onto such thrilling topics as "Peanuts: Not Actually Nuts At All" and "I Have Too Many Vowels On My Scrabble Rack."

Honestly, there may be other insights to glean from this game, but I don't have the energy to try right now. I'm serious. I had observations in the first half. At least I think I did. I mean, there they are in the Game Thread, with my name beneath them and everything, but the rest of the game was so boringly depressingly terrible that I think it deprived me of my ability to remember things I actually said.

So, you know, there's that.

on sports, part one.

2009-12-01T04:27:00.001-07:00

It's kind of odd, when you think about it.

Why do I care so much about the young men running around the court or field, chasing after a spherical object of one kind or another, attempting to score as many goalunitbaskets as possible?

The fact remains that I do care, and probably always will, though recent events have shown me that the nature of that caring may change. And I think I'm okay with that.

-----------------------------------

Sports were a mostly solitary activity for me as a child. (Despite growing up in a family of five children, I seemed to be on my own most of the time, whether voluntarily, or to avoid being given chores, or because I was just that absorbed by my own imagination.) I know my father, an excellent natural athlete, had much to do with my interest in football and basketball, but it seemed that even from an early age I had a personal and abiding passion for both playing and watching games of all kinds.

When I arrived home from school I would immediately retrieve whichever filthy basketball had the most air remaining inside it from the blue storage containers stowed beneath my father's workbench in the garage, and I would shoot, sometimes for hours on end. I would practice moves against invisible opponents, fictional and professional alike. (I took a particular, strange enjoyment in defeating video game characters in these self-conceived battles. Somehow beating Imaginary Link was more satisfying than beating Imaginary John Stockton, and I'm not sure why.) I would stand at the chip in the cement driveway that just happened to be almost the precise distance for free-throw shooting, and fire off fifty straight, running to retrieve misses and delighting when the perfect spin on the ball and the snap of the net returned the ball to me without forcing me to move my feet. I would shoot and dribble and spin and jump until the nubs on the ball were worn smooth from a million caroms and a billion bounces.

-----------------------------------

Sports are a horrible thing to dream about, because it becomes readily apparent at a very early age that those dreams will never be reality. Even at 25, it's possible to fantasize about being a best-selling novelist, or a famous musician, or any number of things that can bring fame and glory. But I knew before I hit puberty that I would never be a professional athlete. (And if my 12-year-old self could have seen my 25-year-old self back then, he'd probably be simultaneously amused and horrified that he'd ever dreamed about it in the first place.) That's a harsh sort of disillusionment to face.

Maybe that's why I dedicated myself instead to being a fan. I have often commented to peers that, were I to never use my sports knowledge to somehow provide for myself financially, there is no way I could justify the amount of time and resources I have spent as a spectator.

But that's not really true. I don't regret a single dime I've ever spent on a ticket to a sporting event, regardless of the outcome. And while I am now a journalist, and do indeed employ my comically-vast knowledge of sports in my daily work, that's still not the reason I remain a committed fan.

What that reason is, I don't know that I'll ever be fully able to identify.

-----------------------------------

I can make a couple of guesses. Solitary childhood aside, sports is still the best way I can connect with my father, and when we combine his first-hand knowledge of how games are played with my memory for facts and facility for strategic identification, we really make an unbeatable commentary team. (If I had a nickel for each time one of us made an astute observation five seconds before the announcers on television made the exact same comment, I would be a very rich man.) To deny his influence on my continued fandom would be silly. But nowadays, when I see him at most once a week, it's hardly the main cause.

Beyond that, I think it is easy for sports to become a source of catharsis for fans. A place where yelling at the top of your lungs, expressing joy and outrage and despair and hope and satisfaction all at once, is not only allowed but encouraged, is priceless in an existence too often bogged down by ennui and routine and drudgery.

Being a sports fan goes even further, though, and this is one of the hardest things to explain about the value of being one.

-----------------------------------

In Nick Hornby's excellent Fever Pitch, the memoir about his obsession with English soccer team Arsenal (which was later adapted for American audiences by the Farrelly brothers and became that absolutely execrable Red Sox-centric Jimmy Fallon/Drew Barrymore chick flick), he explains that being a fan gives one a sense of belonging, an instant kinship with thousands of complete strangers, not to mention the athletes themselves. To be a fan, he explains, is not to share in some sort of vicarious victory, but to actually participate in the battle itself -- not by running up and down a soccer pitch, but by making a conscious decision to support, to follow, to read, to watch, to learn, and to love. It takes a unique kind of commitment, one that bears as its fruit a joy that is qualitatively different from that of the athletes who determine it, yet no less valid or real or joyous.

Perhaps it is even more so. Who is happier, the athlete who gives of himself physically over the course of a season to help deliver a championship to a team long bereft of one, or the fan, who has sat through countless unsuccessful seasons, braving inclement weather and inclement fortune, only to be rewarded with that moment of victory? To whom does the title of "champion" mean more?

-----------------------------------

I'm romanticizing the notion here, but I think that's kind of my point. Sports can and should be romanticized, even in the age of multi-million-dollar contracts and shoe sponsorships and Gatorade and bling and body ink. At least, I'll never feel guilty for being romantic about them.

you make forgetting look so easy.

2009-11-28T02:01:00.014-07:00

from xkcd.

east dillon.

2009-11-15T04:28:00.004-07:00

I wrote about this once before, a long time ago. But I need to write about it again. There is no better television show currently on the air than Friday Night Lights. And chances are, you've either never heard of it, or you dismissed it because it's "about football."

It's not about football. It's about drama, relationships, family, high school, marriage, and small-town America, wrapped up in a football package. It's a double shot of life with a football chaser.

Friday Night Lights is filmed in an almost documentary style, all hand-held cameras and tight frame shots and unconventional angles, which combined with the superb acting leads to the feeling that these are real people, with real joys and sorrows, and we're all being granted a beautiful opportunity to share in everything. And Coach Eric Taylor, his wife Tami, and his daughter Julie are hands-down the most genuine family in television history.

It's like a reality TV show if reality TV didn't suck.

And this season (the show's fourth, which is currently airing exclusively on DirecTV but will come to NBC next year) may be the best of all, as it puts Coach Taylor in an impossible situation (reviving the dirt-poor crosstown high school's football team with a bunch of scrubs and no funding) and still manages to make his failures almost absurdly heroic.

(Also prominent in that scene: the Sufjan Stevens version of "Come Thou Fount Of Every Blessing," a perfect example of FNL's impeccable taste in soundtrack. Most incidental music in the series is provided by West Texas ambient-rock band Explosions In The Sky, a group I can't recommend highly enough.)

Look: if you like football, you need to watch this show. If you couldn't care less about football, you need to watch this show. (I privately suspect that more than a couple of girls I have dated enjoyed watching FNL with me more than they enjoyed, you know, me.)

If you are at all interested in good television, you need to watch this show.

I will buy you Season 1 myself if I have to.

Because I know you'll buy the rest on your own.

modern warfare 2.

2009-11-13T03:45:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I have thoughts about video games, and I write those thoughts down, and the newspaper I work for puts them on their Web site. You can read them here.

valerie.

2009-11-09T05:12:00.001-07:00

I used to work at Comedy Sportz.

It sounds more impressive than it is. I say it that way because I want it to sound impressive. I want it to imply things that aren't necessarily apparent. (Or, like, you know, true. Like that I'm funny and witty and outgoing and can hold the attention of a crowd like a real actor. I'm not, and I can't, at least not all the time. But it's a nifty little trick of self-delusion.)

"Work" is hardly what it could be called. What it was, was that I fell into an association with a few of the improv folks through my brother's friend Clark, who was part of the troupe. They needed keyboard players. Not super talented, complicated, professional musicians, but just someone who could hold down simple chords and follow the actors as they invented melody and lyrics. I happened to play the keyboard. Things seemed to work out.

It gave me something to do on my weekends while I was still in high school and early in college (back when I fretted about having things to do on the weekends, instead of what I do now, which is basically nothing, so I guess not much has changed, except that I don't fret about it now).

They paid me a paltry $20 for every night I played, so it was hardly a "job." I'd have done it for free. It made me feel like part of something that was undeniably cool, even if my personal coolness level was up for debate.

One thing it didn't do for me, however, was get me introduced to any girls. Too much of a Provo date scene, the Comedy Sportz. Plus, nothing's sexier than a funny guy. The guy who sat in the booth at the back and played Ben Folds off the top of his head in between scenes? Not so much.

The story I'm about to tell is the one exception.

-----------------------------------

The club is pretty full tonight. Full of young lovers and less young lovers, of awkward freshmen on first dates and established couples who sit with relaxed postures and embrace after each laugh with an intimacy that makes me wince in jealousy and frustration.

I'm flying solo again, as I usually do when I play. I'm allowed a cast comp every so often, and sometimes I manage to convince a girl or a friend (never a girlfriend) to tag along, the prospect of free comedy and a minimum of required interaction with me just tantalizing enough to make it worth the effort. It always ends up awkward, though; the friend-person has to sit by themselves as I do my music business, and then I have to bid them farewell as they leave before the late show begins, to get on with the real activities they have planned for their Friday or Saturday night, the stuff they actually wanted to do in the first place.

So yeah, most nights are like this one, with me sitting on a woefully unstable office chair in the raised sound booth at the back of the theater, the Yamaha keyboard with the worn buttons in front of me, the sound guy on my left blaring out catchy, inoffensive pop mixes through the less-than-ideal speaker system.

-----------------------------------

It's frustrating, the being alone, because despite the self-deprecation I'm feeling way more confident than usual. It's late summer, and I'm preparing for my freshman year at BYU, and the thought of starting a completely new experience, especially one where no one in my classes will know my name or my power-nerd background or my ridiculously stunted romantic encounters, is exhilarating. I've even developed something of a new look for myself: product-filled hair that I would later come to associate with J.D. from Scrubs; my favorite white and green ringer T-shirt with the hand-drawn logo on it; wraparound shades with yellow lenses that make me look somewhere between Bono and a downhill skier but that I somehow manage to pull off, even indoors. They're ludicrous affectations, all of them, but they're MY affectations, and the fact that I enjoy them imbues me with an energy I rarely find in myself, and I know I need to roll with it for as long as I can.

So with all this mojo working, I have no one to use it on, and this dampens my mood a little. But I know that soon the jokes will start flying, and I'll have opportunities to drop in bits of melody from whatever pop culture reference is made on stage (a feat that never fails to delight the actors in its off-the-cuff, by-ear alacrity), so I won't have too long to feel morose.

-----------------------------------

Near the end of the first half of the show, we catch each other looking.

She's with a group of girls, a last hurrah between friends or roommates before separating for the summer, perhaps. It's dark in the theater, but I can see her shoulder-length black hair tucked loosely behind her ears, and she has the kind of large dark eyes and open face that hold my attention.

For a second too long, in fact. Because she glances up towards the sound booth -- she's sitting in just the perfect part of the theater for this -- and our eyes meet for that tiniest sliver of time where you suddenly realize you've been staring, and she knows you've been staring, you both know, and no amount of shuffling or pushing buttons or looking busy can hide it.

Before I jerk my eyes away, I see a ghost of a smile play across her lips and a spark of mischief in her eyes.

-----------------------------------

During the intermission, I argue with myself. I've got nothing better to do for the ten-minute duration, and she already knows I was looking, and she doesn't seem too bothered by it. On the other hand, I think, she's got all her girlfriends with her, doesn't want to be hit on in front of them. On the other hand, she really is cute, and you never take opportunities like this. On the other hand, the reason you never take opportunities like this is because they always blow up in your face. On the other hand...

I pull this Tevye act through the whole intermission, and before I know it, the lights are dimming again and it's time to be funny.

-----------------------------------

Curt is running the show tonight as the "ref," and he's always careful to thank the door staff and the sound and keyboard guys as he's starting things back up. He and I also have a standing joke, stemming from my ability to play by ear, which he sometimes uses as a warm-up to get the audience laughing again. And Thespis be praised, he's using it tonight. Perfect.

"You know, Layton is such an amazing keyboard player, he actually knows every song ever written. True story."

The audience chuckles.

"In fact, you can even test him on it. Seriously, somebody just yell out the name of a song. Any piece of music. Something really obscure."

Several things are yelled out, the clearest of which is "the theme music from The Exorcist." (Side note: I have not seen The Exorcist.)

"There we go... Layton, do you know the theme music from The Exorcist?"

I look straight at the stage, my face expressionless. "Yep."

A beat.

"... See, told ya he knew it."

Laughter and applause. I sneak a glance at the girl. She's grinning at me. I grin back sheepishly. Bingo.

-----------------------------------

For the rest of the show, I can barely keep my mind on my cues. I'm feverishly trying to come up with something to say to her, the right way to approach her, how to smoothly acknowledge the rest of the party she's with while focusing on her. New look and confidence notwithstanding, this is never something I've been good at, and I'm both thrilled and terrified.

As the show ends, the actors run out onto the street to greet the audience as they exit. She's across the audience from me, so I have to wait for her and everyone else to get out the door before I can leave the booth. She wiggles a wave in my direction as she walks out. Ignoring my instinct to charge through the lingering crowd like a rampaging rhinoceros, I play it cool. I can catch her out on the street when the crowd thins.

I make it out the door and lean against the wall of the theater, scanning the crowd. She and her friends shake the actors' hands, then stand talking and laughing to each other for a moment. It's now or never.

-----------------------------------

I freeze.

Completely.

-----------------------------------

I don't even know what happened, but I couldn't move. I think I tried -- I must have tried -- several times, but I felt like I was sleep paralyzed, like the dreams I have when I'm trying to play basketball and I suddenly can't dribble at all, can't even bounce the ball once, and I jolt awake and realize I've been trying and failing to move my arms and legs. This is like that. At least I think it is. I seriously can't remember.

By the time I come to, she and her friends are a ways down Center Street, getting into a black SUV. Unless I want to run down the sidewalk after her, it's not happening. And I can't believe that I've managed to screw this up so badly.

The black SUV pulls out, flips a U-turn, and motors east on Center. I wave as it passes, one last desultory effort at saving some face for myself. It doesn't help.

Until the SUV flips another U-turn. And pulls over. And the door opens. And suddenly there she is, walking towards me.

-----------------------------------

She's wearing a simple light yellow top and shapely jeans that hug her petite frame in just the right way. She's grinning at me again. For heaven's sake, man, stop staring! You can do this!

My mouth opens, speaks. They may or may not have actually been my words -- I can't tell, because I can't remember thinking them. But it is my voice, and it's even got a note of guilty, playful confidence in there.

"You know, I was just sitting here kicking myself for not coming over and talking to you."

"I know." Still smiling. I have to will myself not to grin too widely back.

"I'm Layton."

"Valerie."

We shake hands.

"How'd you like the show? First time?"

"Yeah, I loved it, never laughed so hard in my life. So, did you really know that song?"

"Um. Maybe." Now I can't help but grin. "Okay, I had no idea. Don't tell anyone or I'll get fired."

She laughs, and my mind goes blank again. I don't even remember how I pulled it off, but somehow I came away with her phone number, and the advice that she was leaving for school in Idaho soon, so I shouldn't wait to call.

-----------------------------------

I waited to call.

-----------------------------------

I haven't seen Swingers at this point in my life, so I don't know that two days is industry standard, or that three days is kinda money. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. At eighteen years old, and having kissed exactly one girl, one time, in my entire life, I have no idea what to do next. Do I just ask her out, the two of us? Do I get a group of friends? Do I have any friends that will agree to it? What will we do? Where will we go? What do I say to her? No idea. (Still don't, sometimes. I don't think girls know how much stress and effort guys put into thinking up things they hope girls will like, and that's not something that has passed with age.)

In the end, it's over a week later before I manage to work up the courage to dial.

"Hello?"

(voice quivering just a little) "Hi, is Valerie there?"

"No, I'm afraid she's up in Idaho for school."

"... oh. Okay. Thanks anyway."

-----------------------------------

I keep her phone number for several months. I don't call again.

in the future, you won't see posts from this person.

2009-10-31T02:42:00.000-06:00

I see your face again.

I didn't ask to. I didn't seek it out.
I've gotten better at remembering to forget about you.
I can get through days, weeks, even months without thinking about your smile, your scent, your inexplicable happiness when we were together.

It sneaks up on me. A dream here, a picture there.
It's not conscious. I don't want it.
It's someone else's thoughts, someone's else joy, someone else's love.
It doesn't belong to me.
It never did, no matter how much I wanted it to.

And I really, really wanted it to.

So I have to exert the little control I can.
I have to hide you.

And just hope my brain stops ambushing me in my sleep, when I can't fight back, with images, emotions, memories that never happened, kisses we never actually shared.

It's hard, because I know I did the right thing, and I know you did too.
But that doesn't change how I feel when your face, your name, appear on my screen, unbidden, in the middle of the night, when my companions are the chill in the air and "Duk Koo Kim" on the speakers and the fear that you'll be there again when I close my eyes.

I hope you won't be.

I wish you were.

Click.

words.

2009-10-31T02:02:00.001-06:00

So, I know I'm a wordy person. Polysyllabic. Verbose. Loquacious, one might even say.

-----------------------------------

There's a combination of factors involved there. I read a lot. Always have. One of my earliest memories is of my older brother reading picture books to me, classics like "There's A Monster In My Closet" and "Where The Wild Things Are" and "Frog And Toad." I couldn't have been older than three or four. And I remember reading the words on the page faster than he could actually say them, and wishing he would get on with it.

(Although I also remember really enjoying that he would take the time to read with me. Thanks, Dave.)

At my elementary school (Edgemont Eagles, represent... although, why do elementary schools have mascots? it's not like they have any sports teams), there was a long-standing program where fourth grade students were each assigned a first grader and were supposed to tutor them in reading. My fourth grader was Dan, the older brother of my friend Stefanie, and I daresay I was a better reader at age 6 than he was at age 10. He spent Tutoring Time chatting to his friends while I grabbed a stack of books and read quietly in the corner. At the end of each session Dan would gleefully mark off all the books I had read on a large chart in the corner of the room, and proceed to brag about me to his mates. The whole situation still makes me laugh.

-----------------------------------

My point in describing these events is to emphasize that I learned to read at a very early age, and have never stopped since then. And you can't read that much without absorbing a great many words, whether you knew them already or learned them from usage and context.

My secondary point in describing these events is to emphasize that I'm pretty obnoxious about the words I use. I wouldn't say I overtly attempt to use the biggest word I can in any given situation... but I will admit to a great deal of pleasure when just the right word emerges from my mouth in the course of a conversation.

So yeah, I know I'm That Guy Who Uses Big/Obscure Words. And I know it's annoying but I can't help myself. Given that fact, something that bugs me more than almost anything is when a word is misused, or overused, or used without really thinking about what is meant by its usage.

I mention this because I have come to find that I absolutely loathe corporate buzzwords and business-speak.

-----------------------------------

To this point in my career, I've had precious little exposure to this sort of thing. As a print journalist, I associate with people who are, in large part, like myself: pretentious, condescending wordsmiths who quibble over semantics. (I promise, I harbor no illusions about this side of myself.)

But given recent events at work, I've had to attend business meetings with my new executive overlords. And they are almost insufferable. At our most recent meeting, I tried to count the number of times some form of the word "innovate" was used. I lost count after ten minutes. "Differentiated" was also a favorite. Oh, and "compelling." Ugh. As Inigo Montoya would say, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

Maybe this is just a kind of vernacular to which I will have to become accustomed. But I'm not happy about it.

-----------------------------------

Don't misunderstand me, though. I don't use big words to try to obfuscate my meaning. I guess I feel like, the more diverse my vocabulary becomes, the more words I have at my disposal, the easier it will be for me to say what I mean, what's on my mind, how I'm feeling. And that's something that's really important to me.

Because the bottom line is, I don't care which words you use. As long as they're yours, and as long as you mean them. And as long as they're the truth.

goal.

2009-10-25T01:36:00.005-06:00

The expression on this man's face = why I love sports.

(photo: Kristin Murphy, Deseret News)

and we'll sleep in a real pile.

2009-10-24T02:10:00.000-06:00

I could tell you lots of things about "Where The Wild Things Are." I could tell you that the cinematography was fantastic, that I loved the vast deserts and dry autumnal forests with no leaves and the oddly circular wicker houses that reminded me of the baskets I tried to weave once at a scout camp in Arizona, except that my baskets would always turn out lopsided. I could tell you that I loved Max Records (yeah, that's the kid's real name) and think he's going to have lots of great roles in the next few years.

I could tell you that I thought the film was a little overlong, that I didn't really love the Karen O. soundtrack (though it did fit the mood, it's not something I'd buy or listen to outside of the movie), but that I loved when the script got whimsical ("We haven't formally met -- I'm Ira, I put the holes in the trees, maybe you saw those?") or showed childlike interpretations of mature concepts (like when one Wild Thing brutally whacking another with a tree branch is explained away by the statement, "They're in love").

It's not a perfect film, but there's plenty of beauty and subtlety, strangeness and wonder.

-----------------------------------

My favorite thing about the film -- well, "favorite" is not the right word... most affecting, maybe -- was the way it captured the loneliness of being a child whose time is spent mostly in his own imagination, a loneliness that hasn't ever really left me. What the Wild Things -- these massive, furry, weirdly ancient physical manifestations of Max's subconscious life -- desire most from Max is a way to "make the loneliness go away," and his greatest selling point isn't his magic power or his influence over the Vikings, but his "sadness shield," which is big enough to cover everyone.

I'd like one of those.

-----------------------------------

Every time I'm around young children, I'm reminded of how dramatically they view life. There's no sense of perspective, no way to mitigate what's happening with knowledge of what has gone before or what's to come. Each moment is the ultimate zenith of existence, for good or ill.

It's most often in the "for ill" moments that this melodrama becomes apparent. My father frequently remarks, in a sarcastic but not unkind way, "Life is hard, huh?" when confronted with a child weeping over a seemingly trivial matter. I don't think he says it as a means of comfort or sympathy to the child (who is going to keep crying anyway), but more as a reminder to himself of how immediate and important everything can seem, and that those emotions, while perhaps irrational, are still valid.

I think as an adult I miss some of that cleansing vibrance.

-----------------------------------

There aren't any sadness shields, though, and in the end, child-kings in wolf suits can't make the dull ache of loneliness go away. And you can save your pep talks and cheap reassurances, because in the end, you're just Max, and that's not much. It's a hard reality to face some nights, when (in JD's words) you're sitting at home, staring at the ceiling, just wishing you had someone to talk to.

It's more rewarding when you figure out ways to stave it off yourself, impermanent though they may be, and when you rely on the care of those that love you, imperfect though they may be. I try to remember that.

-----------------------------------

If there's one thing children know how to do, it's play. I try to remember that too.

this.

2009-10-21T13:58:00.002-06:00

my stuff, my self.

2009-10-15T03:29:00.003-06:00

I don't know what I am.

I'm a nerd that loves sports. I'm a jock that loves shopping. I'm a romantic that reads comics. I'm a journalist who gets nervous making phone calls. I'm a conservative liberal. Or a liberal conservative. I'm not sure which. I don't make any sense.

I wear my eclecticity like a scarlet letter or a red badge of courage, depending on the situation (and by coming up with literary analogues like that off the top of my head I'm really just proving my own point twice over).

I can't divorce myself from myself, and I feel bad when someone calls me on it, and I know I get overly defensive about it, but I don't know what else to do. Because this is Me, and that is Me, and that other thing is also Me, and there is not any one thing that makes Me, but it is in the combination of contradictions that Me is. And I understand that it is difficult for any Not-Me to handle that. But I guess everyone feels that way.

-----------------------------------

My boyhood bedroom contained a lot of stuff.

I remember my father coming into my room one time. My father usually only came into my room to get me out of bed. (Later he realized he could do it just as easily by running on the treadmill early in the morning and leaving the TV on after he was done, with the volume blaring so loudly that it penetrated the door to my room a good hundred feet away and I had to get up and turn it off myself, and then he could yell at me not to go back to bed from upstairs in the kitchen. This happened a lot.)

Anyway, this time he wasn't coming into my room to get me out of bed. I don't remember why he came in, actually. But as he was leaving, I remember this part.

"Hey, you have a ton of cool stuff in here. I never noticed. Look at all this." He was motioning to the walls and bookshelf and desk.

There was a lot to look at. My walls were covered with posters from Yellowstone and Bryce Canyon and posters of characters from Star Wars (my favorite being a list of famous lines under the heading "THE WISDOM OF YODA") and full-length newspaper clippings of the Arizona Diamondbacks winning the World Series and John Stockton's 9,922nd assist, which broke the all-time record. And there were video game-related posters and a poster of the Taco Bell chihuahua (who recently passed away, may he rest in peace) and an aesthetically-pleasing series of ads from a certain campaign for Life Savers which I liked for some reason. There was a large poster that ripped off the Hard Rock Cafe logo and read "Hard Work All Day" and referred to missionary work (which kind of depressed me at the time because I wasn't sure I wanted my mission to be very hard, and as it turned out it was, even on the days when I didn't work very hard). And there was a poster of the Dave Matthews Band during their "Crash" days, back when they didn't suck. And there was a 3D stereogram of the Salt Lake Temple, one of those "Magic Eye" things that you stared at and stared at until you finally figured out how to relax your eyes and act like you were looking through the poster and suddenly the image jumped out at you. And above my door, where I would see it every day before I left, there was a copy of the "Litany Against Fear," quoted from the book Dune, which I had typed and printed out in an effort to motivate myself to combat my sometimes-crippling shyness and social anxiety.

I had read every book on my bookshelf at least twice. My favorites were easily spotted by their cracked and worn spines, and many had tiny nibble marks around the edges from my brother's pet cockatiel, which I accidentally let fly away, something I still haven't really forgiven myself for. Surrounding the books were model X-Wings and TIE Fighters that I had assembled but never gotten around to painting, and a model Gundam (a warrior robot from a Japanese animated series) that had colored parts already so it didn't need painting, and small plush figures of Luigi and Yoshi and Donkey Kong, and the crystal globe-shaped trophy my parents had had made for me after I won the elementary school geography bee and all the school gave me was a world map, which I clearly didn't need seeing as how I had just proven I knew all about the world, and a tiny figure of Paddington Bear which I inexplicably adored.

The top of my desk was invisible. Every square inch had a book or a paper or a stack of papers or a magazine or a handful of change or some other form of clutter on it. (I knew where everything was, of course.) My desk drawers contained more books and magazines and Game Boy games and assorted writing utensils and various knickknacks I had acquired on school trips or family vacations or impulse toy purchases at the nearest grocery store, the one I would ride my bike to so I could buy 25-cent cans of Shasta without telling my mom, who would never buy soda for us. And at the very bottom, where I knew only I would find them, were the notes and letters I had received from the girls I loved in the fierce, naive, terrifyingly uncomplicated way that only adolescents can.

-----------------------------------

I think this is part of the reason why I talk so much about the "stuff" I like, and feel passionate about them. I found, and still find in these and similar things (like the list on the sidebar to the right), ways to explain Me: in the nature posters, my sense of wonder and love of beauty; in the sports posters, my joy, awe and respect; my desire for adventure and excitement and heroism in the X-Wing model (and my practical realization that these were reckless fantasies in the Yoda poster). There was the fear of my inadequacies, and my attempts to overcome them, in the quotation above my door. The chihuahua represented my whimsy, and Luigi, Yoshi and Donkey Kong taught me to enjoy life and try to make it fun. The globe trophy contained my pride, and the missionary poster my humility, and the old love notes my introspection, regret, and romance.

And in that little Paddington Bear -- my ability to love unconditionally, for no reason at all.

-----------------------------------

My father studied the scene for a moment, smiled at me, told me he loved me, and left the room.

I think he understood.

-----------------------------------

"I must be myself. I cannot break myself any longer for you, or you. If you can love me for what I am, we shall be happier. If you cannot, I will still seek to deserve that you should. I must be myself." -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

nerdular nerdence.

2009-10-11T02:16:00.000-06:00

When you can have a late-night conversation with a roommate that involves football, dating, old video games, new video games, video game design, interactive fiction, speculative fiction, narrative storytelling, existentialism, moral relativism, the nature of God, biblical humor, and pizza -- well, that is what I call a good night.

I love being a nerd.

(For the origin of this post's title, click here.)

cinema.

2009-10-10T02:36:00.000-06:00

I've seen three movies in the theater this week. I love seeing movies in the theater. I can't believe people actually thought that, with the advent of the VCR, people would stop going. Some films absolutely must be seen on the big screen, in total darkness, with booming sound and vivid picture and uncomfortable armrests and people talking and sticky floors and people making out and the smell of fake butter on the popcorn. Okay, not all of those things are positive. But they're all part of the experience, an experience I embrace and adore.

I once had a conversation with an actor friend and movie buff about going to the movies. (I'm sure he doesn't recall the conversation. I'm not even sure if he remembers who I am. Nevertheless.) I can't remember the exact film we were discussing, but he was recommending it to me and I was telling him I hadn't seen it because I didn't want to go by myself. I was much younger at the time, and opined that movies weren't any fun if you didn't have someone to go with. On the contrary, he said, some of the best movie-going experiences of his life were solo efforts. I still thought it was weird.

I don't now. Since I work so many nights, I often have time to catch an early showing of a movie before heading to work in the evening. There are lots of benefits to this: an empty theater, cheaper tickets, the feeling that I'm doing something useful with my day instead of lazing around the house doing nothing or clicking the Stumble button on my web browser until my eyes hurt. Anyway, I don't care how lame it makes me look.

Watching a movie by myself means I don't have to worry about whether my date is having a good time (or what she's thinking about me, or whether I should try to lift the armrest and cuddle with her -- don't even play like you don't think about that). It means I don't have to talk to my buddies about how awesome that scene was (although sometimes that's fun too). It means I don't have to recite each actor's entire IMDB filmography by reflex. (I can't help it. I know it's annoying, but I seriously can't stop myself.)

It means I can enjoy the film, envelop myself in the story being told, and I can allow my thoughts to bounce around the inside of my own noggin and not worry about explaining them or sharing them or arguing about them with someone else who might not have my same taste or feelings. (And there are very, very few people who have my same taste or feelings.)

There was a brief time in my early college career when I considered studying film rather than journalism. I took the Intro to Film class, and while I barely paid attention in lecture (although I remember liking the professor, an older man with a Ben Stein-like voice and equally dry wit), and rarely prepared for lab, I loved the deconstructive process involved. My TA for the lab section (whose name I've long since forgotten) had such a passion for good cinema, and I have since discovered and seen many films on my own that I remember her telling me about. And I loved going to the tiny theater classroom in one of the science buildings on campus to watch required screenings of classic films, most of which I haven't seen a second time but have stayed with me nonetheless.

Eventually, my practical nature reasserted control over this secretly romantic and artistic Layton lurking beneath the surface of me, and I realized I could never make a living with a film degree and stuck to the journalism. (Mind you, considering the present state of the journalism industry, that reasoning seems less reasonable in retrospect.) In any case, it's probably better than I remain a committed movie lover and fan, rather than a participant, in the same way that I think I prefer to remain an amateur musician and music appreciator rather than a professional performer.

Still. There's a part of me that continues to catalog song choices ("That song would make for a great moment like this") and consider camera angles and lines of dialogue and character interactions in a sort of non-committal yearning way. Not that I actually have an idea or concept, or have ever done anything like write a single page of a script or treatment or storyboard or anything like unto it. Because I don't, and probably never could or would or will.

Still.

Maybe someday.

nocturne.

2009-10-09T03:17:00.000-06:00

So here's the thing about working nights. It's not that bad. I get to stay up all night, which I'd probably be doing anyway. There's never any traffic on my way home. It's quiet. It's peaceful. I get to sleep in till noon, which I would never get to do otherwise. (I actually get far more sleep on a regular basis now than I did during college, when I had 8am classes and 15-page papers and reading assignments and late-night conversations with roommates and insomnia and stress and caffeine and loneliness and despair.)

Actually, I still have most of those things -- just not the school related ones.

But nights are beautiful. I drive through the darkened drowsing city in my black Civic like a shadow of a shadow (and Salt Lake City isn't big enough to have enough lights to break the spell). Every night this week I have arrived at my house and emerged from my car to find a full moon shining down on me so brightly that the streetlamp is superfluous, almost profane. The clarity of the sky echoes the chill in the air and I think of music, something like a Chopin nocturne or an Iron & Wine song or John Coltrane playing "My One and Only Love." Sometimes the silence is more musical than anything. And I feel like I'm the only one who can hear it. And that makes me feel alone, but not always lonely.

she's a crafty lass.

2009-10-08T04:14:00.002-06:00

(Hat tip to tonight's conversation with Andy.)

Women know. Women always know.

Except when they don't.

But they never let on.

It's this impossible, eternal struggle for control, for appearance, for impression, for power, for protection, for pretension, for fun, or for no reason at all. Nothing can be easy or simple or plain or uncomplicated. They want all these things from you, but refuse to ask, because they must be deciphered. They want to give you all these things, but refuse to offer, because they must be earned. They don't know what they want, but pretend they do exactly. Or vice versa. Depending on the weather. Or something equally arcane.

Then they flirt. Oh, how they flirt. And they're all so good at it! It took me years and years and days and nights and years, mistake after embarrassing mistake, to get near the planet that particular ballpark is on. They come fully equipped, OEM, all options standard, capable of making your head feel like it just went twelve rounds with a night on the couch after dinner and a Woody Allen movie that you eventually ignore so you can find out for sure if her lips are as soft and inviting as they look. Except that's all in your head and they put it there without putting it there. It's not their fault. It totally is. And they know it/won't admit knowing it.

And if all else fails, they can be emotional, or irrational, or downright mean. And you can't be emotional back, because that's weakness. You can't be irrational, because that's unfair. And you can never be downright mean.

Because that just makes you a guy.

new design.

2009-10-07T00:01:00.005-06:00

As part of my vow to blog more often (and hopefully in a briefer manner than last night's post) I spent some time tonight finding and tweaking a new blog template, complete with a blogroll of people I love and a random list of things I love. The results lie before you. Do enjoy.

UPDATE: Figured out how to make my own favicon (the little picture next to the site title if you have multiple tabs open in your browser). That's Locke from Final Fantasy VI up there. He is awesome. I am awesome. Awesome.

On comic books and hope; or, To be a Lantern

2009-10-06T02:36:00.005-06:00

Beware. Crazy amounts of geekitude ahead. You have been warned.

These days, I'm a comic book guy. Not, like, the Comic Book Guy. That's this guy. And I don't think I could pull that look off. I mean, I could never make myself grow my hair out long enough to have a ponytail.

No, I'm just a comic book guy, lower case. I like comic books. I can't remember exactly how I started getting into them. I think it was a combination of friends, websites, and my inner nerd wanting another way to manifest itself and finding a likely conduit in that corner of Barnes and Noble I would visit on my lunch breaks, scouring the shelves for a likely trade paperback, crouching on my haunches as I leafed through each volume, basking in the creative glow of each page and causing my legs almost unbearable soreness. (I read the entire run of Y: The Last Man and The Walking Dead this way. True story.)

-----------------------------------

I like different books for different reasons. Sometimes it's the art (Kingdom Come), sometimes the storytelling (Watchmen), sometimes both (Fables), sometimes a certain je ne sais quoi (Ultimate Spider-Man). I like the variety the medium affords. I like racing through an issue or trade for the first time, being absorbed in the story, even though it takes a relatively short time to finish (unless it's by Alan Moore, whose work commands a slower pace). I like studying the art the second time through, admiring the productions of those whose skills I could never have. (I can't even draw proper stick figures. My lack of visual artistic talent strains human credulity.) I like both the immediacy and the complexity.

Mostly, I just appreciate the medium for its uniqueness. Comic book storytelling is unlike any other kind of writing, and takes an economy of word, a focus on dialogue (and inner monologue), and a marriage of script and art that cannot be duplicated. (I appreciate the efforts of people like Zack Snyder, Robert Rodriguez and Darren Aronofsky, but there is little doubt in my mind that the graphic novel versions of their works are by far the superior products. And let's not even talk about The Spirit.) It's a special kind of creativity, picture books for grown-ups, and my heart loves it.

-----------------------------------

Recently I've been following, in tiny chunks, the DC Universe crossover event known as Blackest Night. Now, zombie fiction isn't exactly my thing, despite its annoying ubiquity. (Although, I did read the aforementioned Walking Dead, and earlier today I caught a matinee showing of "Zombieland," which I enjoyed, and I've read World War Z, and seen "28 Days/Weeks Later," so I suppose I have my finger on the undead, flesh-craving pulse of pop culture as much as anyone.)

Anyway, Blackest Night seems, at its core, to be yet another zombie cash-in: dead superheroes come back to life as undead, bloodthirsty evil dudes bent on taking the good guys to their emotional peak and then devouring their hearts and turning them into Black Lanterns themselves. But I'm far more interested in the concept of the "emotional spectrum" the series invents to combat the Black Lanterns. Now, as all the world knows, the power rings wielded by Hal Jordan and the Green Lantern Corps are fueled by the willpower of the wearer. But surely there are other equally strong emotions -- anger, fear, love, hope -- that could also be harnessed?

This series makes it so, and in the process, creates some of the coolest character and power set designs I've seen. (The symbols of each respective Corps alone are fantastic.) And as I've been reading, I've tried to decide which kind of Lantern I would be.

-----------------------------------

It's kind of a dumb question at first. It's sort of like asking which Hogwarts house you'd be sorted into, an oversimplification, a stereotype -- the cool kids into Gryffindor, the geeks into Ravenclaw, the dummies into Hufflepuff, the jerks into Slytherin. Obviously, no one wants to be in Slytherin. Similarly, it would seem obvious that no one would actually want to be a Red Lantern (rage), Orange (greed) or Yellow/Sinestro Corps (fear). These are necessary to provide conflict, but aren't realistic as a means of self-identification. (However, the series does give some interesting context as to how characters allow themselves to be overcome by these "negative" emotions, while not being altogether negative themselves. Sinestro, Green Lantern's nemesis, is a good example of someone who believes the ends justify the means, no matter the cost -- Lawful Evil in D&D parlance.) So I looked at the four "positive" emotions on the Blackest Night spectrum: Green (will), Blue (hope), Indigo (compassion), and Violet (love).

-----------------------------------

For me, Green is right out. I can barely get myself together to crawl out of bed before noon some days. (In my defense, I do work until 2am most nights.) I'm way too non-confrontational when faced with a hard decision. Plus, put a bag of Doritos in front of me, and it's going to get eaten. It is a mathematical certainty. It is simply the natural order of things. No way could I power a ring based on my willpower.

-----------------------------------

Violet could be the answer. I have lots of love. (Most days I have more love than I know what to do with. Wait, that came out wrong.) But in the Blackest Night sense, the "love" referred to is less the gentle caring kind (that comes with Indigo and compassion) and more the passionate, though not necessarily erotic, love that drives people to wild and often irrational action. That's not me.

-----------------------------------

So, to Indigo. I'm a pretty compassionate person. I always try to understand what others are feeling rather than place my emotions above theirs. I definitely have a need to be needed by others. Compassion makes some sense. But I don't know that I'm quite selfless enough to be purely compassionate. I mean, I've just taken two hours to write this lengthy, nerdy and needlessly self-indulgent examination into how I might pigeonhole my psyche into one of seven arbitrary emotions based on a superhero comic book series. Compassion would probably be saving all of you from reading this. But since I'm writing it, I clearly want someone to read it, no matter how narcissistic or abstruse it may be.

(Also, I like using big words to show off. That's just mean. Not compassionate at all.)

-----------------------------------

The Blue Lantern Corps' guiding emotion is hope. I've thought a lot about hope. "Hope," Andy Dufresne once said before he crawled through a Shawshank Prison sewage pipe and came out clean on the other side, "is a good thing -- maybe the best of things -- and no good thing ever dies." Hope can drive a person to continue when there is no reason present for doing so. Hope is fundamental, I think, to human existence, whatever your conception of that existence may be. If one does not hope that tomorrow will be, or can be, better than today, through personal efforts or the assistance of loved ones, then one would cease to be, for being would lose its purpose.

There is a strong undercurrent, even in the comic series at hand, of belief, of faith, and of spirituality, in the concept of hope. Even the members of the Blue Lantern Corps are called by terms with religious connotations: Saint Walker, Brother Warth, Sister Sercy. Note, also, the customary oath recited as the Blue Lanterns recharge their rings:

In fearful day, in raging night,
With strong hearts full, our souls ignite,
When all seems lost in the War of Light,
Look to the stars-- For hope burns bright!

As Robert Frost once said of stars, hope asks of us a certain height, of a steadfast and unwavering belief in the goodness of all and for all, to stay our minds on and be staid.

I believe that tomorrow will be better, even when it isn't. I feel that the best is always yet to come, and I mean that in both an earthly and a celestial sense. And I know that I want to do all in my power to make that feeling a reality.

-----------------------------------

I'm a Blue Lantern. I hope.

spaces.

2009-10-05T03:18:00.004-06:00

For some reason I suddenly really miss my high school friends. Or maybe I just miss my high school self. Or maybe I don't. Maybe I miss the hopefulness that high school afforded me. Maybe I miss the wide-open opportunity that lay before me then, and has since faded like the songs I sometimes dream I am playing and cannot recreate upon waking.

I don't think I really have any regrets. I think that's because in order to regret something you have to have actually done something. And everything I've done in the intervening years has simply been presented to me, brought before me where I only needed to expend the smallest amount of energy to actualize it. Room service rather than take-out, delivery rather than pick-up. (Or, even, cooking from scratch. But those who know me know that's just nonsense.)

I combine regret, despair, hope and optimism in perfect measure. I'd make an analogy to a precisely mixed alcoholic beverage, produced by a veteran barman who's old enough to forgo the stupid bottle tricks and young enough to still be touched by the conversations of the young lovers and would-be lovers he overhears. Except that such an analogy would be patently ridiculous coming from one such as I, with no first-hand knowledge of such things. I think I just made the analogy anyway. Being ridiculous has never been a problem for me before, I guess.

So it's not that easy to live with myself sometimes. I'm not always a very pleasant house-guest. I'd rather be living with you, I suppose.

I still hope it works out for us, you know.

(by the way, if anyone is reading this, I love you and will probably put you in my blogroll when I get around to making a blogroll on here. I think I'm going to write more weird late-night missives like this. Then again, I probably won't do any of that stuff I just said. Except I still love you. That part was for real.)

One night at work

2009-02-21T05:31:00.002-07:00

"Larry Miller just died."

The seventh floor, usually awash in phone calls, clicking keystrokes, and briskly walking journalists, ground to a halt as Greg hung up the phone, already moving to dial another number.

"What?" someone asked.

"Larry Miller just died. I'm getting the press release right now."

A ripple began traveling across the newsroom, touching each cubicle further from the epicenter of Greg's desk and bouncing off in a different direction. Heads began popping up from computer screens, each repeating the same words: "Larry Miller just died?"

I sat -- well, sort of sprawled -- across a low filing cabinet, Macbook on lap. I had just received my daily dose of vicarious drama from my friend Emiley on the fifth floor, an intern and fellow former Daily Universe alum. I was supposed to be sitting at the desk next to the cabinet currently supporting my backside, but my coworker Larry (last name: not Miller, obviously) was squatting on that property, waiting for another coworker to clear out of an adjacent desk. As the ripple brushed my Cabinet seat (har har), I too parroted the phrase, paused for a moment to reflect -- it was a huge loss for the state of Utah, not unexpected (due to Miller's poor health) but still shocking in its sudden immediacy -- then continued idly browsing the Web until I could place my posterior in more productive environs.

A moment later, it hit me: We have to get this online. Right now.

The customary cacophony had resumed, except now it was all on the same subject, towards the same end. The newsroom had transmogrified into a many-voiced, hundred-handed organism, furiously tapping at keyboards, stabbing at numbers on phones and yelling questions and instructions to each journalist/cell:

"Do we have an obit?"
"I looked at it yesterday, D-Rob sent it in, I'm editing it now."
"We're not gonna get it fast enough. Where's the press release?"
"I'm looking right at it here."
"E-mail it to me, we'll have to create a blank file for it."
"We need art!"
"I'm already looking."
"Somebody get Huntsman on the phone."
"Who else do we need to call?"
"Monson."
"David Stern."
"Karl Malone."
"Stockton."
"He won't talk."
"He'll talk about this."
"Derek Fisher."
"Oh yeah, that's big."
"Sports is on it."
"The Trib doesn't have anything yet."
"Sweet, we're gonna beat 'em to it."
"Press release is live."
"I'm sending art."
"Which one do you wanna use?"
"Not the one where he looks wall-eyed."
"Rick says use the mug shot."
"Do we use 'dead' or 'dies?' "
" 'Dies.' "
"Put Jazz owner in the hed."
"He did other things."
"That's not what people know him for."
"Wow, 21 comments already."
"Sending the obit."
"We're ready."

The thing was, I was ready. Even in my awkward body position (there wasn't time now to play Musical Desks), even though moments before we had all been minding our own business, and I hadn't even really been working, even though I had only spent about a week on the seventh floor and a lot of people still didn't know my name... well, none of it mattered.

Something inside me, something I have felt before, had awakened -- something always prepared for the challenge of a vital task, some part of my personality or brain or being that snaps to the front when faced with a crisis and immediately starts giving orders. And I really was giving orders, to people twenty or thirty years my senior, about file formats and statuses and attaching photos and fixing captions. And they were listening, and following, and reporting back. Because right then, the only way to get the story out was through the website. And therefore, through me. Me, at 25 years old, not six months removed from my internship, inexperienced and naive. I was breaking the biggest local story of the year to date.

Let me not overstate my role in this. I produced no content myself, aside from the writing of a couple headlines and captions. I didn't write the stories. I didn't make the phone calls. I didn't gather the quotes. I didn't retrieve the archive photos. But I made sure all these things were being done, and being done in a way that would make it fast and easy to put them online. And then I made sure they appeared there properly. In this news-producing superorganism, I was acting as the motor functions -- the doer of deeds. And I feel the deeds were done, and done well.

The rest of the night was long and difficult, though its impact was far less immediate. My inner whatever-it-is (Crisis Control manager, maybe, or my own personal Papa Smurf) returned to hibernation, and I tucked in behind Larry (not-Miller) as his wingman, fighting through many obstacles before piloting the website safely into the harbor for the night.

As I left the office, I reflected. It was probably the worst, longest, most difficult shift of work I have yet done in my short time as a young working professional. It was probably also the best and most important shift yet for my career. I performed my duties, and more, with proficiency, when everyone was watching, without being asked or told to do anything.

I think it's the kind of thing Larry Miller would have done.

Salt Lake City.

2008-05-02T00:15:00.002-06:00

I live there now. In a place just off of 1700 South and Foothill Drive. I have my own room, which is nice, and a TV in said room, which is also nice (and a completely new experience).

I live in Salt Lake City now because I work in Salt Lake City now. I'm an intern for the Deseret News, working in the New Media section of the paper. Which basically means that, for the time being, I'm a glorified comment-moderation monkey. See, every story printed in the D-News is formatted for publishing online, complete with a comments section. And those comments get CRAZY. And someone has to sort out the madness, delete the profane or ridiculous comments, and approve the ones that are halfway coherent. (Very few are completely coherent.)

That someone is me.

Okay, so it's a bit of a dumb job at the moment. But I only started this week, and I'm learning to do a few other things as well. Besides, I have to admit -- wielding the Hammer of Comment Deletion +5 can be quite a rush.

Eventually, I'd like to help doing some other stuff -- podcasts, blogs, videos, and the like. One of my co-workers has already told me they need someone to review PS3 games for the D-News' pop culture blog. Alas that I do not have a PS3. But this might be my impetus to get one. I know it would make my brother happy -- he's been trying to get someone to play Call of Duty 4 with him for weeks, especially now that he's finished with his program at Purdue. Moving out and paying tuition (which I haven't done yet) is going to put a damper on things. We'll see.

The whole situation just makes me feel very... adult, somehow. I mean, I'm never going to take another class (barring a midlife crisis and a return for grad school or something). From here on out, it's find job, get paid, rinse, repeat. And call me lame or boring, but that sounds fantastic right now. I walk the streets of downtown SLC on my lunch breaks and find myself surrounded by other businesspeople, with fashionable ties and keycards on lanyards around their necks and busy looks on their faces. And I feel like I belong with them.

Not that it's been my lifelong dream to be a Utah yuppie, but, you know, it's better than being a Provo zoobie. I feel like I've been treading water for the last two years of college, and I'm definitely not feeling that now.

One minor hitch -- I still don't know a soul up here. I have two roommates in my duplex -- one is about to move out, his spot thus far unfilled. Another empty spot awaits. I do have one roommate who is sticking around, and I've gotten along with him fairly well so far. He often works nights, though, so we don't see each other much. Which has largely left me to my own devices from the hours of 6:30 p.m. to whenever I happen to get tired. I've been fine this week, gorging myself on NBA playoff basketball (ye gods, how I've missed you, ESPN!). But I anticipate a vasty nothingness in my life when the playoffs end (or at least, when they end for the Jazz), and that is a bit unsettling.

To illustrate my point: one thing I've been overjoyed about in moving to this area is that I'm five minutes away from Rice-Eccles Stadium, and as summer nears, that means one thing: Real Salt Lake. They may be terrible, but they're still live soccer, and I adore watching live soccer. In fact, I went to the game last night. By myself. And I stayed there. For the whole 90 minutes. IN A BLIZZARD. (I was glad I stayed till the end, too -- though the game was well in hand by that point, Andy Williams put away a brilliant goal just as the clock hit 90:00. It was some kind of reward for my blind, idiotic fortitude, I think.) And while I was there, I didn't notice my isolation at all, because I could focus on what was happening on the pitch. When the game ended, though, and I trudged back to my snow-covered car, trying to regain the feeling in my fingers, I realized that it was sort of a pathetic thing to do -- drop twenty bucks to see a terrible team, in a match that didn't matter, in the freezing cold, alone. I still wasn't sorry I had gone, but it did give me pause.

Then again, I've only been here for six days. I'm sure I will meet more people. And if not, well, I've got a pretty big place, with a big front deck and a beautiful view of the valley, and a hot tub out back and a big-screen TV in front of a leather sectional couch inside. Surely someone would at least be willing to take advantage of that. (Please?)

When will I learn?

2008-04-03T23:59:00.001-06:00

I may or may not have just done it to myself again. Just once in my life I wish I wouldn't repeat the same usual mistakes. Or, if you prefer, stnanks. Ask for details.

this is me

2008-04-01T03:13:00.000-06:00

Found this on the interwebs someplace:

A woman has a close male friend. This means that he is probably interested in her, which is why he hangs around so much. She sees him strictly as a friend. This always starts out with, you're a great guy, but I don't like you in that way. This is roughly the equivalent for the guy of going to a job interview and the company saying, You have a great resume, you have all the qualifications we are looking for, but we're not going to hire you. We will, however, use your resume as the basis for comparison for all other applicants. But, we're going to hire somebody who is far less qualified and is probably an alcoholic. And if he doesn't work out, we'll hire somebody else, but still not you. In fact, we will never hire you. But we will call you from time to time to complain about the person that we hired.

duck and cover

2008-03-29T01:37:00.000-06:00

One way or another, we'll all need each other
Nothing's gonna turn out the way you thought it would
But friends and lovers, don't you duck and cover
Cause everything comes out the way it should

Everybody here's got a story to tell
Everybody's been through their own hell
There's nothing too special about getting hurt
Getting over it, that takes the work

Cause one way or another, we'll all need each other
Nothing's gonna turn out the way you thought it would
But friends and lovers, don't you duck and cover
Cause everything comes out the way it should

Blessed are the hungry, blessed are the weak
Blessed are the humble, blessed are the meek
Blessed are the ones on the other side
Blessed are we for just being alive

One day I stopped wanting anything at all
The heavens opened up like a waterfall
No use in worrying about when it ends
Just for now be thankful for what i get

Cause one way or another, a man's gonna suffer
It makes no difference the way you wanted it
But friends and lovers, don't you duck and cover
Cause everything comes out the way it should in the end

Seems like life is a palindrome
You cry when you die, you cry when you're born
In between it's all about the ups and downs
Add 'em all together, they cancel each other out

Cause one way or another
One way or another
You won't get what you wanted
You'll get enough, for sure
One way or another
Winter pays for the summer
You won't get what you wanted
But what you got'll be good

-- glen phillips

I will possess your heart

2008-03-21T20:54:00.000-06:00

I have another boring, lonely weekend to look forward to. I had a date but she broke it off (well, I gave her an out, and she took it). I'm still forced to entertain my grandparents, who were supposed to have gone to Yellowstone but instead decided to lounge around here all week and make us amuse them. My bracket is utterly busted. All my teams have lost. Even the Jazz couldn't beat the Lakers last night. I am awash in a sea of blah.

I sometimes wonder if I even want a weekend. Seems to make me feel worse. I can't wait to get out of here, where no one knows who I am, and those that do know who I am don't ignore me.

At least Death Cab will keep me company.

Carrying the banner

2008-03-19T09:30:00.000-06:00

I am officially going to be a Deseret Morning News intern this summer. I'll be working on the online section of the newspaper, which is great, because that's the way the industry is moving, and it will really round out my experience and make me more marketable.

Consequently, I'm going to have to find a place to live up there. My first day is April 28, right after finals. So I'm gonna have to get going there. I'm surprisingly excited to move out again -- living at home has been good, what with the free food and the extra pocket money, but also terribly lonely and isolating. It'll be interesting to get a place up near the U and see how student life is up there. I'm sure I can find an LDS roommate and a student ward. That prospect is very exciting.

My life is moving forward. Maybe a bit faster than I'd like. But I think it's a good thing.

A letter

2008-02-23T22:00:00.000-07:00

To whichever females it may concern:

Please do not hide the way you really feel because you're "afraid of hurting his feelings." Be honest, always. It will save everyone a lot of trouble in the end.

I will never hold it against you if you are honest with me. I will respect you more for respecting me and caring about me enough to tell me the truth up front. You can tell me no if I ask you out. You can tell me you're not interested. I've been rejected before. You're not the first, and you won't be the last. I can take it. And I will have a higher opinion of you for your candor.

If, on the other hand, you insist on letting me get the wrong impression, and letting me keep that impression, because you're too chicken to say how you really feel, I will be more angry. It will make things worse. It will always make things worse.

Also, do not tell me how "nice" or "sweet" I am. I know I am these things. I am tired of hearing about them. I am especially tired of hearing about them from girls who have just rejected me. They do not soften the blow.

Don't make me drag your real feelings out of you. Say what you mean. I promise I will do the same. It will be the best thing for everyone.

Thank you for your time.

(By the way, if anyone who knows anything about karma is reading this: when do I start getting a dividend for my tireless, exhaustive kindness and service to every living creature on the planet? Isn't that supposed to start bringing some good vibrations my way? Can I get a ruling on this? Because, even though I love being kind, and it's the way I'm built, and I wouldn't change it for anything, I sure would like to see some people returning the favor in my life.)

Never say never, dude

2008-02-08T01:07:00.000-07:00

I think a lot about causality these days. I think about the everyday choices I make, and what effect they will end up having on my life. Because I get this feeling that they play a direct role in who I am and what I do and what I am becoming. I have this notion in my head that even the tiniest things -- like what to eat for lunch, or whether to go to the restroom or not at a certain time, or a nod of the head to a stranger, or whatever -- will end up dramatically changing the course of my day or week or year or life.

I could have said something today that I think really could have changed my life. I didn't say it.

I want to see the road map, the ever-growing and changing sketch of every decision I've ever made. I wish I knew where the other choice would have led me. I want to plot out my own personal string theory, and play out every possible outcome, like reloading a quick-save on a computer game over and over until I get just the right result. Because I feel like I have all this potential, I feel like I could have been anyone other than me, if I had just been given a little inside information.

I sometimes wonder why I'm so blindly optimistic.

I am fundamentally unlikable

2007-09-27T16:54:00.000-06:00

I hereby express my displeasure at being roundly ignored by everyone and everything I know. Also I am displeased at the fact that, on the rare occasions people do not ignore me, they ask me to do things for them.

Some examples, just from today alone:

1) I exit my basketball class to find a text from my boss, asking me to cover for her when she already knew I had a Spanish test tonight. (In her defense, it's her birthday, but still.)

2) I enter my dance class, saying hello to a cute girl whose acquaintance I have made, who launches into questions about what the journalism program is like (because she's about to apply for it) without even saying hello. During the rest of the class, none of my dance partners says a single thing to me, apart from what is necessary for the dance, despite my efforts at conversation.

3) Crossing campus, I encounter a girl I have had a few classes with before, and immediately after she says hello, without pausing, she asks me to help her set up a booth for a club she is representing. Every day. For the next week.

4) I learn third-hand about an impromptu ward activity -- an eating contest at Doc's Pizza Buffet. It happened last night. I was not invited. However, I do receive phone calls from two different ward members, asking for information that I cannot immediately give them because I'm at work and unable to access my ward clerk information, which fact frustrates my callers when I inform them of it.

This is a DAILY occurrence. Some days are better, some days are worse. But I am consistently either treated like I don't exist, or used for my abilities and nothing more.

Is it really wrong for me to be liked for who I am, and not just what I am willing to do or am capable of doing? I get so tired of putting forth all the effort and getting dumped on in return. I want to ask every single person who talks to me, "What have you EVER done for ME? EVER???" and then watch them squirm as they realize that they have done nothing.

I know that's selfish. But screw it. Until someone proves to me otherwise, I am going to worry only about myself. Being a good person is getting me nowhere, except for a one-way ticket to Lonelyville by way of Pissedoffington.

History repeats

2007-07-24T00:40:00.000-06:00

It's a tale as old as time: boy meets girl, boy falls for girl, boy goes out of his way to be tremendously nice to girl, thus showing his interest, boy somehow slips inevitably into friendship with girl, girl reaches point where she could never conceive of liking boy because they're such "good friends," boy ends up with girl becoming yet another female who unburdens herself on him while taking advantage of his selflessness and giving little to nothing in return.

Maybe it's only an old tale to me.

I can't count the number of times this has happened, and it's happening again right under my nose. It's a bad sign when a girl texts you to make sure you're coming to Family Home Evening because she says you're "pals," right? Well, only if you have a crush on the girl, I guess. I've been spending an awful lot of time with this particular girl lately, taking her on dates, to dinner, to movies, and just generally being unbelievably kind. I've even done her dishes in her apartment for her (though that's mostly because I'm her roommates' home teacher and they're sort of gross and never do their own dishes, and I enjoy giving service).

And where has all this gotten me? Into the Gay Best Friend Zone again, of course. (Longtime readers of my blog, or just those who know me, will know that this is the term I use to describe my relationships with many, many different females -- I'm so nice and such a good listener and so willing to give of myself that they end up thinking of me as a "gay best friend," like you'd see in movies -- the kind that women feel comfortable telling anything to, because they know there's no chance whatsoever of things ever getting romantic. Not that I am in any way homosexual in the least. I'm not. But I might as well be, judging from the way girls act around me. But I digress.)

This young woman in question has gone out of her way, several times in the past couple of days, to call me her "friend" or "pal" as mentioned above. She keeps saying things like, "I'm really glad to have a friend like you" or "I never thought I'd meet such a good friend all the way across the country" or "Of course you're coming, because we're pals." I'd have to be a total moron not to pick up on these hints. Yes, it's great that I'm such a good friend. I'm flattered that she thinks so highly of me.

But dammit, I want her to LIKE me. I have no words to express how annoyed I am at how, time after time after time after time, I meet a girl and end up becoming best buddies with her, letting her vent to me about other potential boyfriends, while the thought never enters her head that I might be a candidate for that position. I don't know how it happens. I don't have the answer. I must be doing something wrong, because I'm gathering a HORDE of female friends, late-night ice cream buddies, textaholics, and phone pals, when sometimes (ashamed as I am to admit it) all I want is for them to shut the hell up and kiss me.

I feel like this is all I have to look forward to, for the rest of my life. But I don't know how to be any different. Am I supposed to force myself to be a jerk? Should I not answer when girls say they need to talk? Do I need to be more aloof just for the sake of being aloof, to create the impression that I don't care when I really do, to keep girls interested? It's completely against my nature to do these things. I'm far too naive, too honest, too forthright a person to deliberately put up such an obviously false front. I can't do it. Doesn't everyone say you're supposed to end up marrying your best friend? I fear, greatly, that if I don't figure this out, I will end up as everyone's best friend while nobody is mine.

To me, it's a tale as old as time. Well, time is getting pretty friggin old. I don't know how much more of this I can take.

Working man

2007-06-04T14:10:00.000-06:00

I don't feel like listening in class, so at Lyndel's request, I'm posting.

Here's an average day for me:

I get up at 7:30 so I can go to work at the bank at 8:15. I work harder than anyone else there (because no other teller at my bank has more than a month of experience, so I have to pick up all the slack). I'm supposed to leave at 1, but because I have to help everybody else I'm lucky to leave the bank by 1:30. I speed over to BYU to get to my class at 2. I sit in my class from 2 to 4. Some days I even stay awake. Then I go downstairs to the newsroom, where I work until the newspaper is done (usually not until after 8pm). Then I go home, exhausted, and do it all again the next day. And if I really push myself, I MIGHT get to eat at some point during all that. Maybe.

So why am I killing myself this summer? Because I don't have a scholarship any more and I need the money. I moved home, sacrificing what little social life I have, to save money. I'm working 50-hour weeks to save money. I haven't bought anything, other than food, for myself in months. (No, I take that back -- I bought myself a new video iPod, since my old iPod died, and a Nintendo DS, because I was getting a really good price on it and I thought I deserved something for myself. Then the universe decided to get its revenge by having my car towed, which cost $200. I've learned my lesson.)

Anyway, I didn't mean to make this post a pity party. I'm just getting tired of working so much. I know it will be worth it by the end of the summer, when I have enough money for fall and winter semesters and won't have to work at all during the semester (although I still will because I enjoy the newspaper). And honestly, working isn't bad. It's not like it's strenuous work. I get to play around on the Internet while I work. I like my coworkers, for the most part. I shouldn't complain, I suppose. Maybe I'm just hungry. Being hungry makes me irritable. Meh.

(An hour later...)

Yup, fell asleep in class. And I still have an hour to go. Ugh.

On to other things. I visited my old ward last night, just to see how things were going, to say hello to some old friends, and to see if I could make some new (female) friends. The old ward was having one of their regular Sunday "dessert nights, " which is where they share various baked goods, write little "nice notes" to one another (to be dropped off later that night), and generally flirt and socialize. Well, by the end of my time in that ward, I was thoroughly sick of going to such activities, because I would get roundly ignored, receive no "nice notes," and watch as my two taller, wealthier, more attractive roommates got all the attention.

So then I moved home, and entered a different student ward which covered my residential area. But even though there are a few other home-livers in my ward, most of my ward is made up of a nearby apartment complex. And because I do not live in said complex, I get ignored in this ward as well. (I suspect it isn't intentional -- I just don't live where everyone else lives. Out of sight, out of mind.) So I decided to give my old ward's dessert night another try.

Now, five months later, I was a novelty, because the few people I still knew hadn't seen me for months, and the people I didn't know wondered who I was. It was probably one of the best times I had ever had at one of those activities. Strange that it took me leaving the ward to actually enjoy being there.

Anyway, I did in fact manage to acquaint myself with a handful of interested young women, and hopefully something might emerge there. Better than my current ward, at least.

I've been filling my spare time with several other things:

1) Serving as amateur counselor and dating adviser for my little brother, who is in the midst of a quasi-relationship with a very nice and attractive but indecisive young lady. I feel badly for him, because he has been there for her through a lot of different things and basically done just about anything she could ask of him. But she continues to be fickle and non-committal, and it's very hard on him. Meanwhile, she insists there's nothing wrong at all. I personally just think she's afraid, and doesn't communicate non-verbally very well. But it's a daily soap opera, and my brother comes to me for advice about it. (Probably not very wise, given my recent track record in relationships.) Anyway, there have been many late-night conversations on this subject. I don't regret these, but I do think that my brother could do just as well without my input. I suppose he just needs a sounding board, more than anything.

2) Writing for a Utah Jazz blog (aptly located at http://utahjazzblog.net). I've been following this site for a while, and while I liked what the authors were saying, I noticed that they weren't posting very often. I wrote an e-mail to the site administrator and offered my services. I was surprised when he promptly gave me full admin privileges and allowed me to pretty much write whatever I wanted about the Jazz. This is basically fulfilling a lifelong dream of mine -- having an outlet where I could voice my opinion and sports knowledge to anyone who felt like reading it. I've already noticed improvement in my sportswriting, too. And it's a different tone than the newspaper writing that I do -- more free, more casual. It's been time-consuming, but a lot of fun. I wish the Jazz had beaten the Spurs, but they got further than I dreamed this year, and there's every reason to hope for the future.

3) Exercising whenever I get the chance to. This is difficult, because when I get home from my jobs and classes, I'm usually exhausted and don't have much desire to do anything but eat and go to bed. But this hasn't been good on my body. Since coming home from my mission, I've gained quite a bit of weight -- I'm too proud to say exactly how much. Last fall, I ran two miles every night and lost thirty pounds. Now some of that is creeping back on, and I want to keep it off but I fear I don't have the time or the energy.

Fortunately, when I do get a chance to relax a bit, I'm able to do so. I hate hearing people say, "I work hard, but I play hard, too." I don't get it. Play is supposed to be EASY! Fun! Enjoyable! Why would people do it if it was hard? I recall a friend of mine who simply couldn't sit still -- even when she went to lay out by the pool or something, she had to bring a book or her scriptures or something. I dared her to do absolutely nothing but sit and rest (but not go to sleep) for half an hour every day for a week. She couldn't do it even once. So I'm glad to have the ability to switch off when I need to. If I didn't, I probably would already have burned myself out.

I survived the second half of my class. Now time for job #2. They call me the working man; I guess that's what I am.

The day the music died

2007-04-11T11:21:00.000-06:00

So I'm coming out of the BYU library last night after doing some homework. I get out my iPod as I walk to the car. I try to play some tunes. The iPod freezes. I reboot it. I try to play the same song. It freezes again. I reboot it. I try to play a different song. It works, but something's wrong -- it won't change tracks quickly and has some hiccups in bringing up the track time.

I figure I should probably restore it to factory settings and just put the music back on afterwards, since I had wanted to do some shifting of what was on it (I only have a 4GB iPod mini and obviously have a ton more music than 4GB on my computer). So I restore it, then start putting stuff back onto it. After putting about .5GB of stuff on, my computer freezes. I reboot the computer, wipe the iPod again, and start over. Again, after a fraction of a GB, it kills the compy again. By now it's nearly 2am and I have class in the morning so I give up.

This is the first trouble I've ever, ever had with my iPod. I'm going to take it to get looked at after this class. I really hope that whatever is wrong with it will be cheap to fix. My greatest fear is that the repair shop will tell me it would cost $100+ to fix it and I would be better served to just buy a Nano or something. I love my mini. It's been my best friend for the past two years.

I'm scared.

Putting the band back together

2007-04-10T23:08:00.000-06:00

So, I played a little teeny-tiny gig with my old guitarist Clark on Friday. I only played on two songs, but it was a lot of fun. I really miss the old days when we would jam all the time.

Except, we never really jammed ALL the time. I only played three or four shows with Clark and my drummer/brother Dave. I'm not sure they know how much I've listened to the stuff they recorded, though. I really think it's good stuff, and I love playing it.

I love playing live in general. It doesn't really matter how crappy the bands have been that I've played with, or how many people are watching, or anything like that -- every gig is an absolute joy. I suppose it's because of my inner love for showing off. Music is one of the few things that I do really well, and it's also one thing that has no other factors involved -- either you sound good or you don't, and if you do, it doesn't matter that you're chubby or short or not particularly confident. As long as you can rock, none of that seems to matter. When I'm on stage, I forget that it matters, too. I like that.

Anyway, the point is, Clark texted me today to say that he finally convinced Dave to try and throw together a show during the week that he and his wife will be in town (they're stopping over en route to Dave's internship in San Francisco). Dave has become less and less enamored of the rockstar lifestyle as he's gotten older, while Clark and I would still like to play at any given opportunity. This is probably because Dave's more mature than either of us, and married to boot. Anyway, given that, it was a major coup for Clark to get Dave to agree to a gig.

Now we just have to track down: 1) a drumset, 2) a bass amp for me, 3) a venue. Clark has always been good at rustling up random places to play, like apartment buildings or local cafes and such. But I'd really like to play one of the proper venues in Provo, like Velour or Starry Night. (I know the guy who runs Starry Night, so that is definitely a possibility.) I'm not sure Dave's up to a full rock-show atmosphere like that. In fact, I'm almost sure he isn't. But I'd really like to experience that while he's in town.

I didn't realize how much I liked having Dave and Jess around until they left. I didn't even hang out with them that much when they were here -- just once a week, sometimes less. But now that they're gone, I really wish I had spent more time with them, and could talk to them more easily now. The time difference makes things a bit difficult, and I'm not a big phone person at the best of times. I sure could have used closer contact with them in relation to recent events in my life. I suppose that's part of life, though -- you grow up and you find other people to confide in, or you just learn to deal. Probably more of the former than the latter as I get older.

My friend Logan came to my mini-gig on Friday, mostly so he could use my laptop to burn a mix for his yoga workouts. He left the tracks he burned in on my computer. I have since listened to that mix about six times. Logan's a total space-case sometimes. Okay, usually. But that mix is way relaxing. It's mostly very chill electronica/techno (Moby, Crystal Method, Chemical Brothers, etc), which I'm growing to like more and more. It's just funny how I totally expected to delete all those tracks off my computer after he burned his CD, but now I'm really glad he left them there.

I had an interesting conversation with my supervisor at the newspaper today. She offered me the position of copy chief at the Daily Universe (a position I knew was mine anyway because the two copy editors above me are both graduating, but it was nice to be formally offered it). And we talked for a while about my career goals in general, and how to use this job to further them. It's sort of strange to think about such things. I don't have really solid career goals. I mean, I have a general idea -- I want to write, and I want to be involved with print publications if possible. But that's pretty broad, and the more things I do, the more I find an interest in all of them. I used to want to write sports for a newspaper for the rest of my life. I'd still be very happy doing that. But I'm not the go-getter, hardcore, investigative journalist type. I love doing interviews and analyzing sports, but tracking down the hard facts of a story, especially in the face of negative opposition, is sort of unappealing to me. I also really enjoy my copy desk job, and working on the design side of things. Except I think I lack the raw artistic ability necessary for such a position, and I think I'd be outpaced in a competitive career setting. I could also try to pursue more of the media relations side of things, and find my niche in the sports world as a spokesperson or media relations agent for a professional team. That sounds pretty good, but I haven't tried it yet. I'd like to land an internship in that regard to test it out and see if I could handle it.

I suppose my problem is that my interests are too broad, and I find in myself an aptitude for many things but not a real strength. I sort of feel like I would do okay in just about anything I try, but I'd never be good enough to be the best in anything. And that doesn't bother me a whole lot, but it does make me worry that I won't be able to provide for a family (assuming I ever get one of my own, and considering recent events, that's no guarantee at all). Besides, those who really want to excel will do so at the cost of family and church and other interests. I am always surprised at people who say they want to be the absolute best in their field, because of the time and effort that will take. Money and fame and importance and prestige don't matter to me at all. I'm not sure yet if that's a good thing, to have such an utter lack of ambition. But that's how I've always been -- I reach the point of "good enough" where I'm comfortable and people like me and I make no extra effort to push beyond. Guess I'm destined to be a big fish in a little pond.

This whole post was made in an effort to avoid doing my English paper. It's supposed to be 12-15 pages long. I have done about two pages. A rough draft was due Monday. I will probably not have even that done until Friday. There are a few reasons for this. One, I'm a chronic slacker. The skill with which I waste time is truly epic. Two, I loathe that class more than just about anything (off the top of my head, broccoli and hypodermic needles are about the only things I hate more). This is because my teacher is a 70-year-old single woman who basically married herself to her studies, and treats us like we're fourth-graders. I have not learned a single thing in that class. Not one. And I've turned in reams of busy work, and haven't improved in the slightest in my writing ability. I'm not even any better at researching -- I learned a lot more in my comms research class last semester.

I find that, if I have no motivation to do things, it's almost impossible for me to do them. Moreover, if the person asking me to do something doesn't emphasize it or treats it lightly, I am far more likely to do the same (translation: blow it off). Several times this semester my English teacher has had us turn in assignments without barely a passing comment about what they entailed, then assign seemingly arbitrary point values to each of them. She'll talk about one assignment for weeks and make it worth twenty points, then barely mention a 100-point assignment that takes far less effort. Bah. I hate that class. She's getting some nasty student feedback from me.

I suppose it's mostly my fault, though. I shouldn't even be taking that class. At BYU, there are multiple ways to fulfill the advanced writing GE requirement. As a communications major, I had many more options that I realized. I am currently taking English 315 -- writing in the social sciences. Same class that psychology or political science majors would take. I could have been taking persuasive writing, or writing in the arts and humanities, or writing for publication. All of those would have been miles more appropriate. But I didn't research the matter, and my counselor told me 315 was the proper class. (See if I ever trust a school counselor again.) So I guess I really don't have anyone to blame but myself. And I'm sure if I had a better attitude the class would go better. . . yeah, not gonna happen.

Enough of this. I'm going to try to do my paper now. Which means I'm going to goof around online for a while longer before getting fed up and going to bed.

RSL vs. FC Dallas liveblog

2007-04-07T21:45:00.000-06:00

I got to cover the Real Salt Lake game today against FC Dallas. Rather than take notes in a more disjunct manner, I chose to write a live play-by-play blog of the game. Here's a transcript.

Courtesy of TheShums, coming to you live from the Rice-Eccles Stadium press box. Will Freddy Adu fulfill his potential? Will Jeff Cunningham show the same goal-scoring form he displayed last year? Can RSL not completely suck? Stay tuned for updates...

4:02 pm: Just had the national anthem, starting lineups now being introduced. I love sitting in the press box. Perfect view, free food and soda, stat sheets up the wazoo, people all around you to talk sports with...it's great. This little tidbit from another writer: the FieldTurf at Rice-Eccles Stadium gets so hot that players run over to the sideline to get water to dump on their shoes.

4:07 pm: Freddy Adu introduced to raucous cheers from the crowd. (Can cheers be raucous if there are only seven or eight thousand people in the stands?) He's got a lot to live up to.

1st minute: GREAT chance from RSL, but Cunny can't get his head to it and Kreis deflects his shot off the keeper, then the woodwork. That would have been amazing.

3rd min: Dallas gets a decent work-up, but can't thread the ball to Ruiz. Goal kick.

4th min: Ballouchy gets kicked in the head, no card. Terrible cross off the ensuing free kick.

7th min: Dallas isn't looking very organized up front. They had a lot of changes in the off-season, most notably sending Ronnie O Brien to Toronto. So far, it shows.

9th min: Carey Talley given a yellow card after a questionable challenge. Bit of a weak call in my opinion, especially after Ballouchy got kicked in the face without a card given.

11th min: Kreis goes for goal from 35 yards out on a free kick, misses wide but still throws a scare into the Dallas keeper.

13th min: Through pass over the top is too ambitious from Talley. Goal kick for Dallas.

15th min: Kreis is playing MUCH more physically at his new position. He's already got a couple of fouls on him (although the Dallas players have been diving a bit). Speaks a lot of his professionalism that he would accept a more defensive position, even though he's the league's all-time leading goal scorer (108 career goals).

18th min: Pope hoofs the ball upfield to no one in particular. There have been one or two decent chances so far for each team, but the game has turned into a midfield battle. Ballouchy shoots wide.

19th min: GOAL, FC Dallas. Kenny Cooper slots the ball past Danny Torres, Rimando gets a paw to it but not enough to push it out. 1-0, Dallas.

21st min: Freddy skies a wide open shot over the cross-bar. He has looked good so far, but needs to finish those chances.

23rd min: Danny Torres puts a weak attempt off a corner kick right at the Dallas keeper. RSL simply can't finish at the moment.

24th min: Ruiz slots a shot wide of Rimando. He hasn't inspired a lot of confidence yet. Adu does some really nice work up the left side, earning a corner.

25th min: Talley's through ball again just too far for Adu. If that ball was on grass, that's a shot on goal for Freddy. I hate turf. The football lines don't help, either.

27th min: Nice cross from Ballouchy, but Kreis doesn't get all of it and it deflects off a Dallas defender. Corner for RSL.

28th min: Resulting corner goes out off Torres for a goal kick.

29th min: GOAL, RSL. Cunny puts it in all alone after Goodson falls down at the back. 1-1. Beautiful cross from Klein, too.

30th min: Yellow card on Goodson for falling down like a pansy while trying to defend Cunny on that last goal.

32nd min: Empty-handed after a corner and throw-in for RSL. Dallas counters but an awful first touch from the right wing leaves the ball out of bounds for RSL.

34th min: Kreis shoots right at the keeper from 30 yards out, missing Pope making a run. Still, the offense looks good. But RSL is breaking down defensively too easily on counter-attacks.

35th min: VERY nice possession workup for RSL results in a ball just out of Klein's reach. Still, impressive.

37th min: Decent possession for FC Dallas, but final cross goes wide of goal for a goal kick. That defensive series was a little better from Real, but I'm still not comfortable with it.

39th min: Ballouchy, playing out wide, punts a ball to no one in particular. I prefer him in the middle of the field.

40th min: More physicality from Kreis. I like it, even if it is costing us possession sometimes.

42nd min: ANOTHER free kick after a foul by Kreis, but the resulting cross is headed out by Dallas. Goal kick, RSL.

44th min: RSL content to play the possession game a bit, waiting for Cunny to use his speed to make a run. Doesn't pan out this time, but it's a nice idea that worked several times last season. I just hope we don't get locked into that as our only option, because we have several other weapons now.

45th min: Torres lets Ruiz turn and get into the box, but the defense clamps down and the ball is cleared. Slightly frightening, though.

HALFTIME: No stoppage time for the first half, which ends in a 1-1 tie. RSL seemed to have the better of the run of play, including several chances and offensive possessions, but the defense still isn't satisfying. Dallas are lucky to get away with the score level, though.

Start of 2nd half: I just got handed the stat sheet. RSL leads in just about every category. In fact, Dallas has had just one shot on goal (which they promptly put away for their one goal. Real definitely should be ahead here.

48th min: Adu has the ball in the offensive third but gets just a little too cute with it and loses it. RSL regains possession but Cunny strays offsides (where have I seen that before? only ALL LAST YEAR...)

50th min: GOAL, JEFF CUNNINGHAM. Cunny puts away his second of the game off a rebound from a Jason Kreis shot from the point. Dallas was begging for offsides, but I think Cunny had the right position. 2-1, RSL.

55th min: Late foul call gives Dallas a free kick 25 yards away. Ensuing free kick caroms harmlessly off the RSL wall and out of bounds for a throw.

56th min: Rimando makes the easy save from an almost accidental Dallas shot. Dallas really haven't put together anything offensively, with their lone goal coming on a counter-attack.

58th min: Another easy save for Rimando. FC Dallas' shots have no strength behind them at the moment. Both teams seem content to slow down play and conserve energy a bit for the home stretch.

61st min: Quick restart catches Ballouchy completely off-guard -- his wild attempt to switch field causes Adu to swat an arm at the ball. Stupid. Nik Besagno comes in for Eddie Pope, a switch probably designed to save wear and tear on the oft-injured, aging defender.

62nd min: Freddy tries to dribble through the ENTIRE Dallas defense, coughing up the ball in the process. Ballouchy was there to help the entire time, but he might as well have been wearing a Dallas jersey. You're great, Freddy, but not THAT great.

64th min: A mistimed lead pass results in a Dallas counter-attack, but the defense gets back in time. Just told that Pope has suffered a left hip pointer and that's why he was taken out. Like I said, oft-injured.

65th in: GREAT save from Dallas keeper Shaka Hislop (hero of the recent World Cup for Trinidad and Tobago) as he picks off a Cunny cross intended for a streaking Freddy Adu. That would have been a sure goal. Props to Hislop.

66th min: Dax McCarty comes on for FC Dallas replacing Juan Toja. All that can be said about Toja's performance today is that he had the longest hair of anyone on the pitch. Adu's volley goes high, wide and handsome -- goal kick, Dallas.

68th min: Kreis finally pays for all the physicality and fouls he's given out this game, receiving a yellow card for running down Arturo Alvarez. Rimando easily saves the resulting set-piece shot.

70th min: Klein is taken down on a run up the left side -- the crowd wants a card but the referee isn't interested. Oduro comes on in place of Alvarez for Dallas.

72nd min: Freddy gets fancy again on the right side of the box, but his shot is deflected into Hislop's hands. I wish we had a keeper like Hislop -- he just inspires confidence even when the back line has a breakdown.

74th: Besagno tries to slip a ball into Adu but is denied, and he promptly clatters into a Dallas player. Cunny breaks away as two Dallas defenders run into each other, making him miles offside. Nunez uncorks a shot directly over the crossbar.

77th min: Really good workup in the offensive third, but it comes to naught as Adu loses the ball again. He just seems to hold on a touch too long, sometimes.

78th min: Nunez blasts another, and Rimando is lucky to push this one over the goal. The resulting corner is cleared. Phew. Still 2-1, RSL.

79th min: Ballouchy out, Cutler in. Cutler is much more of a defensive-minded player. Ellinger wants to hold onto this victory -- we'll probably see a little less movement forward for the last ten minutes.

81st min: Forko plays the man instead of the ball and gives up a free kick 33 yards away. The ball bounces harmlessly through the mixer for a goal kick.

82nd min: Klein is trucked as he's making a run up the right side -- Moor receives a yellow.

83rd min: Good save by Rimando. I think RSL's going to hang on here for the big opening-day win. Going down to field level now -- be back for post-game thoughts after doing some interviews.

DAMN. In the 94th minute (and there should not have been 4 minutes of stoppage, believe me), Dallas bangs a shot that glances off defender Jack Stewart, RSL keeper Rimando makes a complete ass of himself trying to save it, and Carlos Ruiz is there for the easy put-back. Tie ball game. BOLLOCKS. RSL let three points completely slip away. There's no way Dallas was the better team today. If I hadn't been covering the game in a professional setting, I would have been swearing. A lot. Crap.

Well, that was fun.

Are you on the list?

2007-02-16T18:38:00.000-07:00

This blog post is brought to you by things that are on (and not on) my list of awesome. The title comes courtesy of one thing that is on the list: Heroes. It's my new favorite TV show, since Lost is getting more and more bizarre and Friday Night Lights has stooped to rehashing "Remember The Titans." (I still watch those shows, though. They're still better than most of what's on TV.)

Heroes takes a lot of what makes serial dramatic television like Lost interesting -- the intertwining plots, the unfinished questions, the ensemble cast -- and colors it all in a vibrant comic-book feel. (The NBC website for the show even includes online graphic novels with amazing illustrations. Nice touch.) The story arcs are much shorter than in Lost or 24, however -- three or four episodes resolve an issue and the characters move on to another mystery, all tied together by the main purpose of preventing a nuclear bomb from destroying New York City.

There are a few missteps (I hate the hitwoman with the split personality -- her parts are boring and predictable) but for the most part, it's an excellent, well-acted show for anyone who likes superheroes or serial television. Good stuff. (Oh yeah, forgot to say, the aforementioned title of this post comes from a storyline that follows a geneticist who has a list of all likely people with superpowers and tries to track them down. But he gets more than he bargained for when... well, watch the show.)

While I'm on the subject of television, I'm a big fan of the recent trend of replaying episodes of popular shows online the following day. I'm seldom able to see the show when it first airs, since I'm often working at the time. Having the show online, where I can watch it from the comfort of my laptop in my bed any time I want, is a big convenience. And honestly, I'd rather watch it where I can have my face close to the screen, with my headphones on, than on one of the not-so-awesome televisions in my house. Anyway, whoever thought up the idea of putting episodes online should be commended.

Watched "Little Miss Sunshine" yesterday. I liked it a lot, but wasn't absolutely blown away by it. I'm a big fan of the Fox Searchlight films, though, and the Focus Features studio too. They're break-offs of major studios who are more committed to making smaller budget, more independent films. And most of their stuff I really like -- things like Eternal Sunshine and The Motorcycle Diaries (which was amazing, I'd like to watch it again). Little Miss Sunshine was interesting and very well shot and acted, but not as funny as I would have liked it to be. The big scene at the end, where the little girl does a quasi-strip dance at her beauty pageant, isn't really all that funny -- it left me more wriggling in embarrassment than laughing. But I'm always like that with that sort of humor -- I just sit there cringing because I feel so bad for everyone involved. Maybe I'm too sensitive.

Along with being too sensitive, I'm too honest and open. I don't know how to play things safe. I don't know how to take it slow. I'm so intense in my interpersonal relationships sometimes. This weekend I sort of forced myself to take a step back, and while it was really hard for me, I think it did me a lot of good. I think I just don't like being messed around with. I make up my mind pretty quickly (for better or worse) and I sort of expect everyone to be the same way, not realizing that it doesn't always work that way. I accept that people (let's be honest: girls) need time to figure out what they actually want. I just wish I knew that's what it was, instead of driving myself crazy trying to figure out what I could do better, or if I did anything wrong. Nine times out of ten whatever the issue is has nothing to do with me, but I can't seem to figure that out at the time.

It's kind of ironic, really. I know very few people who are as laid-back as I am, if by laid-back you mean chill, lazy, easy-going, doesn't get upset easily, is pretty much happy doing whatever, doesn't stress about work or school, etc. But I am anti-laid-back when it comes to friendships and interpersonal relationships. I freak out easily. I want every conversation to be super meaningful and important. As much as I know how to take it easy when I'm by myself, I can't seem to do the same with girls I'm interested in or friends I want to make into closer friends. I dunno. I'm weird. Moving on...

I still love Death Cab For Cutie, which I'm listening to right now, but I've been grooving on some other things, including Seve Vs. Evan (a local band that does what they call "Nintendo-rock," which means synth, drums and vocals and that's it), Foo Fighters (their acoustic album "Skin & Bones" is amazing), and somewhat surprisingly, Eminem (my workout music -- gets me nice and pissed off). Some other new finds lately: The Slip (indie band from Boston who I heard about from Guitar Hero, of all places) and The Films (thanks for the assist on that one, Claire). Good stuff all around.

So, the Jazz had two All-Stars this year, and it very easily could have been three (Boozer, Memo, and Deron Williams, my new favorite player). Which is crazy. I'm really proud of the Jazz. They weathered a mid-season drought where they played right around .500 ball, and they blew into the All-Star break on the six-game winning streak, all without Boozer (who got injured, AGAIN). I don't think we have a shot at a title this year, but we can definitely win a playoff series, and if we get Phoenix in the second round, we could win that one too -- we match up very well against Phoenix (as evidenced by the fact that we've beaten them three straight times this season). I hope we can keep up the pace.

Okay, I've lost my train of thought now, so we're done here.

2007

2007-01-01T00:54:00.000-07:00

So this is the new year
But I don't feel any different
The clanking of crystal
Explosions off in the distance

So this is the new year
And I have no resolutions
For self-assigned penance
For problems with easy solutions

So everybody put your best suit or dress on
Let's make believe that we are wealthy for just this once
Lighting firecrackers off on the front lawn
As thirty dialogues bleed into one

I wish the world was flat like the old days
And I could travel just by folding a map
No more airplanes or speedtrains or freeways
There'd be no distance that could hold us back

So this is the new year.

Relief

2006-12-15T14:37:00.000-07:00

Operation: Save the Grades is over, and I hope it was a success. I worked my tail off this week, writing a pair of extensive papers, putting together a portfolio of all my articles for the Daily Universe this semester (26 in all!) and doing a few front-page layouts for work mixed in. I hate how everything comes to a head the final week of the semester -- you'd think they'd be able to work things out so it's not so compressed and everything isn't due the same day. I know that's illogical but I still like complaining about it.

Anyway, so I finished all of that, and now all I have to do is take a Doctrine and Covenants final tomorrow, and then wait to take my media law final next Thursday. (It's being given in class, so I can't take it any earlier than then, which is annoying.) So today I'm being epically lazy. I slept in till 11 (except for a brief interruption at 9 this morning when a girl decided to bug me about when the hockey game was tonight) and have done nothing constructive since except put in a load of laundry, and that's only because I can't take a shower until I have some clean underwear to put on. I have no idea what I'm going to do tonight, or tomorrow. And that's beautiful.

I missed last night's ward Christmas party because of work. Not that I was dead-set on going, although it would have been cool -- it was held at a big resort-type cabin up Hobble Creek Canyon in Springville. Apparently my bishop has connections (he IS ridiculously wealthy). There's an indoor sports court, pool, huge movie watching room, the works. So I missed out on that, unfortunately. I missed it last year, too, for work I think. Oh well. I'm sure no one in my ward missed me. I did have a good time last weekend going up to Temple Square with my home teachees. They're some of my best (read: only) friends in the ward. Except for my roommate. He bugs. At least I won't have that problem when I move home.

Because I'm pretty much set on leaving this ward when I do. It's the "right" thing to do, anyway -- you're supposed to go to the ward you belong to geographically, and goodness knows I don't have a lot of reason to stay. I'm looking forward to meeting new people.

The same girl who woke me up this morning just had a long conversation with me about how frustrated she is with the guy she's dating. He's basically taking advantage of her by claiming that he only wants an "open" relationship because he was in a serious relationship not too long ago and doesn't want to jump into another one. That sounds legitimate on the surface, but guys have been using that excuse to avoid commitment since the beginning of time. Anyway, this girl is just an absolute flake. She's pretty, but she damn well knows it, and she has some serious pride issues, not wanting to "settle" for guys she considers beneath her in the looks department. Then she comes crying to me when the guys she goes after treat her badly, not understanding that by not "settling" physically she's setting herself up for whatever she gets emotionally.

Then she had the nerve to complain about Provo guys and how they only want to go on first dates and "there's always some other hot chick." I told her pretty bluntly that she should be the last person to whine about that when all she's interested in is looks, and that she wouldn't have that problem if she weren't so full of herself. She got offended, and maybe rightfully so, but I found it very ironic that she would complain about the very thing that she does to other guys who are interested in her, whom she dismisses out of hand because they're not attractive enough for her.

Wrong as she was, she makes a decent point about the BYU/Provo dating scene. Because there's such a vast quantity of eligible single people in the valley, everyone is convinced that they could "do better." Few people, especially the younger variety, and in my point of view especially girls, want to get right into a relationship for fear that they will shut off other possibilities, some of which might be better than what they've got. I've probably been guilty of that myself at some point. I suppose it's natural to think that way, with so many single people around. But it's frustrating to me, who's had nobody interested in him all semester, and yet has had to live with roommates who perpetuate this attitude.

I think I'm just getting older as the atmosphere around me seems to stay the same. On Sunday I'll be 23. I'm two years older than most of the girls in the ward, and more like four years older in some cases. I don't feel all that different myself, but the older I get, the more I seem to notice a contrast between myself and the world and culture and people around me. So I suppose I am growing up. It just feels like everyone else isn't.

I felt for sure last night
That once we said goodbye
No one else will know these lonely dreams
No one else will know that part of me
I'm still driving away
And I'm sorry every day
I won't always love these selfish things
I won't always live
Not stopping

It was my turn to decide
I knew this was our time
No one else will have me like you do
No one else will have me, only you

You'll sit alone forever
If you wait for the right time
What are you hoping for?
I'm here I'm now I'm ready
Holding on tight
Don't give away the end
The one thing that stays mine

Amazing still it seems
I'll be 23
I won't always love what I'll never have
I won't always live in my regret

You'll sit alone forever
If you wait for the right time
What are you hoping for?
I'm here I'm now I'm ready
Holding on tight
Don't give away the end
The one thing that stays mine

"23," by Jimmy Eat World

Ten reasons for the Jazz's 12-1 start

2006-11-25T10:40:00.000-07:00

Felt like doing a column-type thing about the Jazz. My apologies to anyone who reads my blog and doesn't care about sports. Tough cookies.

So why are the Jazz doing so well? Reasons 1-10 are as follows:

1) They're healthy. Despite the recent troubles with AK47's ankle and Giricek's Achilles, everybody else is in perfect shape. Apparently, a healthy Carlos Boozer = twenty points, ten rebounds and three assists per night guaranteed.

2) Deron Williams lost twenty pounds in the off-season and has a much better idea of what it takes to run an NBA team. The added time getting comfortable with Boozer and Okur has helped him set them up for good shots. The three of them have a real chemistry going that wasn't there last year.

3) In all honesty, they've had a pretty easy schedule thus far. We'll learn a lot more about the team when we play the Spurs, Mavs and Cavs. Not saying the Jazz aren't better than those teams, because I think they are. But they need to be tested.

4) Jerry Sloan has realized that in order for rookies to really progress, he has to play them. His old strategy was to let rookies "develop" (i.e. sit on the bench) while learning from Stockton and Malone. He doesn't have that luxury any more -- this is a young team no matter who plays. He learned from the experience with Williams last year (who had flashes of brilliance mixed with periods of suckitude) that, even though there will be inconsistent play, the best way for a rookie to develop (or to show that he's a bust) is to give him minutes.

5) Paul Millsap is a beast, the steal of the draft. Why do people put so much emphasis on draft combines and athletic ability and "potential upside?" If anybody had so much as glanced at Millsap's game tape, they would have seen an extremely hard-nosed player who has an inexplicable knack for being in perfect position for rebounds despite his lack of size. This dude LED THE NATION in rebounding for three straight years. Yes, it was at Louisiana Tech, but I don't care. You can't lead the country in anything for three straight years if you're not doing something right. (The moral of the story: look at performance, not potential, when scouting players.)

6) Sweet powder blue jerseys. (Instantly went on my Christmas list as soon as I saw them.)

7) Derek Fisher. His numbers might not suggest that he's such a huge part of the team's success (certainly he scored more with Golden State). But his veteran presence in that locker room seriously cannot be denied. I interviewed the Jazz players at media day before the season began, and while everyone else was just talking about making the playoffs, Fish had the confidence to say that the ultimate goal was a championship. And it wasn't in an arrogant or wishful way. The guy is a consummate professional. And his attitude has spread throughout the team.

8 ) "The Nuke." (I refuse to call it Ener-whatever-place.)

9) The Jazz have seven players that could legitimately go off for twenty points on any given night (Boozer, Okur, Williams, Fisher, Harpring, Kirilenko, Millsap). Opposing teams will focus on Boozer, yes, but when you have that kind of balanced scoring, it's very difficult to play lockdown defense, because anyone on the floor is a threat. That's why the Jazz have been able to stage these ridiculously awesome comebacks -- late in the game, defenses get tired and have trouble rotating to cover everybody. The player you leave open is the player who's going to kill you. That wasn't true of the Jazz in years past. Because of team depth, it's true now.

10) Karma. We had all those marvelous years where Stockton and Malone never got hurt, ever. We paid the price for all that success in the past four years. Our injuries, crappy draft picks and struggles have appeased the Basketball Gods. As my friend Supermatt said, "WE'RE DUE."

Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose

2006-11-23T22:54:00.000-07:00

Been wanting to blog for a while; never found the time. Thanksgiving weekend, nothing much to do, just spent ten hours at grandparents' house, so thought I'd give it a shot before the turkey kicks in.

The title of this blog entry comes from the new NBC show "Friday Night Lights." Anyone who knows me knows that the movie by the same name is one of my all-time favorites. The show uses many of the same plot devices (star player gets injured, backup has to step up, coach faces pressure from administration, tries to juggle family and football, etc) but also adds a considerable amount of teen drama, which I'm not a huge fan of. I liked the movie because a lot of that drama was understated -- it sat in the background, definitely acknowledged but never in the spotlight. In the TV show, entire episodes focus on such things, like the head cheerleader cheating on her quarterback boyfriend (now paralyzed) with his best friend (who is also on the team). I don't need whole episodes about that. I need whole episodes about football, with that sort of thing mixed in here and there, but tastefully. So that's a quibble, and honestly, it's getting to be a bigger one as the season progresses. But when the focus IS on football, it's extremely entertaining. The second episode featured the coach motivating the backup quarterback by taking him to the stadium at midnight and giving him a subtle but powerful speech, then having him practice snap counts while blasting crowd noise over the stadium speakers. Cool stuff.

To get back on point, the title of this entry is the war cry of the fictional FNL team (they yell it as they leave the locker room before every game). And no, the team hasn't won all their games (this isn't Remember The Titans, it's a little more real, and I like that), but that isn't the point. Focus on your goal, remember why you do what you do, and everything will work out, despite challenges along the way. Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose.

I've been feeling the same way this semester. I've been really busy trying to juggle my class load and work responsibilities with everything else. My main concern has been money. I don't have any of it. I have to move home as a result, and I'm not happy about it, although I'm a little more comfortable with the idea now than I was two months ago. At the start of the semester I blogged about how I felt like I was making real progress in my life, like I was starting to understand what was expected of me and how to proceed, and what to focus on. Moving home feels like a huge step backwards in that regard. My parents and even my older brother have assured me that it doesn't have to be that way. But I can't help feeling like it anyway. And it's frustrating.

Even more frustrating is the fact that I haven't been on a date in I don't know how long. Because of my work load, which hasn't been terribly heavy but has been time-consuming, I seem to have missed out on some social opportunities. Meanwhile, I live with two of the most popular guys at BYU, apparently, who go on three dates each every weekend (usually with a different girl every time). Never a second date for them, though -- they're having too much fun. Nothing frustrates me more than knowing how well I would treat a girl, given a freakin chance, but not getting that chance, while my roommates seem to want to single-handedly get every girl interested with no intention of ever moving forward with them. Again, going back to my viewpoint at the start of the semester, I told myself I would focus on myself, concentrate on what I needed to improve, and just take what came. Well, I really thought SOMETHING would come. This has been the loneliest semester of my life. I've lost thirty pounds, I have an excellent job in my field of study, I'm fulfilling a lifelong dream by covering sports for a newspaper, I'm closer to my family than I have been at times past, I enjoy my church calling... I have a lot going for me. So why in all nine circles of hell hasn't a girl noticed all this? It baffles me.

(One more thought before I leave the subject of girls -- GROW UP. Honestly, I don't know what girls are looking for, but it isn't what they SAY they're looking for. If it was, they wouldn't be dating jerks and looking for superficial physical qualities. And not every guy just wants action. I can't express how many times I've tried to just talk to a girl to be friendly and she has looked at me like I'm the slime of the earth, assumed I was hitting on her, and stiffed me. Get over yourselves, girls. Looks -- yours and mine -- are not everything. It's time to figure out what you really want. Okay, I'm done.)

So, yes, I'm frustrated. But I still feel like, if I continue to do what I know is right, and what I enjoy, then things will get better. Moving home will give me more money to try and go on a few dates (assuming a female EVER shows interest in me EVER again EVER). An easy semester next year will give me a bit more free time. Being at home with my little brothers and wanting to be an example for them will motivate me to stay vigilant with my spiritual progress. A treadmill in the house will make running a lot more convenient. And surely, with all that to look forward to, things will improve. Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose.

It helps if I keep telling myself that.

Now, on to happier matters. The Utah Jazz. They have won eleven games. They have lost one. On a scale of one to stoked, I'm pretty damn stoked. Not in my most optimistic wishful dreams did I think we would be this good. Deron Williams is playing better than Chris Paul. Carlos Boozer thinks he's Karl Malone. Mehmet Okur isn't doing fantastic but playing solid. Derek Fisher is the consummate professional. Paul Millsap is the steal of the draft. We haven't even MISSED Andrei Kirilenko (5-0 while he's been out with a sore ankle). And more than all that, we're winning close games. We're coming back from huge deficits. We're leading the league in scoring average. Ye gods. Honestly, every time I look out my window during a Jazz game, I fully expect to see pigs floating serenely by.

Do I expect this success to last? We'll see. We haven't played some of the tougher teams in the league yet (San Antonio, Cleveland, the Lakers, Dallas) so we need to see how we stack up against them. But I have a lot of hope, a lot of faith.

BYU's march to the conference championship has been thoroughly enjoyable as well. But honestly, it will mean a whole lot less (I stop short of saying "nothing") if we don't beat Utah on Saturday. Our newspaper and the U's put out a joint section about the rivalry this week. We stuck to football. They attacked our university's players, staff, faculty, standards, academics, and philosophy. Very classy. Guess I can't expect more from the Utes.

My busy schedule has prevented me from logging more time on my PS2 lately, which is a shame because I have a beautiful copy of Final Fantasy XII just sitting there, begging for usage. The jury's still out on the game as a whole -- I'm only twelve hours in, and the story hasn't picked up much yet -- but there's some interesting things. The whole game smacks of FF XI, really -- the battle system is far more MMO than console RPG, and the graphics and city structure is very reminiscent. It's been enjoyable so far, though. Further updates as events warrant.

I think I'm done for now.

One month later

2006-08-28T00:48:00.000-06:00

So I've finally decided to post here again. Don't know why I haven't for so long. Just haven't gotten around to it. Seems as if a lot has happened, even though none of it is really that big a deal. This post will probably be very spastic as my mind wanders over the past month, so bear with me. (If anyone even reads this.)

I've decided I'm fat. Overweight. Borderline obese, really. I'm carrying about twenty pounds more than I should. I'm more like thirty or forty pounds over my mission weight (of course, I was thinner than I've ever been back then). Most of it is sheer laziness and massive consumption of fast food. This summer has not been a good one for my pocketbook or my stomach -- I've wasted so much money on food I can't even begin to count it. Most of that is because of work at the bank; when you've only got an hour for lunch and it would take you twenty minutes to drive home and twenty to drive back, to say nothing of the cost of gas, it's just not really efficient. And I'm just not domestic enough to bring a sack lunch or leave food in the refrigerator at work. So, fast food it has been, for most of the summer. And boy, does it show.

To rectify this, I've started running. I think it's been about three weeks, and I haven't missed a single day. I don't really know if it's doing any good (my unreliable bathroom scale fluctuates between five and seven pounds lost in that time), but I feel better, at least. I usually do two miles a night, sometimes more, sometimes a bit less, but I have a usual route that takes me around two miles.

I hate doing it. It's almost insufferably boring -- my iPod is the only thing that makes it tolerable. It's always been a struggle for me to exercise without the purpose that playing a sport provides. I can play soccer or basketball for hours on end, because there's a point to the exertion. When it's just putting one foot in front of the other, even a half hour seems like eternity. But, for whatever reason, when 10 or 11pm rolls around, I lace up my shoes (I even bought running shoes!) and hit the pavement, even when I don't really feel like doing it at all. I suppose that's worth something, even if it never shows on my stomach.

What next... I'm quitting at the bank. It's been almost a year and a half that I've been working there. It's been a perfect student job -- very reliable hours, decent pay, low difficulty, friendly-ish people, and I've learned a bit about handling money -- but it's time to move on. It's not like I can move up any further as a part-time employee there, so I wouldn't be getting another raise or anything. And banking has nothing to do with my career, so it's not really benefitting me.

This has led to my getting a job at the Daily Universe, BYU's daily newspaper. I'm already going to be writing for the paper -- that's what the Comms 321 class is for -- but the job I landed is as a copy editor, which involves editing stories, designing page layouts, and just generally doing the nuts and bolts of getting the paper ready for printing. I initally thought I didn't have enough design experience -- at my interview, the girl who interviewed me seemed very dubious about my lack of knowledge and proper design samples, outside of my high school newspaper work. But I guess they thought I was qualified enough to at least work around that. It doesn't pay as much, and it will only involve about fifteen hours a week instead of the twenty-five I was working at the bank. So I'll definitely be looking at some tight monetary situations. But the experience I gain will be worth it, I think. I'm really looking forward to it.

I'm looking forward to the new school year in general. This summer has been a big disappointment for me in many ways. I thought I would be able to meet more people, maybe start dating someone again. I thought I would have worked out more than I have, although I'm trying to change that. I thought I would have been having more fun, when I've just sort of been prolonging the status quo (go to work, come home, eat, watch ESPN, play PS2 a bit, play guitar, read, watch more ESPN, eat, go to bed, rinse, repeat). Not that I really have anyone to blame but myself, but I suppose I had expectations that I just didn't meet, for whatever reason.

The new year should bring a lot more for me. I'm starting a new job that directly relates to my field of study. (In fact, the thought came to me that from now on, probably every single job I take will be in my chosen career path. Sort of scary.) The ward is getting almost 70% new people, most of them new girls, so that's promising. And I just feel older.

I feel like I've grown up a fair amount lately. Especially in regards to my relationship expectations. I've spent so much time in my life worrying about the impression I was giving to girls, trying to put my best foot forward and get noticed, trying to attract attention. And yet I knew that every single relationship I've had has been fairly natural -- that a mutual attraction was felt and we just both acted on it, with no undue effort required. I KNOW that's how it has happened, and I think more or less that's how it always will happen, and yet I continue to work my butt off and try to impress girls and take them on dates when it never does any good.

So I'm giving up on that. I've come to the conclusion that I simply need to work on myself. I need to make sure that I'm happy with the progress I'm making in my own life, and that the right girl will notice that when the time comes. The fact that I've started running is a part of that. So is getting my new job with the newspaper. I need to continue to work on some spiritual things as well. I think that way, regardless of whether I do a whole ton of social things or not, I'm putting my best foot forward by being the kind of person I want to be. And I'll let the girls decide if my best version of myself is something they want or not. If not, fine. I'll still know that what I'm doing is right. (And yes, I'll probably be depressed as hell along the way, but it's got to be better than taking girl after girl on first date after first date and having a whole lot of nothing to show for it.) Anyway, we'll see how long my new resolve lasts.

Despite the issues I'm having to struggle with lately (especially money), I feel pretty happy and optimistic about my life. I'm hoping that's a step in the right direction.

Now, on to more frivolous things.

This link must be listened to with headphones. It will BLOW YOUR MIND. And I dare you not to look around the room as you listen to it.

http://www.holophonic.ch/archivio/testaudio/Cereni%20-%20Holophonic.mp3

I'm telling you, sheer brilliance in audio form.

I saw Talladega Nights a week or two ago. Funny movie, if you can stomach the sacrilege and a little crudeness (though, as modern comedies go, it's not that crude. Mind that prayer scene, though -- it nearly made me leave the theater.) Full review coming soon on twoshumsup.com.

Shadow of the Colossus has skyrocketed up my list of favorite video games ever. It's more an experience than a game -- you play as a warrior who has come to this forbidden temple to strike a bargain with a sort of godlike spirit: you need a certain dead girl brought back to life, and he needs you to destroy the sixteen colossi wandering the face of the land. So off you ride on your trusty (massive) horse, sword in hand and bow on back, out to find and kill these shaggy rock-like beasts. Really, the game is simple: figure out where to find colossus, figure out how to get there, figure out how to get on top of colossus, climb colossus, figure out where to stab colossus, stab repeatedly. And that's it. That's the whole game. No other enemies to fight, no other items to collect, just you, your horse, and sixteen mammoth monsters.

Sound boring? To a lot of people, I bet it is. But it helps that the game is drop-dead gorgeous, with fantastic over-exposed lighting effects and a sense of scale that can't be duplicated. It's fun simply to ride around the landscape, seeing what you can see, and there's always a new breath-taking vista over every hilltop and through every canyon.

The word I keep coming back to in describing this game is "epic." There's just this sense of grandeur about the whole thing that can't really be summed up without playing it. Add in the crazy plot twist at the end (mind you, there's basically no plot through the whole game) and you have one of my favorite games of all time.

I've picked up a fair amount of new music lately; trading some stuff with a guy at work has helped. Pinback, Explosions In The Sky, Of Sinking Ships, and Sigur Ros are some of the faves.
(Someday I'll find a girl with the same taste in music as me... sigh.) EITS' albums "Those Who Tell The Truth" and "The Earth Is Not A Cold, Dead Place" cry out to be listened to. Oh, and go catch Darci Cash on myspace. "God You Were Sweet" is my new favorite song.

Dear goodness, I've written college papers that were shorter than this. End.

Park City and Pirates

2006-07-27T02:05:00.000-06:00

Haven't posted in quite a while. Not all that much has happened to talk about, I guess. I did take a trip to Park City over the weekend for the annual Eliason side of the family get-together. All the regular characteristics were there -- pool table, video games, screaming little kids, good food. The trip has just felt increasingly different as I get older, though. I don't really know how to explain it. I think that it used to be a lot bigger deal to get all the cousins together, especially with aunts and uncles and everyone. Aunt Becky and Uncle Randy aren't around anymore, and that changes things, I guess. Mostly I guess it's just that life is changing around me.

The weirdest thing about the weekend was that it was the last time I will see my brother Dave and his wife Jessica for who-knows-how-long. They left straight from Park City to get on the road to Indiana, where Dave will go to graduate school at Purdue. It was very odd saying goodbye to them. I haven't hung out with them all that much, I guess, even though they were living quite close. Most of the time they enjoyed being a couple by themselves, or with a couple of close friends. I've really grown to love Jess, though -- I hope I can find someone half as cool to marry me. I'm going to miss coming to her with girl troubles, and sharing movie opinions with them, and playing music together, on the rare occasions that our band got together. (Clark, our guitarist/Dave's best friend, is still around and I have the feeling that he'll be hanging out a lot more with me as a sort of surrogate Dave. Suits me; he's cool.)

Our family is just really growing up and getting older, and it's a tough change. Not to mention that Meagan has spent the last month in London (which I'm just really jealous about). Actually, it seems like life is changing for just about everyone but me. I seem to be stuck in something of a rut -- I don't feel that much older right now than right when I got home. I dunno. Maybe the fall will bring change.

I don't think I ever talked about taking a girl in my ward out to dinner and to see the new Pirates movie. First, the date. It was pretty good. We had decent conversation, and she's a fun girl. I just didn't sense ANY sort of motivation from her to ask her out again. Definitely seemed like yet another one-and-done date. I still may ask her out again at some point, but I really don't think she's interested. Whatever.

So, the movie. (By the way, I've started a site where I review everything that I feel like reviewing. I call it "Two Shums Up." You can find it at twoshumsup.com. There's nothing really there yet. I plan to copy and paste this review of Pirates over there. More will be coming.)

Anyway, so I think I'm one of the few people hereabouts who didn't absolutely adore the first Pirates movie. I thought it was an enjoyable popcorn movie. I enjoyed Johnny Depp's character, Geoffrey Rush was brilliant, I thought Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley acquitted themselves well, the action was fun, the production values excellent, the music stirring -- but I felt it was overlong, a bit repetitive, and definitely not overly intelligent. A decent film, worth owning but not worth worshipping. Still, it knew its limitations and stuck to what it was good at.

Trust Hollywood to go too far and sequel a perfectly decent film to death. The sheer wonder and fun of the first movie is gone in the second. If I felt like the first was overlong, this one was almost sleep-inducing (clocking in at over two and a half hours is not permissible unless it's the Lord of the Rings). The characters and acting remain solid, if familiar, the sets and costumes are still incredible (big props to the costumes of the damned crew of the Flying Dutchman, especially) and the action scenes are very enjoyable (with the fight between Will, Jack and Norrington in the rolling wheel thingy the highlight).

I think the thing that really broke the movie for me was the melodramatic and unnecessarily convoluted plot. The revelations about Will's father aboard Davy Jones' ship were boring, the actual terms and cause of Jack's debt incomprehensible, and the attempt at making Elizabeth fall for Jack simply ridiculous. (As if it's not enough that EVERY WOMAN IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE already swoons over Cap'n Jack, now we've got to have Elizabeth go all fluttery over him too? Lame.) And Jack's death at the end of the film was weightless, because everyone knew it was hardly permanent, as the ending set up yet another cash cow... um, I mean, film, in the franchise.

I dunno. I'm probably being too hard on poor Pirates 2. But it really didn't do that much for me. There were funny parts, yes, but they seemed to rehash those from the first film. (The rum's gone again? Tee-hee!) There were action parts, but none seemed as epic or fun as those from the original. And it didn't help that I couldn't understand a dang word that Davy Jones guy was saying. Add in the length, the cliffhanger ending, and the whole thing just didn't satisfy me. I won't see it again in theaters, unless it's at the dollar. One Shum up out of two.

I could write more, but it's really late and I think my internet connection is being dodgy anyway. So I'll leave it here for now.

Gobstoppers

2006-07-17T01:20:00.000-06:00

I love them. I used to eat a box of these things every week, sometimes two, back in middle school. It was a co-worker's birthday the other day, so I bought her a big bag of Peanut Butter M&M's (another favorite) and picked up some Gobstoppers for myself while I was at it. Haven't finished the box yet, which is a big deal, considering it's been like three days. It's a big box. But they're one of my favorite candy-type things.

I think I'm needing Sunday more and more every week. I need the Church in my life, I really do. Even if I don't particularly enjoy what's said in sacrament meeting or in lessons or whatever, I really need a place I know I can go to feel the Spirit and feel better about myself. I was talking to a friend today about how rarely she goes to church, mostly because her (idiot) boyfriend doesn't go with her (she says it's due to his work schedule -- I just think he's a wanker). But just attending church isn't everything, I suppose. A bunch of people on a message board I frequent mentioned that, especially around here, church attendance does not necessarily correspond to the moral quality of the person. I can see how that's possible, but it certainly can't hurt.

I was feeling a little blown-off recently by some of my friends. I realize that not everybody can spare time for me all the time, and that not everybody wants to have big serious conversations where I can give them my amateur counselling services. But it would be nice to talk to somebody and have them actually turn and face me while I'm doing so. More and more I'm realizing that there's a lot of people who only want to talk to me when their lives are stressful or complicated or whatever, just because I'm a good listener. But when I turn around and want to talk about similar occurrences in my own life, they aren't nearly so interested in being friendly. Fortunately, I did talk to a couple of people tonight who don't act like that. (Although, would it kill you to call ME once in a while, Les?)

I had a good time on a date last night (yes, I actually went on a date, it's been a while, so back off). I don't know how she felt about things, but I enjoyed myself, I thought we had good conversation, and we got to know a bit more about each other. We saw Pirates 2 (review coming on that in a minute) and had dinner before that -- she was a bit rushed because of a hair appointment right before I picked her up (although it was worth the wait -- her hair looked really good). Don't know what will happen there, but I don't really think I need to know. It was fun, we enjoyed ourselves; I think that's good enough for now.

It did get me to thinking, though, about how difficult it is for a guy when the time comes to decide about a second date or not. To a great extent, the guy holds all the cards on the first date. He chooses who he will ask out (despite the feminist girl-power movement, girls around here flat refuse to ask guys on dates themselves), he chooses what they will do and how intimate or serious (or not) it will be, etc. And the guy can be pretty sure that the girl will agree to go, even if it's just to be polite (or for the free dinner/movie/whatever). On the other hand, many girls have often complained to me that they sit at home on weekends because nobody will ask them out. And they have a point. I personally think most girls hereabouts really don't show a whole lot of interest and force the guys to do all the guesswork themselves, but I see their point of view.

However, the whole dynamic changes when considering the second date. Now the ball is completely in the girl's court. She can do any number of things when the guy asks her out again. There's the "I don't want to hurt your feelings, so I'll make up an excuse" option. There's the "I'm not really interested, but another fun evening for free? Why not?" option. There's the "I don't know how I feel so we'll just try it again" option. And many others. The girl can decide the date, the time, just about anything. And it really makes the guy vulnerable. At least, it makes me feel vulnerable. It's really going out on a limb when you ask a girl out on a second date not knowing how she's feeling. I've been rejected pretty coldly in the past on such occasions. My viewpoint is, if I liked her enough to ask her out once, barring a catastrophe on the first date, I'm probably going to ask her out again. But a lot of girls accept a first date knowing full well that there is no chance for a second. And that's sort of frustrating.

I'm not really blaming anyone. It's just a difficult game to play. I don't like the position it puts me in. Nobody likes feeling as if something's out of their control, I suppose.

Lights will guide you home

2006-07-11T23:32:00.000-06:00

Every so often, I get all mushy over music. Playing "Fix You" on the piano just now almost made me cry. Seems like I'm always the one to try to fix other people. I dunno. Music strikes me in strange ways sometimes.

My back is KILLING ME from sleeping on this stupid bed. I really need to flip my mattres but I'm just too lazy to do it, and I don't think it will really help anyway. I seem to recall this happening back before my mission as well, but I don't remember it being so acute. I wake up at 9 in the morning, earlier sometimes, and my lower back just aches and no sleeping position will fix it. Way frustrating. Maybe it's my body's way of telling me to get out of bed and stop being a lazy arse and go running or something. I'm sure there are things I could take care of before 9am -- I just don't know what they are.

Started talking to a couple of new people in the ward. The gay best friend syndrome strikes again -- I'm pretty sure neither of them would ever even consider me as a possible option for dating or whatever, but yet again, something about me inspires people to open up to me and talk about their lives and problems and such. I think maybe it's just because I show such an interest in other people. Everyone likes talking about themselves, right? (I mean, what is a blog if not a way to talk as much as you please without anyone interrupting you? It's the height of me-first communication. Guess that's why I enjoy it -- goodness knows I don't get enough of an outlet for that usually. Except at the soccer game tonight; thanks to a good friend for that.)

Totally in limbo with that one girl who once invited me to Lagoon with her. I asked if she'd like to come to the soccer game tonight, and she turned me down very politely, saying she had too much homework, even pulling the "maybe I'll meet you there later" thing, which of course was total bollocks. I get home and walk outside, and there she is sitting out on the front steps with about ten other people, just sitting and talking. Really studying hard, apparently. I realize now that she's in NO way interested in anything from me, and is only showing me token politeness to have me as a buddy and someone who doesn't think ill of her. Fine by me. Just so long as I know where I stand. I think I do now.

So, if not that option (and let's face it, it never really was much of one), then where do I look? I dunno -- I haven't met many new people, obviously, not being in classes at the moment. It's basically my ward, and that's it. (By the way, completely got snubbed by a girl who used to be in my dinner group tonight. I said hi and she gave an imperious little nod of her head, like it was too much effort to say anything to acknowledge me. I knew I always bugged her somehow, but I never realized she thought she was too good for me. There's several girls in the ward I get that impression from. Ugh. Grow up.) I'm really getting antsy -- I think this past period, just over a month, is the longest I've gone since being home from my mission without going on a date. Bit frustrating, really. I don't want to just pick someone at random just for the sake of going on a date, but I have no prospects at all. I dunno.

Firefly is the best show ever made. The end.

Come Forth On July

2006-07-04T01:48:00.000-06:00

So, it's the wee hours of the Fourth, and I'm chillin at my compy. I spent the evening with a buddy from the ward, playing copious amounts of FIFA '06. I suppose I could have been doing other things -- I know a bunch of friends from the ward were pulling an all-nighter out at the parade route, but that anti-interested me. I so rarely get days off, I plan to sleep as much as I possibly can. (Or rather, as much as my lousy mattress and sore back will allow. I find that the longer I sleep in, the more painful my back gets. I don't know if that's a result of sleeping on crappy mattresses for the past three years, including the mission. As soon as I get up and start moving around, everything's fine, but right when I roll out of bed... ouch.) Not to mention that I'd probably promptly get ignored once I got there. Just the way some people are.

Anyway, I don't know if my family has any big plans for tomorrow, but my plan consists of sleeping in as much as possible, basically ignoring the parade, maybe tidying up the apartment a bit (we're starting to get an ant problem), and watching the World Cup game at 12:30. I personally think Germany will win pretty easily. They're the home team and no opponent has really been able to slow down their attack. But if anyone can do it, it's Italy. We'll see. Should be a great match. After that, I assume my family will have some sort of barbecue, and we'll set off some obligatory fireworks, but I've sort of lost my enthusiasm for that too. I think you either need young kids or overly excitable friends to really get into that. And I don't really have a set of friends that I could really get into that with. So, I'll do whatever happens to tickle my fancy tomorrow.

So the whole deal with the girl I was going to go to Lagoon with fell through. There weren't that many people that ended up going, and she decided she'd rather go visit her grandparents in Spanish Fork. I didn't even end up seeing her that night. In fact, I haven't seen her since Friday. Oh well. She's hard to read. One night she'll call me out of the blue to come do something with her, and the next night she won't return my calls or texts. Then she singles me out specifically to come to Lagoon, then she decides she isn't going. Then she makes it a point to talk to me at church, then proceeds to ignore me for the next week. Not sure what she's looking for. I think she just wants to have friends to pal around for the moment. That's cool, I guess. Just not what I want at the moment. Meh.

Not too much else to talk about, really. I had rather a boring weekend. Oh, I did manage to reconnect with a very old semi-acquaintance. A friend introduced me to a message board a couple months ago, and I've now become something of a regular lurker there. It so happens that another denizen of said message board used to go to my middle school, and we had a couple of classes together. Apparently I gave him some grief for wearing a cross around school (he's not a member of the Church, and I'm sure it never occurred to me that such people could exist at age 12). Anyway, we realized who each other was and met up at Best Buy on Saturday. It was cool to talk with him and see how both of us have grown up in different ways. We're still very different people with somewhat different morals, but that didn't stop us from having really fun conversation and just chillin. I think I've become a much more open-minded person as I've grown up. By BYU standards, I'm positively liberal.

So, boring post. With the Fourth tomorrow, and the World Cup, and maybe some more interesting interactions with people, following posts may be better.

You will see my life through your eyes

2006-06-29T00:08:00.000-06:00

Several things to talk about tonight. First and foremost, the son of Jor El. I witnessed Superman Returns on Tuesday night at around 10. And I witnessed brilliance.

There's a difference between the Superman mythos and many other comics. Superman was one of the first superheroes ever, and the very first to gain mainstream popularity. This happened at a time (the 1930's) when comics were almost more like printed soap operas. Characters intertwined, storylines took weeks to resolve, and the real flashy action that we have now come to expect from our superhero movies took a backseat to drama and interpersonal relationships.

This was true of the Richard Donner-directed Superman movies of the 70's, starring Christopher Reeve. They placed a premium on drama, and downplayed the action. You watched for the interplay between bumbling Clark Kent and the impossibly handsome Man of Steel, for the way Lois treated one or the other, for the discoveries of his Kryptonian heritage. And when the few moments of action came, they were so heightened because they were so rare. These things gave a very different dynamic to the Superman films, differentiating them from the 80's Batman flicks, and the 2000's Spiderman and X-Men movies.

Director Bryan Singer wisely kept this dynamic in place in his new film. Every moment, every interaction between characters, is deliberate but not forced, emphasized but not emphatic. Brandon Routh does a terrific job portraying an emotionally stolid Man of Steel. It isn't easy to show emotion by being unemotional. It seems like Superman's always got his heart in the right place, his feelings under control. But you sense the turmoil beneath the surface -- the longing, the hope, perhaps even the despair at times. This is as much a testament to Singer's touch behind the lens and the tightness of the script as Routh's acting. Whatever it is, it works.

Kevin Spacey is delightfully amoral as Lex Luthor. I think he had a TON of fun with this role. He was able to ham it up a bit ("Krrrrryp-tonite!!!") without going overboard. And Kate Bosworth does a fairly decent job as Lois Lane, though I could have used a bit more fire from her (and a bit less meltiness when Supes takes her for a night flight). James Marsden steals the show as Lois's fiance, perfectly walking the line between jealousy and quiet support. (It's nice to know he can act without a big Cyclops visor covering his face.)

But it's really the tones, the colors, the sets (Fortress of Solitude), and the whole world of Metropolis (and the views of Earth from Superman's vigil in space) that create a feeling of majesty that no other superhero movie will touch. It's a bit overlong, there really isn't much action (either Supes is stopping bullets with his eyes, or getting the crap beat out of him while Lex slices him up with a Kryptonite dagger -- there's not much in between), and those who are looking for something a bit more accessible may not find it. Come with an open mind and a desire for storytelling, drama, and grandeur, and you won't be disappointed.

Okay, and now for something completely different...

The NBA Draft was held today, and the Jazz were in DIRE need of a shooting guard to complement our stable of big men (Andrei Kirilenko, Carlos Boozer and Mehmet Okur) and our point guard of the future (Deron Williams). The draft this year was littered with several promising talents, including J.J. Redick of Duke, the consensus Player of the Year and 3-point shooter extraordinaire. Well, he was snapped up by the Magic with the 11th pick. The big man we had coveted, Mouhamed Saer Sene from Senegal, had vanished with the 10th pick by the Sonics. So we sat at number 14 as trades and rumors of trades spread throughout the land.

When our turn finally came around, we settled on Ronnie Brewer from Arkansas, a 6'7" shooting guard and an athlete to end all athletes. His strengths, according to ESPN draftniks, are his slashing ability to get to the basket, his high energy, his long wingspan, and his defensive prowess. However, what the Jazz really need is someone with a good outside shot, and due to a childhood accident that prevents him from fully extending his arm in a proper shooting motion, Ronnie Brewer does not have that. He makes do, and though his shot is ugly as sin, it goes in the hoop. (Players like Shawn Marion of the Suns make do with similarly unorthodox shooting methods.) So I'm cautiously optimistic. He definitely fills a need.

My worries are twofold:
1) That the organization, including Coach Sloan, will treat him like he doesn't belong in the whitebread Jazz system. This has happened before, most recently with Kirk Snyder and DeShawn Stevenson. Perhaps neither of them had the athletic ability or skill that Brewer has, but it's still cause for concern.
2) The look on Brewer's face when he heard his name called and realized, "Aw crap, I'm going to Utah." The kid just guaranteed himself a three-year multi-million dollar contract, and he looked like his ex-fiance who left him at the altar had just run over his dog. I'm telling you, that was not a happy look on his face. Despair would come much closer.

So, if we can overcome Brewer's misconceptions about this great state, and if he gets the playing time he needs, things could be very good. But we'll see.

The other two draft picks we had in the second round were Dee Brown from Illinois and Paul Millsap from Louisiana Tech. Apparently Millsap's supposed to be the second coming of Karl Malone, since he's from the same school. I'll take whatever we can get from him. I'm excited about seeing what Dee Brown can do when paired with his old backcourt mate from Illinois, Deron Williams. That should be fun.

All in all, a good night. We addressed some needs, got some very solid new talent, still don't have a man over 6'10". Looks like we're in for another lackluster year of tantalizing ups and infuriating downs. We'll see.

Next on the list...

So, I spend several hours tonight watching the draft, listening to analysis about all the picks, reading analysis about all the picks online, listening to the Real game (we gave up two goals in the last ten minutes to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory), and had home teaching and played Soul Calibur with Chase in between. (Talk about humiliation. The kid has never played the game before and beat me soundly. I am ashamed.)

The problem was, I had put my phone on silent while my home teachers were here. So, I didn't hear Shae call to tell me about her New York trip, AND (stupid stupid stupid my gosh I'm stupid) I didn't get a call from a girl in my ward who I think is so cute it's like kryptonite and I just REALLY want to do things with but she's always working except tonight she wasn't and she was going to a movie and she invited me to come AND I DIDN'T HEAR MY PHONE RING BECAUSE I LEFT IT ON SILENT. Heaven forgive me for the profanities that escaped my mouth when I listened to her voice mail and berated myself for seven kinds of an idiot. Man. She's so busy all the time, it's so hard to get a hold of her, and she actually called ME to hang out and I'm sitting here blissfully unaware piddling around on the Internet and getting whacked by a pretend guy with pretend nunchucks on a friggin Playstation game!!

Excuse me.

*bangs head on wall repeatedly*

Ow.

All is not lost. She and her friends have plans to go to Lagoon on Saturday and I am invited, although that will be difficult, as I work till one and they plan on leaving around eleven. I'll have to drive straight up there by myself and spend twenty bucks for about six hours, not including gas. Is it worth it? Yes it is. Okay, it's not, but it helps if I tell myself that it is. Hopefully something enjoyable will come of that.

I just realized I have written far too many paragraphs about things that NOBODY but me cares about. I apologize to anyone who has slogged through this entire post in an attempt to find something interesting. I'm sorry. There's nothing here. These aren't the droids you're looking for. You can go on about your business.

Felt good, though.

Back again

2006-06-26T02:46:00.000-06:00

... from the George of Saints, where I spent the weekend with my family. It was nice to take a couple days off from work and just chill. Sometimes family vacations become more stressful than everyday life, if they become too packed and full of things to do and a tight schedule has to be kept. Fortunately, this trip wasn't like that. In fact, aside from the abominable heat (I can't sleep at night if it's hot in the room) it was really great. We spent some time swimming, watching movies, playing games, and just generally enjoying one another's company. It was the last time that we'll really take a vacation together, since my sister will be in London by Wednesday and my brother and sister-in-law are headed to Purdue for graduate school.

I think I'm really going to miss them when they go -- not because I spend a lot of time with them (I don't really) but just because they won't be around now in case I do want to hang out. I love them both, and Jessica could not have fit in better with our family. I only wish that I can find such a perfect fit for myself someday. Still looking. I also think that my brother's best friend Clark is about to become better friends with me, as sort of a surrogate Dave while the real Dave is at Purdue. That's fine by me; Clark's a really funny guy and I'd love to hang out with him more, as long as it's for myself and not just as a replacement Dave. Maybe we'll get a more dedicated drummer and become rock stars.

I had a long talk/walk with Les tonight. She's convinced she's crazy. She's most definitely not. I know crazy when I see it, especially in light of recent events, and she is certainly not mentally unbalanced in any way. (I know she reads this -- I hope that reassures her.) We talked about a few different things, but we have very different opinions about certain things. She's very vehement about putting pressure on guys to take all the action in dating, initiate all the contact and do the asking out, because, according to her, there are "lots of girls who are SOOO cute who just sit at home lonely night after night because guys are stupid." To this, I would like to say: where in the hell ARE these girls?! And why are they not interested in me? We disagreed on this point, because I do just about everything I can to put myself out there, make myself available and ask girls out, and it hasn't done me a huge amount of good in the long run. She also said that guys should feel comfortable asking girls out and not be afraid that the girl will expect a relationship right away. From what I've seen, though, it's the guys who are willing to make commitments more than the girls, for the most part. I dunno. It's really good to have someone to argue and discuss these points with (so thanks Les, you're off friend probation, but don't push it -- you better stay in touch).

Don't even mention that atrocious Ghana match to me. That was NOT a penalty. We would have gone in tied at the half and destroyed them in the second half if not for that. Bollocks. Time to look forward to 2010 (the Cup will be held in South Africa! I'm so going). Now I'm focused on the Jazz getting a decent two-guard from the draft on Wednesday.

One roommate is moving back home for the summer tomorrow, so that's a plus. He and I have butted heads a bit -- not physically or anything serious, but we just have very different personalities and don't really mesh very well. He's a great guy, but I'm really looking forward to the different dynamic the apartment will have. The new guy who moved in tonight is called Rory -- I don't know much about him yet except that he's from Colorado, I think, and he's engaged (or will be later this week) and served in Romania on his mission and he's another bloody finance major (I think my apartment building spawns them). Seems like a nice enough guy, though. I just really hope our apartment doesn't become his makeout pad. Dammit, that living room is MY domain. Begone with your near-marital bliss and quasi-acceptable necking. Meh, maybe he's like Jim and hasn't even kissed the girl. I won't make snap judgments. But still...

The other new roommate won't move in until later this week. Apparently he's got a rockin' surround sound system. Maybe that'll make our place the new de facto movie-watching pad. (Nah, Darren's still got the projection screen. Besides, our TV doesn't have any of the proper inputs. I think the new guy might be rather disappointed when he sees what he has to work with. I hope it works out, though.)

I need Death Cab for Cutie tickets for August 8th. I need a date for the show too. I oughta get on that.

It's way late, but I'm not really tired. Which is weird, because I didn't really get copious amounts of sleep over the weekend. Meh. I'll give sleep a shot.

Seven hours away....

2006-06-22T00:48:00.000-06:00

...from one of the biggest matches the US has ever played, ever. We HAVE to beat Ghana and Italy HAS to beat the Czech Republic. I joked to my roommate that only two things could get me out of bed at such an early hour if I didn't have to -- girls or the World Cup. (In a perfect world, these would be combined -- watching the World Cup with girls -- but whaddayagonnado.) We have the talent to do it, we really do. And we're catching Ghana at the right time, since they will be missing two of their three best players, Gyan and Muntari. Of course, we're also missing Pope and Mastroeni. But we've got other good players to bring on instead. We have the better team if we play up to our ability. I feel like a little kid on Christmas. I can't wait. And, because it's so early, I'll actually get to watch it! I've already told my boss at work that I'll probably be a little late, and if she doesn't like it, then tough, because goodness knows that place owes me something.

Update on the girls from the Twilight Zone: there isn't one, really. I fully planned to go visit them last night, but they weren't there when I got to the apartment they specified. (No one was there, in fact -- it really would be Twilight Zone-esque to find that that apartment has been empty for months or something.) I'll have to check again when I get back from St. George.

Oh yes, I'm leaving for the weekend tomorrow with my family. Since my sister is going to London starting next week, and my brother and sister-in-law will be gone to Purdue by the time she gets back, this will be the last chance we have to take a family vacation all together. I'm not sure exactly what we'll be doing -- I know that swimming, shopping and golf will be involved, as well as a trip to the St. George temple to do some baptisms. I'll be bringing the lappy, of course, but I don't know that he'll be much use, as I'm not sure that there will be an internet connection where we're staying. We'll see, I guess. I'm excited, though. This will be the first time I've had a proper chance to take a few days off from work since... well, since ever. I'm looking forward to it.

Currently grooving to the sweet sounds of Ryan Adams -- Clark hooked me up with several of his albums, as recompense for borrowing my keyboard the other night. (I told him about the Twilight Zone girls and my lack of Ben Folds-ability -- I think he felt bad.) Ryan is good stuff.

Did that just happen?

2006-06-20T00:11:00.000-06:00

So I'm sitting on the couch in my apartment, messing around on iTunes, watching Sportscenter, just chillin, when there's a knock on my door. I yell come in, and in walks a pair of beautiful young women. One sits down on the couch by me, the other plops down in the rolling desk chair. We start talking. They comment on the Christmas tree which still occupies the corner of our living room. They ask my name. They make the requisite "Are you from Layton?" remark (honestly, one day, someone will forget to make this joke, and the world will immediately stop spinning). I ask their names (Veronica and Brittany, no last names given). I ask where they live. They say they live in Sparks, behind Golds Gym. I ask what they're doing in this neck of the woods. They say they were on a bike ride and decided to stop. Veronica sees the Anaheim Angels' Rally Monkey on Sportscenter. She mentions that she's a SoCal native and loves the Rally Monkey. This somehow leads to both girls breaking into, um, an interesting rendition of "I Believe I Can Fly." Brittany jumps off the couch and begins interpretive dancing to the lyrics. I of course do the logical thing. I join in singing. This somehow leads to me singing "A Whole New World" from Aladdin while Brittany dances (and I use that word loosely). This leads to both girls commenting on my voice. Brittany asks if I know any Ben Folds. I nearly go ballistic with chagrin because I let my friend Clark borrow my keyboard so I can't play any Ben Folds for her. I do manage to track down Chase's guitar and bring it out. I play and sing "Island In The Sun" by Weezer. They sing along at parts. They compliment my voice again. Veronica requests "Free Falling" by Tom Petty. I have never tried to play "Free Falling." I don't know the lyrics. Veronica steals my laptop and finds the lyrics online. I play the song perfectly. We sing together. We laugh. They get up to leave. I ask which apartment they live in
at Sparks. They tell me. They say they'll definitely be back. They leave. I sit in stunned, blissful silence.

I'm still not actually sure it happened.

Too many games

2006-06-15T00:01:00.000-06:00

Ah, who am I kidding? There's no such thing. Behold the glory:

Starcraft (with Brood Wars expansion)
Freelancer
Unreal 2
Far Cry
Grand Theft Auto III
Grand Theft Auto Vice City
Grand Theft Auto San Andreas

All that for $40. That's some quality crap. Don't expect to see me for a while.

Cheez-Its

2006-06-13T19:50:00.000-06:00

They're good. I like them.

Watching the Heat actually play well for once in this series against the Mavericks. No, I take that back -- they did play well at the beginning of Game 1. But they cooled off really fast in that game, and I sort of think they're going to do the same here. I don't see the Mavericks losing this series.

I think there's a storm coming in. That's good. I wish it would just pour. It rained a fair amount the other day, during the huge thunderstorm that knocked out my internet, but I want it to just unleash. Maybe it will cool off the weather a bit too.

I can't tell you how mad I am at the US soccer team. We sucked. Sucked hard. I don't have too much to say about it, because I was at work and unable (mercifully) to watch. Look, I know that the Czech Republic are a better team. The loss doesn't really bother me that badly. The 3-0 destruction that they gave us is what bothers me. It might get really important if there ends up being a tie and it comes down to goal differential. We just better play well against Italy on Saturday. (Of course, I'll miss that game too, because of work. I told my boss today -- even though I've told her before -- that I'm not going to be working at the bank during the fall, especially not on Saturdays so I can go to BYU football games, since I'll probably be writing about them for the newspaper. I thought she was going to have a nervous breakdown. I swear, that place is going to self-destruct without me. Okay, that's really arrogant. I'm a jerk. But it'll be hard on them for a while.)

I played Star Wars on my computer till 3am last night. And Nick and I are about to relieve a local guy of his entire game collection. I'm about to get about seven new computer games. Say goodbye to your social life, Layton. Oh, wait, that's right. I don't have one. Even better.

It's a bit weird not to have my roommate around. For one thing, the dishes get done a lot less (because my other roommate always uses them and never washes them -- that was something he used to do). Now I have to do them, when I didn't use any of them. That's frustrating. And I now can surf online or play games late at night on the lappy and not worry about keeping him awake at night. Not that I'd ever wake him up anyway -- dude slept like a dead man. Except when he would sit bolt-upright and start talking to me in Portuguese. I hope he's doing all right. The whole elder's quorum presidency and my other roommate went over on Sunday night to check up on him. I didn't go -- I didn't think it was really appropriate. I mean, we never hang out with our EQP, so why should they want to come hang out now? I bet it felt awkward, more like an intervention than a visit. Maybe I'm too cynical -- they certainly had the best of intentions. I just don't know that it helped to have five people go over to make sure he isn't going insane. Whatever.

Meanwhile, my other roommate is at his ex-girlfriend's brother's basketball game. With her entire family. Talk about awkward. He let slip today that he thinks she was pretty hurt by their break-up the other day. Seems to refute his claim that it was "mutual." Regardless, it's tough to hang out with your ex so quickly after you've broken up. You just have a lot of memories and things that are hard to bear, on both ends. It's tough. Well, best of luck to him. I'll hear about it later, I'm sure.

Mmmmm.... Cheez-Its......

Impossible Is Nothing

2006-06-10T14:12:00.000-06:00

This is the slogan of the current Adidas marketing campaign -- I use it as my post title partially in honor of the start of the World Cup. I cannot tell you how stoked I am to watch (I'm sitting here watching Argentina and Ivory Coast play right now). I'm disappointed that I may not get to see much of the U.S. because most of their games will be in the daytime when I'm at work. And following soccer on the internet is about one step up from watching paint dry on the Entertainment Scale. Still, I'll do what I can to watch. Soccer has such a beauty and flow to it that few sports can match. It also has by far the most exciting moments -- since goals are so rare, the sheer energy that comes when they are scored is like nothing else in sports. I can't help but throw my arms in the air when a goal goes in, even if I'm not a fan of the teams playing.

I also use these words for this title to describe what went on yesterday in my apartment. To quote a line from Saving Private Ryan, "The world has taken a turn for the surreal." I won't go into details, but suffice it to say that my roommate's situation has resolved itself. Not in the way that any of us would have liked. But it is over. I hope. I also hope that there aren't any long-term consequences.

My roommate was (and perhaps still is) convinced that the things he has done and felt in the past few weeks have been due to following promptings and revelations received from God. It's hard for me to know what to say to this, especially since I've always looked up to him for spiritual guidance; he certainly doesn't watch or listen to or read some of the things I do (and no swearing slips out of his mouth). Under any other circumstances, I'd completely take him at his word. But I find four problems with the claim that his actions have been inspired.

1) The Lord will never prompt a person to disobey the law of the land.
2) The Lord will never give revelation or counsel that is contrary to the counsel of priesthood leaders (such as parents or the bishop).
3) The Lord will not give a person a revelation for someone outside of their stewardship.
4) The Lord will not give a person a revelation that will make them unhappy.

I know that over the past few weeks, my roommate has gone against all of these rules. And he sure as crap hasn't been happy. That worries me. I really don't know what will happen in the long run. But, we helped him move out yesterday. He actually just came in to grab some extra stuff that he forgot last night. I'll be praying for him.

I think the worst thing about the whole situation is that neither my roommate nor the other party involved seemed to really think through what would happen to the other person. They've both been so focused on themselves that they haven't given each other a chance to see how the other person was feeling. And that really bothers me -- I guess I'm too compassionate a person myself to want either person to feel this way.

Meanwhile, my other roommate broke up with his girlfriend. He says it was a mutual decision, that they were both about to leave for the summer and neither of them wanted to do the long-term thing and be attached while apart. So I asked if that meant that they would see where they were when they both came back in the fall, and he said probably not. It doesn't exactly surprise me, to be honest. I'm sort of wondering if he's willing to commit to anybody. Meh, I'm being too hard on him. He's just looking for the right girl and he likes to keep his options open. Still, though... ah, never mind.

Okay, I've been trying to post this for three hours and I keep getting interrupted (either by people or by our stupid internet connection dying). So, up it goes.

Knight of the Old Republic

2006-06-07T23:13:00.000-06:00

So, I spent three hours tonight playing Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic on my lappy. My friend Nick keeps telling me I need to game more, like I used to back in the days when I first got home from my mission and played games non-stop along with watching movies and listening to music in an orgy of entertainment media, as if to make up for the two years of my mission. It's not my fault that I have a lot of priorities in my life now, including attempting to have a social life, running my own amateur counselling service, and watching the best NBA playoffs in history. Gaming has had to take a backseat to several of these things, and I don't really regret it for the most part. I do regret the way I've promised to do certain things with Nick and haven't ended up doing them. But I'm trying to find a balance in my life, between music, sports, reading, writing and dating. It hasn't been easy.

For example, in the past week I've spent a lot of time with my family, including the date I mentioned last Friday, hauling cinder blocks for several hours on Saturday as part of the process of demolishing the fireplaces in my parents' house, and hanging out with my little brother on Sunday. (Speaking of gaming, I loaned him my PS2 on Sunday night, so he could play Kingdom Hearts 2. He beat it today. That's a 35+ hour game, folks. He must have played it about ten hours a day. Wow.) I've also spent quite a bit of time with people from my ward so far this week, including FHE, playing basketball after FHE, and hanging out with Chelsea and Ashley last night (which was mostly fun, despite the fact that our plan to see a movie totally fell through. Fun girls to hang out with -- don't know that either one really fits my personality, but fun). And I have tentative plans to hang out with other girls from the ward this weekend, too. So that's all going well.

But tonight was just for me. I played Star Wars for quite a while, read quite a bit in my book (The Stand, by Stephen King, if anyone's curious -- really interesting, not a horror book, but still not for the faint of heart or easily offended. I wish I didn't have to skip stuff sometimes, but it's mostly awesome), talked with some guys outside, and just generally had "me" time. Which was nice. I sometimes feel like I give so much of myself to others (and don't mistake me, I wouldn't have it any other way) that I neglect myself. I forget how much simple pleasure I derive from a good book, good music, and a nice session of gaming. I really take things too seriously sometimes, and I think it's good for me to do some frivolous things to put life into perspective.

Speaking of frivolity, if anyone needed a dose of that, it's my roommate. He's still in pieces over certain recent events in his life, and I have no idea how to put him back together. It's frustrating to me, because I have such a complex about wanting to help people emotionally, and there's absolutely nothing I can do for him -- he's got to work out whatever is wrong on his own. I personally just think he needs to chill, to go meet some other people, play some games, focus on school, and not worry so much. I rarely see him around any more, and when I do, he's either praying, reading scriptures, or talking/e-mailing some family member about how to improve himself and his situation. I just worry that he's getting way too depressed, and I don't know how to lift him out of it. Because I can't.

On the plus side, Reggie And The Full Effect are a funny band.

Anti-flu

2006-06-03T13:41:00.000-06:00

You ever have those days where you just wake up and don't really know why, but you feel good and upbeat and optimistc about things? That was this morning. I didn't get anywhere near enough sleep (okay, technically it was six hours, which is enough, but not as much as I wanted), and I had to get up earlier than usual and go to work (missing my ward activity in the process -- I swear, can they ever schedule something NOT on Saturday morning?), but I got dressed and got in my car and rolled down the windows and blasted some Blink and sang along at the top of my lungs and I just couldn't keep a big grin off my face or stop myself from yelling out the window for no reason at all. And seriously, there was no reason. I just felt good. Still do, more or less.

I call this the anti-flu. It's the opposite of when things are going well in your life and then you wake up feeling sick one morning. If there are viruses that make you feel worse, why can't there be viruses that make you feel better? Okay, that logic is a little dodgy. No matter.

I actually spent several hours a few nights ago trying to convince a friend that I wasn't really that bummed out. I've become a lot more optimistic about life in general since I've been home from my mission, and even though my current social situation leaves something to be desired, I have no fear that I'm going to meet someone shockingly awesome someday and end up deleriously happy. I honestly believe that. I just get frustrated sometimes when social situations don't turn out the way I'd like. My friend said I get far too dramatic about such things, and he's right. I guess it's good that I woke up feeling so chill and good.

Take last night, for example. One of the funnest dates I've been on in a while (okay, the only date I've been on in a while, but never you mind). My brother serves as a second counselor in a BYU ward bishopric, and his wife has gotten to be friends with a member of the relief society presidency in the ward. They've wanted to set me up with her for a while, so we went to dinner and saw X-Men last night (yes, it was the third time for me, but they hadn't seen it yet, and you know I'm always down for X-Men). And it was just a lot of fun -- she's a great girl and really funny, and the four of us just seemed to have a very good dynamic, making jokes with each other, telling stories, and just hanging out, really low-pressure style. The only downside is that I think she has another guy she's interested in (story of my life -- otherwise, I'd be asking her out again in a heartbeat). So that was a bit of a bummer, but really, the evening was so much fun that it didn't really bother me. And that's a big deal for me -- I overreact to being passed over in favor of other guys.

Anyway, I have no prospects, nothing to look forward to except a hellish week at work (my cool boss will be on vacation, so it'll be me, my lame boss who never helps at all, and three other people who have about a month of experience put together. Ugh), and the Suns probably losing tonight or on Monday. But I just feel good. I feel happy, more or less. It may be as passing as my frustration at my female troubles, but I'll take what I can get. Besides, there's a reason my blog title is what it is.

Lazy Monday

2006-05-29T13:05:00.000-06:00

I'm not sure what I'll be doing today. On the one hand, it's really nice to just sit here and not do anything. I so rarely get days off from work (as in, NEVER) that it's very cool to be able to wake up at like 11 and just sit here, just being lazy, playing with my laptop, and listening to music (more on that in a sec). At the same time, though, I sort of miss having other people around, too. AJ and Jim are both in Salt Lake today doing things with family. I may end up doing something with family today, too, but for the moment I'm just sitting here not doing much of anything. And it's nice, but I can only take so much of it.

So, I REALLY love this music I'm listening to. I've gotten on this sort of folk-guitar kick, having purchased an album by a group called Iron & Wine, and now I'm really into a guy called Sufjan Stevens. Sufjan is way cool because of his use of different instruments -- he incorporates things as diverse as banjo, mandolin, trumpet and oboe (trust me, it works). His music is wildly ambitious -- he has published two albums about states in the USA (they're called Michigan and Illinois), and his goal is to make an album about every state in the country (though nobody's sure if he's serious about it, it's a cool goal anyway). Some of the Illinois album is definitely not for all listeners -- it can get a bit bizarre. But Michigan is just great chill folk tunage. Sort of like Jack Johnson minus the Hawaii vibe plus a healthy dose of back-woods bluegrass (and by the way, there's a HUGE difference between this and country, but that's a topic for another time). I definitely love Iron & Wine too. He does an awesome cover of the Postal Service song "Such Great Heights." Makes it sound completely different -- it's good stuff.

It's fully time I started dating again. Think I know who I'd like to ask out for this weekend too. We'll see.

One downside to my lappy -- it only has USB ports (and only two of those). I'm going to need to buy a USB hub with more ports, and also an adapter for my PS/2 mouse so I can use it in a USB port. It's either that or buy a wireless mouse. I'd prefer the little adapter, though -- just seems easier. Besides, I like my current mouse. The stupid thing is that they don't sell that little adapter thingy in any stores -- it's only two bucks online, but I can only buy it online. It's lame. Oh well.

The Suns lost last night. Just weren't shooting well enough, and the Mavs did a very good job of playing them physically and slowing the pace of the game down. I think the Suns really miss Raja Bell, since he's injured. I wish I had been around last year when he was playing for Jazz. More than that, I wish the Jazz had kept him. Well, I hope the Suns can hang in there without him, but I think the Mavs are getting their momentum back. I really don't think anyone can stop them.

I think that's about all for now. Time to stop being lazy and actually find something to do today. I need to go shopping, for one thing. We'll see after that. Kay bye.

This is fun

2006-05-28T18:59:00.000-06:00

I'm sitting here, updating my blog and checking e-mail while watching the Suns game, sitting on the couch in my living room. Can you tell that I'm enjoying my new lappy? I've been showing it off to everyone. My brother was pretty jealous. It's funny -- I wasn't entirely sure I should buy it, because it's just so much money, and I even prayed about it a bit just to make sure. Then I got to work one day and looked at my bank account, and realized that I had over a thousand dollars in the bank, free and clear, and I just realized, "Holy crap, I really can afford this!" And now it's just joy. I told AJ earlier today, "One of these days, I'm going to walk into our room, and see my lappy, and not get a big smile on my face. I'm sure that will happen one day. But not for a while." Bliss.

So, X3. I've seen it twice in a 24-hour span, and I can say that I loved it, but not as much as X2. The previous two movies were done by director Bryan Singer, but he left X3 to work on Superman Returns, which he's also directing. Brett Ratner, the director of the Rush Hour movies, took over the reins, and while he gives a great sense of action and lots of fun use of mutant powers, that emotional gravity and artistic subtlety that made the first two movies so special was just missing. This probably has a lot to do with the director and the script -- Wolverine has some lame bits, especially when he's trying to be the leader and make everyone feel better; that's never been his role. (Although there's nothing in the script to rival the stupidity of the "Toad struck by lightning" line from X1.)

Beast was excellent, played by Kelsey Grammer, and as always, the interplay between Magneto and Professor X is a lot of fun (especially in the scene at the very beginning, set twenty years earlier). But there's just a lot of wasted potential. The "cure" plot really isn't developed much, and it seems like there's too many characters trying to do too many things -- we're trying to focus on Cyclops' pain at Jean's death, Wolverine's admitting he loves Jean, Jean's own dual-personality and Prof. X's attempts to help, the love triangle with Iceman, Kitty Pryde and Rogue, the little Angel subplot, Beast and his political responsibilities, etc. I would have liked to see more interaction between Cyclops and Wolverine as well, but Cyclops, for obvious reasons, doesn't have a lot of screen time (apparently he needed to go work on his Superman role with director Singer).

Now, having all the characters isn't all bad, because you get to see all of their powers and the way they interact. I liked the little Pyro/Iceman showdown, for example, or the "fastball special" Colossus/Wolvie team-up.

All in all, I really enjoyed it, and I'm glad I saw it twice, and I may even see it again in a little while. But it just wasn't quite as satisfying as the previous two movies. It was also quite a bit shorter, leaving a feeling of something being left unfulfilled. It does leave the door open for sequels, though, despite the "Last Stand" title.

Other than that, I spent the weekend watching basketball and soccer (Real Salt Lake isn't completely terrible these days!) and loading music/games/patches onto the lappy. Currently, I'm watching the Suns shoot the lights on against the Mavs. Hope that continues.

Oh, I did spend some time at my parents' house last night. My parents have decided to demolish the two fireplaces in the house, ostensibly to free up more floor space (although I don't know why that's necessary, especially because there's only two kids at home now, and they'll be leaving within a year or two). Anyway, last night I could barely talk to my dad because he was busy taking a sledgehammer to the fireplace. I fear he's going to request my hammer-bashing abilities tomorrow, too, despite the celebration of Memorial Day. That's how it's always been with my dad -- holidays are time to repair the house and do yard work. It's how he chills out. Oh well. It's also my sister's birthday this week, so we'll probably do something for that tomorrow too. She's going to be twenty years old. Now that's strange. She's going to graduate from BYU before I do. That's strange too.

And now, back to the Suns.

The Last Stand

2006-05-26T02:28:00.000-06:00

Thanks to a fortuitous phone call from an old friend, I saw X-Men 3 at midnight. Full review coming tomorrow or Saturday -- I'm still going to see it again in about twenty hours. For now, just know that it is good. Very good.

I don't think I can sleep.

Happiness is a new computer.

2006-05-25T00:37:00.000-06:00

Which is what I most likely will have by Friday night. I've been scouring Craigslist, eBay and all sorts of online coupon/deal sites looking for a good price on a laptop. My desire for one stretches back to before I even got home from my mission. I knew I'd need one eventually, particularly because if I'm ever going to be a successful sportswriter (the fondest hope of my heart), I'll need to be able to take notes on games as they happen, and I loathe writing by hand. Plus, well, they're just cool.

The right deal seems to have fallen into my lap. Another BYU student is selling me his not-very-old Sony Vaio laptop for a very agreeable price, and he's even taking my desktop upon which I write these very words off my hands for me. Everything I've read online, all the customer reviews and everything, say that this is quite a nice laptop -- it probably retailed for $1600-$1800 less than six months ago. Nick's going to come down on Friday and check everything out for me, make sure there's no hiccups or technical snags. If all goes well, I'll have a lot more desk space and a lot more power come Friday night.

Add that to the opening night showing of X3 that I'll be hitting up, and it looks like I'll be having a very productive weekend. Now, if only girls liked me...

Moving on....

2006-05-23T00:10:00.000-06:00

....as in, the Suns are moving on to the Western Conference Finals after demolishing the Clippers tonight. Bombing 3-pointers all over the place, playing up-tempo, crazy passes, just thoroughly fun to watch. They'll play against the Mavericks, who needed overtime to beat the Spurs. In all honesty, the Mavs should kill the Suns. Phoenix just doesn't have the depth. But I'll root for them anyway, even though my brain tells me the Mavs are on their way to a title. We'll see.

....also as in, I need to be moving on with my life. I mentioned last time that it's been nice to have a little break with nothing to worry about, no dates to really go on, no girls to stress over, no great responsibilities, just work, basketball, and generally being chill. But it's beginning to get old. I was watching the Suns game tonight with a TON of people, and couldn't help but feel a little left out. Everyone else, guys and girls alike, seemed to be involved in other conversations in addition to watching the game. Maybe I'm just too intense when sports are on (okay, definitely I'm too intense), but still, I just didn't feel very included. And there were several road trips being discussed, and I had no idea they were happening and felt a bit jealous that I wasn't asked to come (while everyone around me was telling everyone else "Hey, you should come, it'll be fun!). Well, I probably wouldn't be able to go anyway, since I have to work every single Saturday. (I haven't missed a single one in over a year. It's like 54 straight.) It's getting really old with ward activities, because they're always, always scheduled for 9am on Saturday, right when I work, and I know I can't get it off. I like my work, it's not difficult and I get to mess around online and I get paid decently, but dammit, I've never asked for ANY time off, I've basically worked six days a week for over a year straight, and I've barely got so much as a thank-you. Bah.

That paragraph ended up a little far afield from where I started it. I guess it boils down to the fact that I don't really feel like I'm making progress in my life unless I'm in a relationship or trying to pursue one. And I'm just really in limbo now and seem to have not made a good enough impression on some of the newer girls in the ward for them to want to hang out with me. I don't understand how some guys just get to be the default people to do stuff with (like, how girls always seem to come over, just to see what's up). Nobody does that with me or my apartment. This is partly because my roommates are lame/spoken for/both. It's just a bit frustrating to have to play the game, where I try to make an effort without seeming pushy. I never get the balance right -- I either end up making myself a nuisance or just not getting noticed at all. It doesn't help that the few talents I have, especially music, don't stand out very much, like when every other guy in my building plays guitar, most of them better than me, and all of them better-looking than me.

I should stop complaining and do something about it. I haven't been on a date in weeks, and I could easily ask out one of the newer girls in the ward. But it's just a bit of a bummer after times like tonight when I just feel so on the outside looking in. I have so much to offer. I wish people would see that.

[/pity party]

On the positive side, I did manage to be a good friend to a couple of people today. I'm glad to have reconciled a bit with one girl -- she was mad at me for sticking my nose where it didn't belong (namely, her status with my roommate). At least, I thought she was mad (especially from the way she yelled at me at the time), but she just needed to blow off steam and I happened to be there to take the brunt of it. I really enjoy being there for people, though, even if it's just as someone to yell at. My mom says it's a real gift I have (she was very flattering on the phone to me today, telling me that most people have to work really hard to get to the level of charity that I seem to have almost immediately. A nice thing to say, but not really true -- it's just a need I have, and it makes me happy, so it's almost like I'm being selfish by being unselfish. That made no sense. Meh.).

I don't know where I'm going with that train of thought, so I think we'll stop right there.

Gigs and Guffman

2006-05-21T01:36:00.000-06:00

Last night I played with my brother and his best friend (thus comprising our band) at a party outside of an apartment complex. The party itself was fairly lame -- a DJ had set up a bunch of equipment, a couple other bands played before us and there weren't many people there. Most of the people that were there looked like your typical Provo partygoer -- dirty dancing, not overly dressed, etc. So I suppose that I can't say I'm surprised that our music didn't get much of a reaction out of them. We're just too mellow for such people -- they either want hip hop they can freak to or crappy punk they can mosh to. So when a band is, you know, playing actual MUSIC, they sort of don't know what to do. We had a guy come up and tell our guitarist that we needed to play something faster so the crowd had an excuse to dance. We basically ignored that request and went on with our set. It was sort of funny.

Having said that, I adore playing live in front of people, unappreciative as most of them were. And we sounded pretty good for not having practiced a lot. Dave and Clark wanted to make sure we kept a raw, unrehearsed sound, so we deliberately skimped on the practice time. Which was fine by me -- we're all good enough musicians that if anything goes wrong, we can fudge it fairly easily. Anyway, our set was fun; in addition to several originals, we played covers of a Ryan Adams song, a Neil Young song ("Cortez the Killer," and we brought our old friend Andrew back to solo on it, which rocked), and a Wilco song. All three of those came off surprisingly well. (The last time we tried to play the Wilco song, it fell apart miserably, but we had a lot of fun anyway. This time it held up and sounded pretty good.)

I really wish we could play more often. I know Dave's busy being married and all, and Clark's got stuff of his own to deal with (like his interminable will-they-won't-they relationship with his girlfriend who goes to Utah State), and it's not like I have oodles of time on my hands with nothing to do. But I really enjoy playing together, and I enjoy the music we write, and I wish more people could hear us and we could get some feedback on whether anyone really likes our sound or not. I have this gut feeling that we're just really good and nobody has noticed because the right people haven't been listening, because we don't play often enough.

Went swimming for the first time this year today. It was really nice to get in the water -- felt very good on a fairly hot day. It reminded me that I need to get a new swimsuit, though. Right now I have to make do with wearing garments under board shorts that I am currently waaaay too fat for. Fortunately I don't go swimming often enough for it to really matter. I'm sure it won't be the last time this summer, though, so that will probably be a purchase I'll have to make.

Tonight AJ and I renewed our little tradition of watching slightly obscure highbrow movies. On the menu tonight: Waiting For Guffman. My brother has said it's one of the funniest movies he's ever seen. I liked it a lot -- it's a mockumentary about a community theater production put on by a former New York director with delusions of grandeur. It has a very Napoleon Dynamite-ish humor -- the kind of thing you might not laugh at the first time, but which becomes extremely quotable on repeat viewings. We asked Julie to come over too, and we had root beer floats before watching the movie. (I'm sorry if you didn't like the movie, Julie -- you don't have to try to not hurt my feelings! I know you thought it was weird! Thanks for hanging out with us anyway!)

I spent the rest of the evening attempting to finish Mega Man 2. Everything was fine up until Dr. Wily himself -- I just kept getting rocked, and I was too tired to sit there and tough it out. I'll finish it tomorrow, I suppose. I really enjoyed the part where you beat the eight robot masters in succession, though. There's something so satisfying about beating a boss with the exact weapon that he's weak against. Makes me feel smart.

Because of my gig, I didn't see the basketball games yesterday. I wanted the Cavs and Mavs to close out their respective series, but both lost, forcing two Game 7s for tomorrow, followed by the Suns/Clippers Game 7 on Monday. Good times. I'm stoked. It's been sort of nice to follow these playoffs without having a particular rooting interest, since the Jazz are so terrible. I can just watch all the games and appreciate the high quality of play from all teams. (Although I would like to see the Suns move on. Have to be loyal to the Arizona boys.)

It's funny -- I haven't been on a date in several weeks. I kept myself fairly busy this weekend, but there still seemed to be something lacking. At the same time, though, I'm enjoying meeting and hanging out with girls but not necessarily pursuing them. I don't imagine I'll remain in this state for long, though. Soon enough, I'm sure someone will catch my eye enough to make me want to try a little harder. I'll let it happen when it happens, though.

I'm tired.

The heat of the night

2006-05-17T23:43:00.000-06:00

Why is my room so bloody hot? Honestly, we've got the thermostat cranked down, fan blowing, and I lay there on top of the covers and I STILL sweat. This may be more of a commentary on my overweightness than anything else, but really. I'm the kind of person who absolutely has to be at least cool when sleeping. Even in winter, I use nothing more than a sheet and maybe one light blanket, and I never turn on the heat. Bleh. I hate summer. Okay, I don't hate summer, but I hate this part of summer. The sleeping in a hot room part.

More basketball -- LeBron making 'Sheed eat his words is sheer awesomeness. I have often commented that I feel about LeBron what I think a lot of people felt about Michael Jordan -- so in awe of his talent and his ability to make his teammates better than you can't help but adore him. Of course, I have plenty of good reasons to hate MJ, and I do (namely, Games 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 of the 1997 and 1998 NBA Finals against the Jazz -- I still tear up when I see replays). But I have no such grudge against Bron Bron. Even when he dropped 51 on the Jazz earlier this year (and I was at the game!) I bore him no ill will, because the Jazz were sucking and I was so amazed to see him ply his trade. The man-child is awe-inspiring. We are all witnesses.

I enjoyed going to get shakes at the Malt Shoppe with Julie and Shanna. Them's my buddies. Sometimes I really enjoy being around girls and sometimes I don't. I think it's when they're in smaller groups that I like it. Correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems to me that when girls congregate together, they tend to talk amongst themselves and sort of isolate the guys sometimes. Like, when a girl walks into a guy's apartment, EVERYTHING stops, and the guys immediately shift all focus onto the girl (this is usually true even if a game or movie is on). But when a guy walks into a girl's apartment, the opposite thing seems to happen -- the girls close ranks and talk about things that only they understand and the guy has to make all the effort to insert himself into the conversation. I'm speaking in generalities here, but in my experience this is mostly true.

Julie and Shanna usually aren't like this, though -- I love talking to them, either separately or together. I've been very lucky to be their home teacher/FHE dad, because they're great. (So comment on my blogs already -- I know you guys read this!)

I may actually get to bed before midnight tonight. Huzzah.

Sports Night

2006-05-17T00:47:00.000-06:00

Man, I just watched a lot of sports. I watched BYU's final home baseball game of the year, which we won 10-3. That was a lot of fun -- I dragged AJ out of the house with me, even though he was not feeling great (he just needs to get up and do stuff instead of moping around all the time) and we met up with Isaiah and two new girls from the ward, Brittany and Nicole. The girls are both way cute -- I talked to Nicole and Isaiah for a while about various different things. I feel a little bad because AJ and Brittany sort of got left out (they were sitting on the oustide ends of our row), but I suppose they would have joined in if they had wanted to. I know AJ didn't really want to, he just needed something to take his mind off things a bit, which I hope I accomplished. I'm very good at doing that; I could do with a bit more focus in my life. Ah well. Anyway, a good time was had by all.

(Side note: how does Isaiah do it? I swear he becomes best friends with every girl in the ward right away, and they all want to hang out with him. I'm perfectly willing to admit that he's a more attractive man that I am, but there's got to be more to it than that. Isaiah the Playa. End side note.)

Then I promptly came home and went straight up to Dash's apartment to watch the rest of the Suns-Clippers game. Score when I walked in the door: Suns up by 13 points. Score two minutes later: Suns up by 19 points. Score by the end of the 3rd quarter: Suns up by 8 points. And it only got worse. And better. And worse. And better again. Two overtimes, several boneheaded plays, and an amazingly clutch 3-pointer later, the Suns pulled out the win. Most fun I've had watching the end of a game since... well, last week, when the Suns did the same thing to the Lakers. I never thought I'd enjoy the NBA playoffs more than the NCAA basketball tournament, especially in a year when the Jazz aren't playing. But this year has been superb. I'm honestly planning my schedule around Suns games (as Nick knows all too well -- sorry dude). On Thursday I'm supposed to rehearse with my band for a gig we have on Friday (at Branbury Park Apartments, 449 W 1720 N, Provo, at around 8pm, if anyone's interested). Except the Suns play right during that time. Two of my absolute favorite activities. There's gotta be some way we can do both. Anyway, suffice it to say that I'm thoroughly enjoying the playoffs and sporting myself to death.

I'm getting sick of baby-sitting at work. We have to keep training new tellers and that puts all the workload on me as the senior teller. It's lame. Two other tellers left early today, leaving me to cover all their slack and the slack from the new people. Meanwhile, my boss is yelling at me that I misplaced $1,800 in cashed checks when I know very well I didn't. (Turns out that was an error on the part of our ever-vigilant bookkeeping staff. Always seems to happen to me. Bleh.) At least I have the internet and chatting with friends to keep me somewhat occupied.

I don't know that I have much else to write about right now. My relationship life is non-existent at the moment, but I sort of like it that way for now. I'm meeting a few new girls in the ward and laying some groundwork, hopefully. Lots of time for that. Everything else is going all right. Now if only I could get rid of my nagging cough and go up and see Nick's baby, all would be well in my little world.

(Proposal #1 for Operation Cough Removal: quit freaking staying up till 2am every night.)

New ward stuff

2006-05-13T23:58:00.000-06:00

Been a while since I've found time to write. Not that I haven't had the time, but it seems like it's a big commitment to sit down and type out my feelings and the way that things have gone in my life recently. Writing is often an intensely emotional process for me -- not that I tear up at the keyboard or anything, but it's really cathartic and involving; it takes a lot of my focus to try and marshal my thoughts onto the screen. I do enjoy it, though, and I enjoy letting people read about it, if anyone cares.

My ward recently reorganized due to the lower number of people here for spring semester. I have been released from my calling as an FHE group leader -- a "dad" in BYU slang -- and am now on the Temple/Family History committee. Which, honestly, doesn't sound like a ton of hard work so far. It's basically just helping to organize temple trips and volunteering for name extraction and such like. I suppose it will be good to get some experience in this subject, because I have absolutely no idea what family history entails. I've never had to do any, since my family trees on both sides are filled out for about as far as they can go given the information we have access to. So maybe this calling will help. But otherwise, it feels a bit like one of those tacked-on callings that BYU singles wards so often have. We'll see -- I'll do my best to magnify it in whatever capacity I can.

The ward seems to have gotten a bit younger, and there's lots of new girls (and a few new guys) to meet and hang out with. We had a ward activity tonight up the canyon, and I spent most of the evening playing guitar with several other people. I don't know how many people were listening, and I bet they got fairly bored (I always seem to be the guy who plays guitar at ward activities, although I'm far from the best guitarist in the ward). But no matter -- I play for myself, because I enjoy it, and if others are around and happen to listen, that's fine by me. I suppose I should have been a bit more social and gotten to know more people (guitar players are a dime a dozen around here, after all), but that will come with time. Music has always sort of been my "in" with people -- they ask about how long I've been playing and if I can play this song or that song and it draws attention and it's fun. But I think I need to stop hiding behind my guitar and my talent and try to initiate contact in other ways. I know I'm capable of that, but it's easier for me to just sit back and chill and let people come to me. Something I'll have to work on, I suppose.

I've enjoyed watching the recent Suns games with some guys in the ward. The Suns are playing pretty well (that miserable Game 2 notwithstanding) and it's fun to watch with other guys who are knowledgeable about the game and the teams involved. Several girls come and go as we watch, but none are as committed as we are. I feel bad sometimes, that I'm forced to choose between hanging out with girls or watching a game I really care about. If it were any other game, not involving the Suns (or the Jazz, if they didn't suck), I wouldn't care. Take tonight, for example -- the Cavs played the Pistons and the Spurs played the Mavericks. Four teams I don't really care about (although I like watching LeBron). So, I ditched the games and went to the ward activity. If the Suns had been playing, though, it might have been different. That sounds shallow, but... meh. I can't help the way I am and the things I love, and sports is definitely one of the things I love.

Speaking of me being shallow, and things I love, I love music. Music is so important to me, and when people don't like certain artists that I like, or vice versa (they like artists that I don't), it sometimes makes it hard for me to be as friendly or as accepting as I should. I tend to make snap judgments sometimes based on musical preferences. I was talking to my sister-in-law about this, especially in regards to girls that really like country. As soon as a girl starts going ga-ga over some Keith Urban or Rascal Flatts song, I just tune out -- it just bugs, because I can't tolerate that kind of music. My sister-in-law told me that it's a really important thing in her relationship with my brother that they like the same kinds of music, and that I wasn't shallow for considering that as a turn-on or -off. And she would know, because my brother is at least as pretentious and elitist about his music as I am about mine. (Our tastes are basically identical.) Still, though, despite the absolution from my sister-in-law, I still feel guilty when such things happen and I sort of feel bothered by it. Surely something so small as musical preferences wouldn't hold back a serious relationship from happening. Then again, music is such an integral part of my life that it might be very hard for me to accept differences in this area. I dunno -- I guess it requires a bit more thought.

My roommate's been going through a rough time. There's a line from a Death Cab song that describes him perfectly: "It is true what you said/I live like a hermit in my own head." He really does, he just bottles things up and overanalyzes them until he's so drenched in indecision that no matter what he does, it will make him regretful, or he may choose to do nothing at all, which is usually worse. His relationship hasn't been going all that smoothly, and much of that blame should be placed on the fact that he paralyzes himself with doubt and fear and trying to make everything fit and make sense before he takes action. He reminds me of Hamlet -- all thought and no fight, until he goes crazy, and then it all just explodes out of him and he does rash things that he ends up regretting later. I wish I could help, but it's something he just needs to deal with himself. Hopefully he'll be able to chill a bit more and just let life happen instead of analyzing every single situation he comes across.

Okay, I'm just too tired to write any more. Off to bed. Scoot.

Saturday is a special day

2006-05-07T00:55:00.000-06:00

Not really, though, because nothing too special happened today. I think the most social thing I did today was had a few people over to watch the Suns absolutely dismantle the Lakers in Game 7. They won by 31 points. 31. In a Game 7. These things aren't supposed to happen. Of course, the Suns WERE the #2 seed, and finally played like it tonight. There were tons of Lakers fans around, of course, as there always seem to be, but they were appropriately subdued. I never understand why people jump on the bandwagon of popular teams like the Lakers or Yankees. Like one kid who was here watching tonight -- he's really cool and all, but he professed a preference for the Lakers, Yankees, and Duke basketball. That's like saying you root for Bill Gates, McDonalds, and Walmart. Apparently he's been supporting those teams since he was young, but it still smacks of bandwagon-ism. But I digress. Suns win, Steve Nash is your MVP, all is right with the world.

I hate my eye. Stupid eye. It goes all red these days when I try to wear my contacts. I wore my contacts last night for four hours, just four, and it flared up like nobody's business. It's not even that it's that painful or dry or anything, it's just... red. And I'm going to look like I've either been crying or drinking tomorrow in church. See if I ever wear my contacts for the benefit of a cute girl again. Meh, who am I kidding, of course I will.

Speaking of which, the motivation for wearing my contacts at all was that I had a date last night with a girl I used to know (a little) in high school. Boy, did she grow up. She lives out in Payson now, so I drove out there to pick her up and take her to see Mission Impossible 3. I'll get to that later (the movie review, I mean). I've decided I like longish car drives; it gives me time to think, to sing along with my iPod, and just to unwind. I totally didn't mind the 80 miles I put on my car driving her to and from her house and back again. Besides, it gave us a chance to talk and catch up on old times. She's matured a lot, she's funny, and I think we'll get along well. I'm excited to renew our friendship.

So, MI3. Well, to start off, I have to say that I never even bothered to see MI2 all the way through. Didn't interest me from the parts I saw of it. I LOVED the original Tom Cruise MI; I thought it had a nice twisty plot mixed in with the action and genuine suspense thrills (not the suspense of waiting to see what blows up next). So I didn't have really high expectations for the film, and I was pleasantly satisfied. You pays yer money and you gets yer explosions, but they're entertaining explosions. The plot has a little bit of a boost with the tension between Ethan Hunt's secret agent life and his fiance, but it's little more than the stick-and-carrot routine to lead us to the next action scene. I liked the movie, but not terribly. Would I recommend it? Yeah, if you're in the mood for action. I doubt I'll see it again in theaters. But I liked it.

I also finished Kingdom Hearts II today. Really enjoyed it, and the final movie was satisfying and provocative at the same time (I have no idea what the little bit at the end was implying, but it appeared to show millions of keyblades, and something called the Keyblade Wars... very confusing, but I suppose that's the point). I definitely want to play through the first game again. I think overall I may have liked the first one better, although combat was a chore in KHI and a joy in KHII. The plot and pacing were better in KHI, and it seemed like there was more room for exploration and secret-finding. I dunno. I'll have to play through it again to remind myself. But I was thoroughly satisfied with KHII. Now I'll have more time to hit up Guild Wars with Nick, assuming he isn't dead tired from dealing with his progeny.

In other news, AJ is back in the house. He's asleep in the other bed while I type on my blog late at night. All is right with the world.

The Miracle of Life

2006-05-05T00:08:00.000-06:00

"We fear change."

The big news today is that one of my very best friends became a father. Alyssa Nicole Seegmiller was born earlier this afternoon, and I'm totally stoked for Nick and Janelle. (And for myself -- I can't wait to be a quasi-uncle to little Alyssa.) It's incredible to think that Nick is a father, and that I might be myself within a few years. Life just keeps moving forward, and things change. I don't think we really need to worry about that. No need to be like Garth. At least I don't think so. I really think that the best is yet to come, for all of us. I personally can't wait to see what's ahead for my life.

Work is becoming interesting. Junior, a guy from Venezuela, has just taken a job with Wells Fargo in Salt Lake and worked his last day today. The kid was hilarious, and not just because of his very thick accent (which I can imitate almost perfectly, so I guess he won't really be gone entirely). He was just a great guy, not afraid to say what was on his mind. I liked him. Anyway, he's not the only one to be quitting. My cool boss Liz will also be moving on soon. Meanwhile, we're training two new tellers, one of whom is catching on way fast. She's really fun and should be good to work with. The other is, well, odd. She's really quiet, except when she feels like talking, in which case she gets right up in your face. (I call her a "close-talker," a distant cousin of Seinfeld's "low-talker.") Oh, and she also seems to have chronic fatigue or something, or maybe she was just whacked up on meds today. But she barely stirred from her chair, and didn't make too much of an effort to learn anything new. It's just going to be a bit tough for the next little while, trying to deal with training new people, while my uptight boss Alana keeps getting more and more upset because people are quitting and she's just uptight anyway. Oh well. At least I still get to be on the Internet basically all day, and I'm making money, and not really having to deal with much else.

I talked a bit with a girl from high school this evening. She was in marching band, and she used to have a huge crush on my friend Chris, which was odd in and of itself. What made it even more odd was that she was a freshman and he was a senior. Didn't stop them from some serious confirmed likage. It ended quickly though. Anyway, I saw her one night at Comedy Sportz back in December, and she gave me her number and told me to call, but also said she was going to BYU-Idaho. So what was the point in that? I still have her number in my phone, but hadn't called. She Facebooked me earlier today and chided me for not calling. She's down from Idaho for the summer and wants to hang out. We may do something tomorrow if I feel like it. Kind of a weird situation, but we'll see.

I have no idea what exactly is going on with Ash and AJ, but AJ is moving back in for the spring, at least. I'm obviously very happy about this. It's been nice to have a break, to have a bit of time to myself for a while, but I miss talking to AJ every night before going to bed, and I miss being able to help him with his social dramas as he helps me with spiritual things. He's gotten to be my best friend, and it's always good to have best friends around. Anyway, after my marathon talk with Ashley last night, and a similar talk while watching the first part of the Lakers-Suns game with AJ tonight, I think they'll be giving things another try. I counselled AJ to be more decisive, but also to just let things happen as they will. It's a hard balance for them to strike, because AJ is what I call a "social chameleon" and likes to please everyone, sometimes at the expense of his own opinions and desires. Ashley, on the other hand, likes to be in charge and make decisions, and absolutely HAS to keep busy all the time. In some ways, it's a very odd match, but they're really good for each other when they're letting their love for each other drive them. I hope things turn out well.

Speaking of the Lakers and Suns, um, holy crap. Kobe finally went off like we all thought he would the whole series, dropping 50, but it didn't matter, as the Suns came out on top in overtime, thanks to a couple of Tim Thomas 3's, a monster slam from Matrix Marion, Steve "Severus Snape" Nash facilitating, and some sweet play from Brazilian Leandro Barbosa. Really, this series (and the whole first round in general) has been ridiculously entertaining. As much as I love March Madness (and I think that college sports often have more emotion and excitement), these playoffs have been incredible, and you can really see the difference in talent level and skill. March Madness is somewhat spastic and chaotic in its thrills; with the NBA, especially with Kobe, Nash, LeBron and Arenas, you get to see the very best in the world doing amazing things night in and night out. Crazy good.

What else... oh, I bought some new earphones. I have always preferred earphones to headphones, even though my ears sometimes get sore from wearing earphones too much. My pack-in iPod earphones were just about dead -- blown speakers, tape-repaired cord, dirty as all get out -- so I picked up some Philips virtual surround-sound earphones for $20 at Best Buy. Ohhh my gosh. No comparison. The sound is great. The fit isn't perfect, but I'm sure it will improve with time. The cord is longer and sturdier, and it comes with a wrap-up carrying case. Just a really quality purchase -- I'm rather proud of myself. Goodbye Sky Harbor is pouring through my ears even as I type. Good times.

I think we're done here.

Midnight talk

2006-05-04T02:04:00.000-06:00

I just spent two hours talking outside on the front steps of my apartment with Ashley. She's been taking certain developments in her life rather hard, and obviously needed somebody to talk to. I love having conversations like that. I love being able to put my life completely on hold to help other people. Basically, I have a very real need to be needed by others. By putting myself out there to listen to people's problems, help in any way I can, and make personal sacrifices for them, it's almost like I actually am serving my own interests as much as theirs, because of the joy I get out of it. I can't imagine myself acting any other way.

Ashley is sort of the same way, but just in a waaaaay more proactive manner. Honestly, the girl just works herself to the bone and then blames herself when any little thing goes wrong, as if it was caused by some shortcoming or flaw in her character. This belief is totally illogical and unfounded, of course, but it's nigh impossible to make her understand that. I hoped I helped a little bit.

Part of her problem seems to be that she doesn't know how to chill. Now, I'm probably the wrong person to talk to, because I chill far too much. I could do with a dose of hard work and activity in my life. But Ash is completely the opposite. "I don't think I know how to do nothing," she said. Well, I'm making it my business to teach her. At least to SOME degree.

Anyway, my need to be needed was fully satisfied tonight, as I got phone calls from about six different people wanting to talk to me about various things they wanted me to do. And I had to put aside my plans to play some serious Guild Wars online with my friend Nick. I was, however, able to watch LeBron and Gilbert Arenas go head to head and LeBron and the Cavs squeak out the win in overtime. GREAT game.

I'm pooped.

Why the name Theo

2006-05-03T01:16:00.000-06:00

It's pretty simple, really. I like to use big words. I show off my vocabulary. Basically, I'm pretentious and arrogant and like to think I'm smart. Because of this, a very good friend of mine called me "a human thesaurus," which she just shortened to "Theo." I really like the nickname; I think it fits me well, and it's unique, and my friend gave it to me, so I'll stick with it. If you don't know who I am, drop me a line and I'll tell you how you know me (or if you don't, why you should get to know me).

Welcome

2006-05-02T18:54:00.000-06:00

Friends have convinced me that this is a much better blog client than MySpace, and I'm inclined to agree, especially since I don't use MySpace for anything except blogging. So, here we are, and here we shall stay. I'm Theo, by the way. Hopefully you'll be seeing a lot more of me.